I am so happy to be going home. You know when it’s time. The antsiness, feeling the push to get on with things. Dr Moreland and all the nurses have been wonderful but I’d had enough bed pans and being wakened at 3am to have my vital signs taken–especially when I knew my vitals were full of vitality.
I’ve been thinking about my history with St John’s Hospital in Santa Monica: I had my tonsils out there when I was 6 years old. My maternal grandmother, Sophie Seymour, died there at 95 years old. It was the perfect way to go. She looked up at me and said, “I’m tired and I’m ready.” She’d had a hard life, losing both her daughters too soon (it’s always too soon if the child dies before the parent). Later, Gene Hayden, my mother-in-law, died in St. John’s. 3 years ago Dr Moreland replaced my hip there. Yep, I’ve had history with that hospital. Several of the Catholic sisters came to say hello and goodbye. One, in particular, was very funny. She said she liked my politics, what I stand for, so she’d forgive me for being skinny.
When he came to say goodbye this morning, Dr Moreland said that I seemed different, lighter, than when he’d done my hip. I feel that way but didn’t think it was apparent to someone who doesn’t know we well. Lighter, to me, means happier, carrying less of a burden. Some of this has to do with feeling more confidence that I can find work. The possibility of doing theatre has opened up for me now and theatre offers more interesting possibilities for an older actor.
Some of the lightness has to do with love. I feel much more surrounded by love than I did three years ago. I don’t know which comes first, the lightness or the love. Maybe it has to do with age, too. It’s very common for older people to feel more positive about things. They see commonalities more than differences. I do. They don’t sweat the small stuff.
That’s about all the abstract musings I can muster on this day of going home.
See you next time.