Day 5: Until We Meet Again Terri. . .

Life had been hard lately and she was tired. The waves of this world had crashed on her shore one too many times. Beaten and bruised head to toe without a blemish to prove it. Her struggle was wearing her down from the inside out. Day after day she had faced the storm, and gave it everything. But it wasn't enough. Morning came. She lay there. She let it have her. Eventually she found herself on her knees--surrendering.

"I'm at the wall Father. I have nothing left. I have given everything. I have done everything I can think to do. . .I. am. broken."

She pulls her body through the motions. Get up, get showered, kiss the hubby and kids, hit the road. Another day has started. Drive to work, walk to the office, sit down, and check email before making the rounds. Nothing new besides a notice for a new arrival needing a visit--another high-risker. . .some woman from a nearby town on bed-rest with her second. "Why not", she concedes, telling herself "I'll drop in during my lunch break."
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[knock on the door]

"Come in." Probably my lunch. Ugh. I swear I'll throw up if I see another milkshake. Ok--they aren't that bad.

"Name and birth date" the server asks.

"Seriously, Monica" as I roll my eyes and smile. "Three, Nineteen, Eighty-Four and it's Snow White. Just look at my legs--any whiter and I'll be clear--then they won't need an ultrasound to see this baby."

"Very funny" she chuckles. "Enjoy your lunch".

"I will. Have a great afternoon--we'll see you tomorrow." I reply.

'All right--you can do this Hill' I cheer internally. I brace and grab the bed rail with my left arm, and shift from my right side to my left. Ooouuch. I swear, I could register for a rest home today--I drink prune juice, wear a diaper, and my joints throb like I'm ninety--sheesh!

Shiloh kicks. I smile.

"I know. I know, baby. Just two and a half months and I'll get you a bigger playpen. How about we dine to Mozart sweetheart. You'll love it-I promise. And someday I'll teach you how to play. . ."

(knock at the door)

Hmm. I wonder who that is. Probably Kris to check vitals.

A pretty woman with long hair and a gleaming smile pokes her head in. "Hi. I'm Terri. I'm from the branch here. President Smith emailed and said you might want some visitors--are you busy?"

"No, no. Of course not. Come in!" I stammer as I push my food tray away pleased that I have a reason to delay consuming MORE food.

We chat like two school girls at recess. I'm talking about my husband and boy--she's telling me about her girls. I make her laugh about my decision to apply for a nursing home and she's telling me about all of the places she's lived. Time disappears for a few minutes of our existence.

She promises to visit soon. I happily nod and thank her for coming.

And she keeps her word. She visits me every few days, bringing me lunch from the 'outside' (heaven bless her for that), DVD's to watch, and rich conversation to pass the time. I become enamored with this woman who seems to hold the sun, the moon, and the stars in her eyes. She's beautiful, and smart, and down-to-earth good, and real. And whenever the hours get long she's there. My luck seems too good--'how can this woman give so much to me when I have nothing to offer back?' I wonder. But she comes again. She tells me this time that she's catering an event and won't make it back for a week.

"I've got 48 days left" I tell her. "I'll be here."

And I was. . .
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"Haven't you heard?" the nurse says. "She lost Shiloh yesterday. They delivered a little boy early this morning. She's alone in her room if you want to visit."

She walks to Room 241, and knocks on the same door she'd happily entered so many times. But not today. She walks in and sees her, the woman she'd come to love over the past few weeks--lying there like always with a grin on her face and tears brimming her eyes.

No words come. What can she say? She holds the little mother as their tears together fall and she listens to her bed-ridden friend recount the past twenty-four hours.
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"I don't understand this, and I don't have to. I don't need answers, but Terri--I have nothing left. I have given God everything. I have done everything I can think to do. . . I. am. broken. Is this what God wants--for me to realize I am broken with nothing left to give so that he can fix me and make me whole" I ask my friend.

"I am going to tell you something." Terri whispers as she wipes a tear from her face with the back of her hand. "I know what it is to feel broken. I came to work a few weeks ago and I had hit my wall. And then I see an email from President Smith talking about some girl that was pregnant and on bed rest needing visitors and I thought why not--I need this. I need to get outside of my little world and serve. So I came--and Hillary, you saved me."

"No" I declare. "You've got it backwards Terri. You saved me."

"It looks like we saved each other." Terri says.
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When Terri walked out of my room that day we left without exchanging phone numbers, or emails, or anything. I don't even have a picture of her. Our lives crossed for this moment in time and the intersection was so precious and perfect that I think we wanted to leave it that way.

Whether in this life or the next Terri, thank you. And God be with you until we meet again.