He Did Not Live In Vain!

Guest Author, Leonie Infantry

 “His is the closest I’ve seen of God’s face,” said of the man at whom I’m peeking in this pic, taken after lockdown at his Rehab Center.

With a predictable three-month cycle of hospitalization to rehab to home to hospital to rehab to home, our beloved Stan lasted only two days after his return home to hospice care on Wednesday, April 1st.

Conflicted by restrictions imposed by the raging COVID-19, I was torn between exposing my elder self with a pre-existing lung condition or prudently staying away, knowing he may not fully understand my absence.  My prayer as I left his bedside that Wednesday evening: Please, God, see fit to relieve his suffering sooner rather than later and in his sleep without struggle.  Awakened by his niece’s call early that Saturday morning, I knew instinctively that prayers had been answered—sooner rather than later—and in his sleep, to boot!

Ah, the irony!  This unassuming, reticent man had simply wanted his remains unobtrusively placed next to his wife who had predeceased him by some nine years — which is when he had pretty much withdrawn from Life, his default explanation being “I’m an old man”.

How it saddened me when, after being pressed why he would deprive family and friends the privilege of bidding farewell, he matter-of-factly replied: “what if nobody came?” That he would harbor such a thought - he for whom a restaurant had been recently filled for his 90th!!

To his credit, over time, he yielded from “no funeral,” agreeing to traditional rites and even selecting his preferred music—and more!  Sadly, leaving as he did in the chaos of a pandemic, there would be no funeral. So, although Mr. Stanley had accepted the trappings of a traditional send-off, it was entirely without ceremony that he left us - thus fulfilling his original plan.  Heartbreaking that this often silent man, in the last weeks when he lost his voice, had so much he wanted to say, yet painfully, determinedly tried to talk.

What was our relationship, you might ask? Several years ago, we met through Yvonne, our mutual friend. Stan was the dependable, uncommonly kind neighbor who asked nothing of anybody and expected even less from all. One neighbor often said of him that he made her want to be a better person.  With his legendary generosity and exquisitely artful handwriting, he was the fiercely independent, sterling, gentle man whom we knew typically declined any invitation that involved mingling and, God forbid, partying!

So, when he tentatively approached me asking me to drive him to his childhood homestead in the hills of PA, I readily agreed.  An unforgettable day it was - retracing his steps, visiting the church his dad had pastored, the Manse in which he spent his teen years, his parents’ graves, and more, ending with a delightful meal with his nephew who still lives there.

Something more happened that day. Something sparked in Stan that promptly ignited a desire in me to re-introduce him to Life.  Before long, he became a willing accomplice on umpteen outings - to Broadway, The Met (opera aficionado that he was!), Lincoln Center, Art Galleries that fed his passionate painting hobby, summer worship at the NJ Shore, local and PA Playhouses, spontaneous country rides, breakfast meet-ups, restaurants and more restaurants, and eventually Saturday home date nights, when he could no longer venture out.

Forever etched is our Thanksgiving trip to his family in McLean, VA - self-described as “the best four days” of his life!  How alive he was, whistling along with music. And how appreciative of his family, who lovingly returned to their respective places at the table to keep us company after a long delayed journey!  How can I forget his child-like awe and wonder at my friend Marjorie’s spontaneous, soul warming Jamaican hospitality on our return trip, and his refreshing delight in the adventure of being caught up in post-Thanksgiving Interstate 95 traffic! 

This erstwhile recluse so earnestly wanted to live his NOW that he realized was rapidly vanishing that one of his final wishes was to visit red-winged blackbirds in Waverley, a village in Upstate NY, where his Dad last pastored before retirement.  While still in rehab, he pored over online red-winged T-shirts that we’d wear on the road trip - a trip that his vanished NOW so promptly aborted. A pilgrimage I plan to make on his behalf as soon as this storm passes and before the red-winged return south.

A dream that I initially shared as my own was to cruise the Danube. Mr Stan soon made that dream his own but, as his indisposition became more apparent, he would selflessly remind me that were he not to make it, I should nevertheless take the cruise and there, “in a castle on a hill,” would be a man waiting to meet me. Two weeks after his death, an acquaintance surfaced.  And where does he live?  In Vienna of all places - ten minutes from the dock where Viking Cruise Line berths!  Was Stan a heavenly being having a human experience here?  Did he move in other-worldly spheres that put him closer to God’s ear? Or was this merely serendipitous? Go figure!

What did I learn from this angel whom I was privileged to meet here on earth?  I now know what it means to be nonjudgmental - to accept others exactly as they are - without expectations, without demands; I’ve witnessed extraordinary selflessness, uncommon kindness, rare acceptance and contentment of circumstances - all seamlessly demonstrated by a life lived in perpetual gratitude, with ne’er a wry word spoken.  Mine was the good fortune to have been in the presence of this saint of a man who not only loved and cared about all God’s creatures - man and animals - but was himself, Love - unconditional Love at its purest.

What does it mean that his glasses feature in every dream I have of him? He’s either leaving them with me, taking them from me, asking me to clean them (as was my wont), or looking for them (as was his wont). What is he telling me?  Or that, despite not having been told that his Russian care provider was interested in working for the UN, directed her in a dream to ask me to contact my UN connection to help her find a job there.  And this without my ever sharing anything about having UN connections!!  

 So satiated with love was Stan that every night after I prepared him for bed, his first petition would be for my friend’s special needs grandson, whom he had met. Once, exasperated after an especially prickly exchange, I facetiously asked: “Are you man or mouse?” From this self effacing man came the disarming, unapologetic self assessment: “Mouse”.  Absolutely no place to go after that but a heartfelt hug!

Stan’s mantra may well have been dictated by Emily Dickinson’s immortal lines:

If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain

You, Dear Stan, did not live in vain!  Through you, Dear One, we managed to catch a glimpse of the face of God.