A Prayer for James

If Nelson Mandella and Fred Astaire were blended together, you would have James.

He is tall and too thin but not in the least gawky or clumsy. He has a shy smile and the manners of a gentleman, courteous and well bred. His skin is richly chocolate and his hands are cared for with slender fingers and manicured nails, a pianist's hands, perhaps, or an artist's. He dresses in cardigan sweaters and tailored trousers, not new but clean and pressed, well maintained. It pains him deeply to have to ask for leniency on his bill - when he is able to pay he writes his checks in advance so as not to make me wait. There is a sweetness in this man that captures all our hearts. He is alone, no children to help out, just one beleaguered sister and one old friend from somewhere in Texas who alternately provide his transportation. He has taken the trouble to learn all our names, he is always on time, and he never breathes a word of complaint or discontent.

Waiting to be called, he sits patiently in the waiting room, hands resting lightly on the arms of his chair, eyes cast downward except to briefly smile at other arriving patients. His once chiseled face is remarkably unlined and caught unaware, you can see the young man he once was, young and good looking with lively eyes, eyes that still twinkle even in his late 70's. He doesn't look at his watch or fidget, doesn't sigh or get restless. He simply waits, calmly and peacefully, surrounded by an aura of near serenity. He gives no sign of being what is medically termed a "non compliant" patient but during his early treatment, he did not follow the doctor's orders to rest and stay off his feet, wanting to make the most of every bit of time he has left. A sore led to an abscess, an abscess to an ulcer, an ulcer to gangrene and finally to amputation of two toes. And the poison continues to spread, his foot and possibly even his leg are at risk. It was this news that finally broke his reserve and his spirit - he sat in the waiting room, now confined to a wheel chair, hid his face with his hands and began to weep. It broke our hearts.

We gathered around him, feeling helpless as we offered hollow comfort and encouraging but empty words. One of the nurses held his trembling hands while the other put an arm around his shaking shoulders. It was an unguarded moment and in it we saw his vulnerable side - lonely, sick, in pain, very frightened and ashamed of making a scene. God will get you through this, one of the nurses told him gently, You can't give up. The other hugged him and nodded, Have faith, she said softly. He looked up, tears streaking his cheeks and gave us a faltering smile.
One day at a time, James, I told him, fighting back my own tears, It's going to be allright. This didn't feel true but I badly wanted it to be, and as we watched him being loaded into the ambulance for the hospital, I think we all said a prayer for him - for strength, endurance, hope, and healing.

It's a good prayer for us all.