Congrats to our daughter Sarah,
that graduates tomorrow from MGH.
She will start her nursing internship in the ICU at the Newton-Wellesley Hospital in a few weeks.
Pamela and me are just a little bit proud.
Graduation tomorrow morning at the Hynes and dinner tomorrow night at the Tavern in the Square.
It should be an awesome day.
We are so proud of her and all that she’s achieved.
Leaving you with a nurse-inspired poem . . . for our new NURSE

By Jennifer Huff, LPN:

I said goodbye to you today.
In my own quiet way.
A hidden tear was shed.
Tribute to the life you led.

Empty chair, an unspoken reminder of you.
Too soon to be filled by a patient so new.
Numb to the pain of so many goodbyes.
Sorrow hidden, secretly brushing tears from my eyes.

You joined the others who paved the way for you.
The leader, the song-man, the feisty one, too.
The one who decided that he’d just had enough.
Saying farewell to you all has been so tough.

I like to imagine you are all gathered up there.
Playing poker, having feasts, so many stories to share.
No more restrictions on fluid and food.
No longer chained to disease, it is as it should.

Those of us left behind, keep your memory alive.
Working hard every day to help others survive.
Chair no longer empty, a new soul to tend.
Hidden tears suppressed.
A new beginning to the end.

“I think I may be beginning to disappear.” – Fiona (Away from Her)

Last night was a deeply emotional night for me.
For the longest time I’ve put off watching a movie called Away from Her
based on the Alice Munro short story called, “The Bear Came Over the Mountain”,
a tragic but uplifting tale of a husband and wife of 50 years coming to grips with Alzheimer’s Disease.
It was all too familiar territory for me and I knew instinctively why I hadn’t seen it in the theater.
Sometimes I hate when I’m right.

The internal walls I’d previously built for emotional protection were deteriorating rapidly, waiting patiently to be torn down.
New and stronger walls were waiting in the wings.
Seeing yourself in virtually every scene of a movie is a powerful (and devastating) experience and something has to give.
My already shaky walls began crumbling before my very eyes.
Seemingly insignificant scenes were like storms in the night, moments of illumination exposing moments of denial, the mind’s premeditated closing of the eyes.
I was watching my mother and father on the screen as years of pent up heartbreak gently poured out of me.
And truth be told, it felt like prayer, a long forgotten Hail Mary . . .
I’ve written much about my mother’s many moments of clarity, the small gifts I believe are given to us from up above.
The last minute of the movie contains such a moment, an incredibly beautiful moment.
I could only sit and watch the credits roll by,
letting this “thing” happen, if that makes any sense.
I apologized to my wife for being so weepy.
She hugged me as I knew she would and said, “I understand. It’s okay.”
All the ancient walls inside me came crashing down and as of this morning I’ve already begun new construction, my Extreme Internal Makeover, if you will.
This post isn’t so much about my tears or my outward showing of intense emotion.
It’s about the willingness to ultimately set some of my shadows free.
And so far, it’s all good.
You’ll have to watch the movie to understand the significance of the post title.
I’m not giving anything away . . .
~m