The Hospice calling becomes a reality.  Tomorrow I will wake for early mass at Jennings, with the Sisters of the Holy Spirit, spending time with my two female patients.  Hopefully able to say hello to my retired priest.  He is truly sweet to speak with.  He likes to ask me questions: ‘Do you like to ride horses?  Do you like to play ping-pong?  Do you like to shoot guns?  Do you like to do paint by numbers?  Do you like to be in boats on the water?’  See how lucky I am to meet someone who is so interested in the things that I like.  God is so good.  After Jennings, I return to my deepest blessing, a bedside vigil with an amazing man.  He is ninety-nine and will not see a hundred.  That experience humbles me, sparing words.  I read to him, today reading from his senior yearbook all the names of his signing classmates, observing, truly getting to know him as an adolescent.  He also had a tremendous book of the 242 infantry division, the Rainbow Division, the liberators of Dachau Concentration Camp.  The profoundness of my time with him astounds.  God gave me an extreme blessing to sit bedside and read to him.  As my visit came to an end, he opened his eyes, staring into the distance.  I know he heard my words, comprehending, reminiscing.  He is my wonder, my joy, a bond firmly established.  Tomorrow, God willing, we share another moment.  He is Jewish.  I found a Jewish poem I might read to him, allowing the Holy Spirit to guide me during the visit, abandoning my agenda, allowing God to work through me.  Tentatively, I have picked out this poem.  I am positive he would like the strong nature, the lack of selfish sentimentality, the focus placed upon the living and others.  I closely examined his high school photo and accomplishments in life.  He is an intelligent successful man, strong yet sensitive. The idea of placing his thoughts toward acceptance, peace, and sacrifice I am positive will please him, suiting his nature and life perfect.  I will only read it to him if I discern approval from God while sitting bedside.

WHEN ALL THAT’S LEFT IS LOVE

by Rabbi Allen S. Maller

When I die
If you need to weep
Cry for someone
Walking the street beside you.

You can love me most by letting
Hands touch hands, and
Souls touch souls.

You can love me most by
Sharing your Simchas (goodness) and
Multiplying your Mitzvot (acts of kindness).

You can love me most by
Letting me live in your eyes
And not on your mind.

And when you say Kaddish  for me
Remember what our Torah teaches,
Love doesn’t die
People do.

So when all that’s left of me is love
Give me away.

Anonymous, as they would prefer, 242 Infantry soldiers during the WW II European campaign.