Those Eyes

One time over the summer while I was working at the hospital, I took care of a little old man named Eli. He was probably 80 or so, pretty skinny and really wrinkly. He was dying of cancer. The longest most drawn out kind of all deaths. He had been in and out of the hospital and this was just one of his usual visits since he was going down hill. My job was to ask him all the long medical questions that get asked when you first get there and he pretty much knew the drill since he had been in and out. His wife was helping answer some of the questions and they were joking around the whole time, giving stupid answers to just make me laugh. When I asked if he lived at home with his wife, she said "he better." And when I asked if he used tobacco or alcohol his wife said "not a one...never cussed either. He's been a pastor all his life."

Later on that day I walked into his room once and his whole extended family was in a circle around his bed praying together in tears for Eli.

Eli was so incredibly weak. His little body could barely do anything for himself. His wife was by his side the whole time...I didn't really do anything for him. While I was working through the night, 7pm to 7am, and I was called in to Eli's room because he had to go to the bathroom. Eli liked to sleep naked so I only went into his room when he needed something important (I was warned before hand) So to accomplish this task it took both me and his wife to get his incredibly weak body just a couple inches to the side of the bed.

Me and Eli's wife stood by his side and it was in this moment that the universe all made sense for just a couple of minutes. I put my hand on Eli's bare back, which was so shaky and frail. He looked up at me and his eyes were big and sad. I'll never forget the eye contact we had in this moment. It was 4 in the morning and just single light was on in the corner of the room.

It was in that moment that I looked into those more than physically tired eyes and I felt as if God was looking at me himself. I spent all summer questioning where God could possibly be in the midst of dying cancer patients. Let alone, my role in being placed to help take care of them. I bounced from angry, to frustrated, to sad, to this moment when I felt like God lived in this man and maybe, just maybe, I was taking care of Him.

My very very simple work of just putting my hand on a bare naked, frail dying elderly man seemed incredibly more meaningful than anything else I had ever done in my life. And my perspective changed. My work seemed important when I could see God in those eyes.

I still think about Eli today. Those eyes and that intimate moment might just stay with me forever. I hope so anyways. Or else I'll just be doing meaningless work for the rest of my life. But lately I've been wondering what my "work" will amount to. And really I wish I could just wake up every morning and have Eli beside me so I knew that there was point to the work I fret over, stress about, and get so anxious that I drive myself crazy.

But I thank God for Eli. For being Eli. And hopefully I'll get to meet him again someday.

Meg