Straight Paths- “I MEANT TO”

“I MEANT TO”

Loren Hardin

For The Ashland Beacon

            Bill enrolled in our outpatient hospice services with end-stage Alzheimer's disease. Bill and his wife, Betty, were both in their eighties.  Bill was bedridden and required twenty-four-hour total care.  Betty waited on Bill hand-and-foot even though she desperately needed a hip replacement. She hobbled across the floor, trying to conceal the pain, as she catered to Bill’s every need. Betty explained, “My doctor insisted that I have hip surgery, but I asked him, ‘But who is going to take care of Bill?’”

            One day, while discussing the wisdom of heeding that “Still small voice” of God” (1 Kings 19:12), Betty suggested, “When we ignore our urges they can turn into, ‘I meant to’s’”.  Betty shared about an urge she’d dismissed that had haunted her for years: “One Friday evening back in nineteen-sixty-one, I drove to Sciotoville to spend my supper hour with my mother. I worked at Montgomery Wards and the store stayed open until nine o’clock in the evening on Fridays.  Mom and I talked about a lot of things that evening, but mostly about my husband’s niece, Helen, who was in the hospital dying with kidney failure. To give Helen’s mother some much-needed rest, I had been spending my nights with Helen; and I was getting pretty worn out.  My mother was concerned about me and followed me outside as I was leaving.  We chatted as I walked to my car. 

Mom walked back to the house and then called after me urging me to get more rest. I had the urge to walk back, put my arms around her, tell her I loved her, and that if I was too giving, it was because I had learned it from her. I thought about it, but I didn’t. The following Sunday evening, two days later, my mother was struck by a car on her way home from church.  She lived nearly a month with internal injuries, a fractured skull and two broken legs.  She was in and out mentally. 

The night she died was the worst night of my life.  I had a premonition or something and I didn’t want to be there with her alone. I felt like I wanted someone to be with me. She died that night.  How I wish I’d walked back and put my arms around her that night and told her I loved her; I meant to.”

            After finishing her story Betty told me, “I’ll be right back”. She hobbled slowly to another room and returned with an old, faded church bulletin with a poem printed on the back. Betty pointed out that her former pastor had written the poem and then she invited me to read it. Now I’m inviting you: “There was a neighbor who was ill, I’ll make a visit, yes, I will. I’ll show them I really care; I will for them a meal prepare. I meant to! I’ll tell to all so close to me, how much that each one means to me.  I’ll tell them that I love them true and treat them with respect that’s due. I meant to! The neighbor now is in the grave, no witness now his soul can save. Too late my neighbor now is gone, I meant to witness, what went wrong? Will I the same mistakes still make, with my loved ones, till too late?  Will I fail to show my love until they’ve all been called above? Then sadly say, I meant to,” (“I meant to”, by Rev F.H. Wilson).

     Loren Hardin was a social worker with SOMC-Hospice for twenty-nine years. He can be reached at 740.357.6091 or at lorenhardin53@gmail.com. You can order Loren's book, "Straight Paths: Insights for living from those who have finished the course", at Amazon.