I saw my doctor yesterday, who happens to be a dear friend. He was my friend before he became my doctor. But after too many Saturday night outings with me asking his opinion concerning my medical care, it only seemed fair for him to be my doctor. The problem was, how would I handle the first physical? I mean, this man has an easy smile and some of the kindest eyes I have ever met, but examining me in a hospital gown was not an option if he was ever going to see me fully clothed again. So I settled for wearing a hot pink Speedo under the gown and told him my gynecologist would take care of the rest. In typical good humor, he played along, both of us pretending we were just chatting poolside.
With that, my friend became my doctor and my doctor remained my friend.
So I saw him yesterday for flu, Covid, bad cold, or all of the above. And after he assured me it was the latter, we chatted as we often do. Once the medical stuff is out of the way, we will catch up on life, love and happiness. In this conversation, he shared a new TV series he is enjoying that he thought I would, too. It is a medical show which appeals to us both, his interest obvious and mine being my hypervigilence about my well being, or as some might say, hypochondria. He referenced one episode he found especially impressive.
An ER doctor is discussing the care of an unconscious 92-year-old man with his adult children. Although the father has signed a DNR, the daughter is fighting vehemently to override this document and the son wants to honor it. As the temperature rises and an emotional power struggle begins, the physician offers a Hawaiian mantra to handle the overwhelming grief, complicated emotions and uncertainty of parting with a parent. He suggests they might spend a moment with their father, alone or together, and recite his version of the prayer for healing and repair:
I love you.
Thank you.
I am sorry.
Please forgive me.
With the doctor’s help, they both eventually let their father go. Listening, I was moved by the profound impact of those four short sentences.
I thanked my friend for his thoughtful sharing and left feeling more spiritually healed than simply treating a cough and dripping nose.
Later, I looked up the prayer to see if is was just a good TV script or authentic, and it is indeed a Hawaiian prayer for healing and forgiveness. I love its simple, heartfelt message.
It got me thinking about the final goodbyes I have had to say in my life. I lost my father, my mother, my brother–all within the span of a few years. Although the circumstances of all three were different, I had the luxury of letting them go while they could still see and hear me. I was also able to choose that moment rather than standing beside their motionless body, their soul drifting away.
People are different that way. Others in my family wanted to be there for their last breath. And I respect that. But I wanted to tell them what I loved most and what I would miss even more and know that they heard my words. And then I felt OK to let go. I wanted to remember them alive.
My dad was buried and had an open casket. At the visitation the night before the funeral, I could not look at him. I wanted to remember his beautful carpenter hands moving and creating, his gentle blue eyes consoling me and the smell of his Old Spice cologne lingering on my jacket after a good bye hug.
My mother and brother were cremated. I still have a portion of both their ashes tucked in special places in my house. Somehow, I feel this keeps their spirits closer to me. And often, when I least expect it, I swear I smell my brother’s cigarette smoke in my kitchen late at night or hear my mama’s footsteps in the hall, padding along in Dearfoam slippers, headed to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Two night owls, just passing by for a visit.
Wherever they all are, I want to believe the three of them are together. And I trust they know I forgive them. More importantly, I pray they forgive me for every hurtful word I ever said, and understand I am sorry for any slight I might have inflicted. Above all, I want them to know just how much I loved them.
And I will forever thank them for loving me.