The average number of days in a grace period.
It was also the number of days I knew Rose Alma.
I wouldn’t have thought that was long enough to get so tangled up in someone else’s thread but I met Rosie on the third day of June. Fifteen days later, I mourned her.
I hadn’t even “met” her if you want to get technical. I heard a little of Rose Alma’s story from Jen Pastiloff who had blogged about visiting her in Atlanta, where Rose was hospitalized. Rose had asked Jen to visit her and Jen had gone. Jen had never met her either.
I couldn’t explain how a perfect stranger compelled me to reach out, except that Rose was one of those people whose light could bounce off anything like a mirror in the sun. It’s hard not to want to get close to light like that; it makes everything bright enough to see clearly where there was only darkness before. And Rose reminded me of things I had lost: most recently my nursing job. Thirty years ago, my friend, Lisa Rose.
I felt inexplicably drawn to send Rose a message on Facebook that Monday in June. She was asking all her friends to do random acts of kindness every day of June until her birthday, coming up on June 25th. She would have been 26.
I messaged Rosie telling her how much her story had inspired me and that I gone to nursing school at Emory where she was a patient after a double-lung transplant. I lamented about how I missed taking care of patients since my back injury, joking that for now I would have to be a nurse “for the soul”. I told her about my childhood friend, Lisa Rose who also had Cystic Fibrosis that had died when we were only 10. Continue reading “Invisible Strings”