My sister went to school to become an RN when I was 9. I was in awe of her bravery, knowledge, and ability to care for the sickest of people. I learned to see all caregiving/nursing/doctoring skills as in her forte and not mine.
As my parents aged, my sister stepped in to help when needed, taking them to doctor’s appointments and for minor procedures. She often said to me “You couldn’t handle this” or “You’d never be able to handle that” and it became a refrain that took up residence in my head. It confirmed my belief that I really couldn’t handle medical things. That she was strong. And I was weak.
On Thanksgiving Day in 2005, my beloved Dad had a stroke while napping after lunch. My mom, disbelieving and afraid, talked with her neighbor (and dear friend) Laura, who in turn called my sister’s son, Shawn. He arrived and lifted Dad from his recliner and carried him to his vehicle and on to the local hospital. I will never forget his call from the ER.
After hugs from family, I headed to hospital nearest my hometown. After a brief period of awareness, Dad sank into unconsciousness. Ultimately my sister, mom, and I set up a vigil in his room. It soon became clear he could not recover and as the days ticked by, we knew the inevitable awaited.
On Friday afternoon, which turned out to be his last day on earth, Dad had a visit from one of his very dearest friends, Joseph Long. Joseph had been a constant throughout my entire life. He and Dad shared so much: love of God, love of family, love of the land. On that afternoon, my sister had briefly left the hospital to play piano for a wedding at her church. My mom and I were alone with Dad and his quiet yet labored breaths when Joseph arrived.
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| Joseph Long and me, circa 2019 |
Joseph’s presence has always flooded me with affection and love. That day, he visited a few minutes. then addressed me specifically. He reached his hand deep in his pocket and pulled out a gleaming white piece of quartz. “I brought you a little something,” he said as his eyes twinkled. “It’s not an arrowhead, it’s a spearpoint. Spearpoints are much older than arrowheads. This one is a Halifax spearpoint, I found it and I wanted you to have it.”
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| The Spearpoint |
Joseph had long been an arrowhead hunter, searching for and amassing a beautiful collection, from his farm, our county, and nearby areas. I understood what a rare and precious gift this was. I was filled with gratitude and awe. The idea of holding such an ancient thing was overwhelming.
Joseph said his goodbyes and I was left holding that precious piece of stone. I sat and turned it this way and that, observing the way it was carefully crafted and it’s sharpened point. And it came to me then, an image of a ancient hunter, the one who had created and used this spearpoint to provide for his family, his tribe. The symbolism took my breath away and filled the empty bits of me. It felt like a sign, that I, too, had the strength within me to care for my family, too.
When my sister returned, my Dad was in his final minutes, a few breaths followed by a long pause, a few more breaths followed by another long pause. At the very moment my dad’s breathing completely stopped, the morphine drip alarm suddenly blared. My sister, wailed in her grief. My Mom looked sad but accepting. And me?
I took a deep breath, uttered a silent prayer – a plea for God’s presence - and got to work. I turned off the alarm, I alerted the nursing staff. I contacted the funeral home. And I continued to step my family though the days to come. And God was with me to lift and support me every step of the way. I wasn't weak. I wasn't less than. I was strong for my family.
Joseph’s generous gesture was one of kindness; one that held a deep and reassuring message of strength that continues to sustain me. A few months after Dad’s death, I sought out a goldsmith, Jenny Garret McLaurin in Pittsboro, NC. She expertly fashioned a necklace out of the spearpoint and added a small blue topaz from a birthstone ring that Dad had once tucked in my Christmas stocking. She created a geometrical design around the stone that honored my dad’s penchant for math and science. She took that precious moment at my dad’s bedside and made a beautiful piece of wearable art.
That necklace is my totem. It has seen me though the last 16 years, 10 of which have been caring for my now 95 year old mom. When I need courage, or just to feel close to Dad, it takes me back to that sacred moment of my father’s death and it’s call to the strength within me. It rightly aligns that strength with God’s presence.
God is like that. When we think we cannot see the next step, He will help us find a way. He will metaphorically straighten our backbones and help us achieve things we never thought possible. He will remind us of His love and His power. He will strengthen us. And He will lift us, again and again.
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
Though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.
Come and see what the LORD has done,
the desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields with fire.
He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.
-Psalm 46 (NIV)
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