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Today, 19th November, 2013, would have been Norma's 80th birthday. She is sadly missed by her family and her friends.
WHITE ROBED ANGEL
The patients knew she was an angel – that white robed figure who slowly and
silently moved through the dim night hours in Ward Eight of Huddersfield Royal
Infirmary. Some people do not believe in angels, and I understand why they do
not. But I do!
Angels come in all
shapes and sizes. Their existence does not depend on whether people do or do
not believe in them. Most think of angels as diaphanous spirits floating down
from heaven to minister to people in times of need, before returning to ethereal
realms. This angel was not visiting from heaven. She was an earthling, who did
not know it, but was on her way to paradise.
The angel’s name
was Norma. We had been married for almost thirteen years when she became ill.
Initially it seemed nothing more serious than a sore throat. She took a
turn for the worse, becoming hoarse, tired, and weak. I drove her to the
hospital, insisting that a doctor examine her. The doctor ordered tests and
x-rays.
The test results
and x-rays came back. The young physician was taciturn, avoiding my gaze. “I
think we’ll keep her in,” he said. “We need to do further tests.” I wheeled
her into the reception ward, hugged her long and hard, and left for home to get
the things she needed for a stay in hospital. When I returned with her
necessities, she was in bed in Ward 8.
She was gratified
that something was being done and after some rest, she was more like the happy,
laughing woman everyone knew. I spent each day with her and she had many
visitors. Friends and neighbours flocked to see her, bringing her flowers,
fruit, chocolates, and the mandatory energy drinks.
Her happiest day
was the Sunday that three of her four surviving children visited. They spent
the day talking, remembering, and laughing. She loved to laugh, but her
greatest attribute was her impulse to loving service. Although now enfeebled by
disease, she obeyed the divine impulse to serve others, shuffling painfully
through the ward, seeing to the needs of others.
A young girl,
struggling to come to terms with life, lay listless and morbid. Tattooed,
pierced, her arms bearing the scars of frequent self-mutilation, ostracised by
her fellow-patients, brooding, and depressed. Norma encouraged her to think
positively about herself and the possibilities of her life.
In the bed across
from Norma was an old lady. Everything she ate came back. Norma soothed and
comforted, encouraging her to take a little nourishment to get strong enough to
fight the illness that was sapping her vitality.
One elderly Indian
woman spoke little English. She had many visitors at one particular time of
each day, but for long periods after that, she was alone and unable to join in
conversations. Norma, who spoke no Urdu or Gujerati, sat on her bed and
painstakingly made contact. She understood how important it was for people to
have human company if they were going to feel good about themselves.
Many others,
scattered throughout the large ward, were grateful recipients of Norma’s
ministration. She was often up in the night, comforting those who were feeling
lost, or lonely, or who were anxious, or unable to sleep. It was not easy for
her to move around, because her illness sapped her strength, and made walking
difficult. However, it did not stop her from visiting and helping. The nurses
and doctors praised her enterprise, appreciating the value of spiritual support
in healing.
In the next bed to Norma's was a woman in her thirties. It was she, more than any other, that attracted
Norma’s most profound compassion. She was a tender little thing who apologised
every time she opened her mouth. She was so anxiety laden that it was painful
to hear her. If she dropped a crumb onto the bed covers, she apologised profusely,
and looked as though she feared an ogre was going to punish her. She repeatedly complained that
she was being a nuisance, and that she caused trouble for the
staff.
One night, she
called for a commode. After using it, she began to cry that she was sorry, that
she was sure she had made a mess. Would they forgive her? Norma assured her
that everything was all right. She spoke softly and encouragingly. The woman
came and sat on the edge of Norma’s bed. Norma took her hands in her own,
looked her in the eye and spoke softly but directly. “You have a Father in
Heaven who loves you.” These were the last words she heard. She smiled, the
only time Norma had seen her smile, then died on Norma's bed. How fitting it
was that the last words she heard in mortality were words of love, assurance,
and hope.
The White Robed
Angel had performed her ministry. Three weeks later, she was herself called
home to her reward where she continues to minister to and teach fragile souls
that have not yet learned that in spite of all the disappointments and anxieties
of life, they have a Father in Heaven, and that He loves them beyond all
comparison.
Copyright © 2013- Ronnie Bray - privileged to have been her husband for 13 years and for eternity
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