What a day of splendor with my new friend. I want to say her name so badly, however due to patient privacy rights the dispensing of names is forbidden. I will hold her name in silence, grasped deeply within my heart, mind, and soul. I have been singing her name over and over throughout my work day. This morning when I arrived for my visit, I was greeted by a Serbian Orthodox priest from St Sava in Parma, a wonderfully kind and hospitable gentleman inviting me to visit his church. There was also a friend of the patient visiting. I was just in time for the conducting of final rites, the sacrament of unction, the anointing of the sick. When the priest began the anointing, I immediately dropped to my knees, knowing I was blessed to be witnessing something profound. I found the anointing powerful in grace. The priest made the sign of the cross on seven parts of the patient’s body: her nostrils, cheeks, lips, breast, and both palms of her hands, and finally the back of her hands. The priest would call out while conducting the effort: ‘Mighty warrior of Christ’ then pronouncing the patient’s name. At least, that is what I remember. Researching online, I cannot find the Liturgy exactly as I recalled it. Kneeling, I was overwhelmed a bit by the supernatural immensity of the act being conducted in front of me. Overall, my patient’s final anointing was an invigorating event, bringing forth tears. The patient’s friend and the priest provided details regarding the patient’s life. I was informed she was a painter by hobby, although she never took herself serious as an artist. The painting I admired, meditating upon it while praying, was a possession she held deeply. There was a depth to the original artwork that drew me in. I learned the artistic effort was done by a female friend of the patient, a girlfriend from college days. The artist specifically gave the patient the painting as a gift. The female friend would go on to attain a reputable global standing in a higher-academic European art worlds. Her name is Ljubica Cuca Sokic.

Returning to the patient, another surprise greeted me, it is one I am still meditating upon. I arrived after work to discover two men sitting with her, one young and one older. It was obvious they were family. I learned it was her son and grandson, the two arriving together sooner than expected. I was delighted to find my patient beaming, one of her eyes open looking directly at me. Joy filled my being. Here is what transpired in conversation with her son and grandson.

‘Look at her. There she is, and now she is alert, radiating like sunshine.’ I could not take my eyes off the patient. There she was, one eye open, gazing upon me.

‘You know her?’ Her son, a distinguished looking professional man, one whose presence announces success, looked with astonishment at me.

‘Yes I was with her last night and this morning. I met her priest and her friend, attending her receiving of the Sacrament of Unction.’

‘She looks different to you?’ Her son, arriving from San Diego, implored me to tell him more, inspired by my words of hope.

I could not take my eyes off the patient. ‘Oh yes, she is happy to see you.’ I talked directly to the patient. ‘There you are. Look at you. You see me.’ I turned to her son. ‘She sees me, look at that.’

‘Really, you see something different in her?’ Her grandson addressed me, taking over the moment, a coldness tainting his words.

‘Oh yes, this is remarkable. Look at her.’

‘Is it her eye?’

‘Yes.’

‘I did that myself. I opened her eye. She has not had visual perception for months. I opened her eye.’ His father observed his son closely.

‘Well maybe I am wrong. I am only a simple electrician, a man of faith. I have no medical standing.’ I looked closely at my patient. I spoke again. ‘NO! I see a difference. It is more than the eye. Your grandmother is a special lady. She is happy.’ I stared at my patient, there was something there, her presence pronouncing delight, an elation to be with her son and grandson.

Her son found comfort in what I said. ‘Your words are pleasing.’

Her grandson stared hard at me, void of emotion, intelligent, a young man of great abilities. Being the youngest in the group did not stop him from patronizing me when he spoke, treating me like a child talking of Santa Claus: ‘We appreciate your effort. You are a good man. Thank you for giving your time to our loved one.’

Her son could not allow his son’s lack of hope to remain upon the moment. ‘You really see something.’ Her son implored me, to talk more, amazed I found a difference in her.

I looked to her son. ‘Yes I do’.

Reflecting back, I now wish I would have said, ‘Yes. It is obvious her faith, hope, and charity is on fire, ignited by the arrival of her son and grandson.’ It was. I know it. Her grandson’s doubt I did not want to directly confront. I felt it was not my position to impose my thoughts upon their final moments with their mother. I feared I had gone too far talking so assuredly of seeing a difference in her. I did see the difference. I excused myself, parting company with them, allowing them their final moments with their loved one in privacy and peace. I have made the conviction, I will return this morning, assuring the grandson I did see more, thanking him for the opportunity to share in his grandmother’s passing. I am convinced my patient will understand what I am doing.

The painting