I apologize for the length of this post, but this story deserves to be told - and heard - in full.
Some time ago, I read a short but interesting novel called "The Five People You Meet In Heaven", by Mitch Albom. It starts with the unexpected death of a guy named Eddie, a man who works in an amusement park repairing rides. He sees a ride malfunction, and part of it plummets towards an unsuspecting little girl. He jumps to push her out of harm's way and, in the process, Eddie is killed.
Now Eddie wasn't anybody important - at least not in the eyes of the world. He wasn’t particularly educated, he wasn’t particularly likeable, and he certainly wasn’t rich. But after his death – one by one – Eddie found himself meeting a series of people whose lives he had touched, for good or for ill. In some cases, Eddie didn't even remember the person he had affected so deeply. So the premise of the book is that each of us is connected to other people and affects other people profoundly, often without even realizing it. And after reading the story, I began to think about people who had touched my life.
I'm a nurse, and I work with patients undergoing bone marrow transplantation. Most of our patients have life-threatening illnesses such as cancer. Many of them are young. Many have young children. Most have had a series of treatments that have failed and – as a last resort – they come for a very intensive and risky procedure. We give high dose chemotherapy that completely wipes out the immune system in hopes of wiping out the disease. Then we "rescue" the immune system with bone marrow transplant.
One of our patients was a young woman named Janice who was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of leukemia shortly after the birth of her first child. She was very sick when she came to us. She grew worse in the weeks that followed. During that time, I grew close to Janice and to her husband, Matt.
Matt was a shy and quiet man. Like Eddie, he wasn’t educated or wealthy. He didn’t talk much – he didn't want to bother the nurses and doctors by asking questions. As Janice grew weaker, we encouraged Matt to become more assertive… to ask questions… to ask for help when he or Janice needed it. Gradually, he felt more comfortable with that.
Janice struggled with nausea and vomiting, and soon she was unable to eat. During the next few weeks, her kidneys, liver, and lungs – ALL of her major organs – began to fail. Her facial features were terribly distorted, and her beautiful long auburn hair was gone.. She was in tremendous pain. She could no longer get out of bed unassisted. Soon, she was so weak that she needed a ventilator in order to breathe. We increased her pain medication and sedation to give her some relief.
Matt was reluctant to talk about it at first, but I think he knew that Janice was dying. We all did. And there were tears shed by all of us, especially on the day that Matt brought their little baby in and laid her on the bed beside a mom she would never know.
After seeing the extent of Janice 's suffering and after numerous heart-breaking conversations with the staff, Matt decided that the time had come for us to remove the breathing tube and to allow Janice the opportunity to die if, indeed, it was her time. I was working with Janice that day.
After the decision was made, I talked with Matt about what to expect. I told him that the ventilator would be turned off, the breathing tube would be removed, and that Janice probably wouldn’t live long after that. I told him that she might have some noisy and irregular breaths and that her color would change. I told him that he could remain in the room if he wished but that I would stay with Janice and be sure she wasn't in pain. Matt decided to stay.
Janice lived for only a matter of minutes after the tube was removed. Her breathing was raspy and irregular, and her swollen body quickly turned blue. I made sure she was comfortable, but I worried about Matt. He was simple, quiet, and unassuming by nature. Often Matt had hung back from Janice – he’d always been reluctant to show affection in front of the staff.
But not then.
Not as she lay dying.
Matt stood close to Janice . He leaned close and held her hand. He kissed her lips as they turned blue, and he told her over and over that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He told her repeatedly that he loved her. He told her that she didn’t have to worry – he’d take care of the baby and would make sure that their little girl learned about her mamma. Janice ’s life was slipping away, but Matt completely surrounded her with love.
It’s been many years since Janice died, and I haven’t spoken to Matt since that day. Frankly, I doubt he remembers me: all of his focus was on Janice and on the impact that her illness and death would have on him and their young daughter.
But I remember Matt.
I remember a man confronted with a tremendous challenge.
I remember a man who grew to meet that challenge.
I remember a man who – in the midst of his own grief – poured out love.
– Anonymous.
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