The Bridge

She walked out into the cold air of a waning winter night. The wind was still, and the sky was cloudy and filled with the smell of impending snow. It had been a long night on the unit. No deaths, but so many precious souls and their family saying goodbye. She understood how they felt. Not in that fleeting, “I know how you feel” way, but in the way only somebody who knows the loss of someone integral to their world feels. She had always hated that expression “they are in a better place and out of pain” or even worse, “it will get easier with time”. Although in her heart she knew the part of being in a better place was true, it did not lessen the missing. She had always been grateful for the long walk to her car. A time for unwinding, releasing, breathing. Recently, the walk seemed longer and the quiet overwhelming. It had started to snow. She was glad. It covered the tears that filled her eyes as the memories of leaving this place not so long ago came flooding back, and with it, the missing.

The sun was peaking over the horizon as she reached her car. Before driving home, she pulled a little black book from her bag and held it close to her heart. Then, in the quiet, she opened it gently, and remembered.

She was often queried and teased by family and friends about the contents of her ever present “little black book”. She had long ago found a cover with a lock to protect it from the wear and tear of daily use and from prying eyes. She would smile, that knowing smile, and say “No Comment”. It had become a bit of a running joke with guesses that it contained a list of all the men in her life, to holding the secret to all her hidden riches. Thinking of the all the different guesses brought a smile to her heart as each morning, sometimes before driving home from work, she would write.

That little black book was as precious to her as anything she had or would ever possess. Although she could not remember how many little black books she had filled, each was as treasured as much as the first. As she filled them, she placed them securely in her safe.

The original little black book was a gift. A journal filled with her friend’s daily writings and given to her in the last days of their lives together. Although less frequently these days, she would retrieve it and read the words left by her friend. The handwriting traced the progressing of illness in those last days as hands became increasingly unsteady. It also contained the blessings and the gift of time spent with each other.

She had made and kept her promise to continue the journal. The pages spilled over with the conversations she would normally have with her friend. She always started each entry with, “Hello my friend”. The words were like cathartic waves. Sometimes crashing, sometimes caressing the shore, then in the quiet between words, washing out to sea leaving the tender touch of healing on the pristine shore of her soul.

People found it interesting that she was still working. She did not need to work. She had “formally” retired and had put enough away in a retirement fund to live comfortably. Her friend had always pushed her to put money away for their retirement. They would laugh about growing old together and the fun they would have. Their shared mortgage had a death benefit, their way of insuring the other would always have a home. But, unbeknownst to her, her friend had set up a trust fund for her. It was not much, only $20,000. She smiled when she discovered it amongst her friends trust papers. And as though her friend was there telling her, she knew exactly how it was to be used. She paid off her debts, what few there were, and put some aside for emergencies. And the remainder, well, as her friend knew she would, she put the remainder to good use.

She did not tell her family about the money. Instead, she took part of the $20,000 and established small college funds for each of her great nieces and nephews. With the help of a couple friends, she covertly gifted each of her siblings and their children with a few hundred dollars. Just a token she hoped would, in a small way, help fill some of the financial gaps left by the recent recession. She loved seeing their reactions to the unexpected and mysterious gifts. She expressed her surprise at her own gift. While, the trust money brought her joy, it did not allow her the one thing she wanted most, her beloved friend.

After some time, she returned to her first passion, caring for others. Many times, it was simply being a quiet presence while final goodbyes drifted into the silence filled with memories as the missing began to overflow their hearts. Each event brought her own memories floating back. She knew their shared experience of loss, although not expressed openly due to nursing ethics, gave breadth and richness to her compassion.

She would write of the losses, always hiding identifying information from any future reader. The journal had become the bridge spanning her past and the present. She also discovered over time, her writings provided hope for her future as she discovered her friend’s words responding to her joys, sorrows, laughter, fears, and daily life questions, appearing on the pages.

Healing, they say, comes in many ways, uniquely designed for those in need. She would never have believed hers would have come by way of a little black book. So, she decided on a way to continue her friend’s legacy tucked between the words and the pages and her work. She always considered herself privileged and blessed when a family or friend allowed her to walk with them as they said goodbye to their loved one. She never knew how to properly express her gratitude until her own loss. Then, she realized, she could offer them the same opportunity given her; a journal, a little black book, of blank pages waiting to be filled with memories and continued conversations.

So, she included a blank little black book in the packet of final paperwork as the family or friends left their loved one for the last time. She had them specially made with the following inscribed on the inside cover:

My hope, if not at this moment, when your heart is ready, you will fill this journal with memories and continued conversations with your loved one. You may discover your loved one responding to your joys, sorrows, laughter, fears, and daily life questions in the words that fill the pages.

I have found words can be like waves rolling in, crashing, or caressing the shore, then washing out to sea each time leaving, in the quiet spaces between words, a touch of healing. And in the healing may you find a bridge spanning your past and the present and over time provide hope for a future you can embrace.

Years passed and she wrapped herself in the future she had found in the pages bridging her past to the present. On occasion, she would hear from a client’s family expressing their gratitude for her caring and the journal. Some would share how they had used the journal and found the bridge she had described.

She embraced each day, each year, and at each birthday and holiday, at some point during the celebrations, her family would puzzle over who had given them money and set up the trust funds all those years ago. She would just smile and express gratitude for the gift she received. The nice thing was, she received it her gift over and over again each time they brought it up.

She knew she would eventually join her friend. In her will, she revealed her secrets to her family, although she suspected they already knew. She shared her story of the trust fund established for her and setting up the trust fund and arranging the monetary gifts. And, of course, the secret of her little black book. She also continued her friend’s legacy by arranging a gift for each of them. Their own inscribed little black book with a special note hoping, that on occasion, they would write of her and to her. She promised to send them words to fill their pages.

At a time you are in need, may you find your own little black book and, in your writings, discover healing and a bridge from the past to the present that leads you to a future you can embrace.