A couple weeks ago I got a call from my love's family members telling me that their father would be needing a foot amputation. I had met all the sisters but hadn't met L's father yet. L's mother died when he was twenty-five. I caught glimpses of his father through stories, which sounded legendary and great, and I saw pictures of a beautiful cowboy/Navajo man with his beloved horses. I knew about how tough and hard this man was- rising before the sun and working in a way that most people can't fathom, myself included. I wanted to meet him, and I wanted to be with the family during this hard time, so I booked myself a ticket through Sky Shuttle after the sisters invited me and told me that the airport (where my bus drop off would be) was very close to the hospital.
I imagined I would be able to be there for the day and maybe see my love for a couple hours. I felt a pressing need to be with the father, though, and I'm still so thankful that I made the trip. One of the sisters picked me up early that Thursday morning, and after a brief stop for burritos, we went to the hospital and found our man. The sister was busy on the phone, so I went right to his side and he grabbed hold of my hand tight and firm and wouldn't let me go. I sat down beside him and started to cry a river of tears. I looked at this man and began to feel the enormity of what was happening to him. He was losing his foot, one that had traveled miles on horse, worked the land, and been strong and vital in so many ways. And I could see that this man had already been through so much. He didn't have his left arm because a bus ran over him, and he only had 30 percent vision in one eye. In the other eye, he was completely blind. I also knew he had dementia, but that morning, he was bright and talkative. He talked to me about his sheep, and how he missed his home up north on the Reservation. He told me, "home makes me feel good." He told me about how he loved his sisters and brothers, and how he loved his son.
He called me pretty, which touched my heart. And he had such a grateful heart. He kept saying how much he appreciated everyone's support and love. He told me, "You've got to keep pedaling. Gotta stay on the bicycle." Those simple words blessed me, and I keep them close to my heart still. I think to myself, just keep pedaling, just keep going. I thought that was brilliant advice. If you fall off the bicycle, get back up and keep on pedaling. Obviously, he was a man that had lived this advice. He had more than one serious injury with horses in his life, one involving a horse stomping his femur, but he kept on keeping on. Often, I was told, he was injured and no one ever found out until he had a life threating issue and the doctors would find other broken parts in his body.
He was elated when the sweet and glowing Chaplin came in with her rosaries for all of us and prayed over Leonard. She soothed his heart and all of ours too, and then she asked if she could give him a kiss. I decided to sing to him, even though I am not the best singer. I sang what I could remember, which isn't much, but I always can remember "Amazing Grace". Once I started singing Leonard lit up and began to sing along and before I knew it, he was singing back to me in his native Navajo tongue "Amazing Grace". It was beautiful. I wish I had had a tape recorder. Later one of the sisters gave me a phone and we sang along to "Love Lifted Me", "I Saw the Light", "Lord, I Hope this Day is Good". It was sweet to see the son and father bonding with song, with prayer. When the son raised his hands in prayer, the father wanted to do the same. He kept smiling at me through it all. One time, however, he told me that I was making him cry with my music... or maybe my singing?
Before I left I stopped by to say goodbye. One day visit had turned into a four day stay, and I had bonded with this dear and precious man. I went to kiss him and love on him, and I told him how I loved him. I told him in Navajo, and he said back to me in English, "I love you too" with a big smile. It melted my heart. There was such purity and love.
All of his children were present during his time in the hospital, watching over him and making sure that he was never alone. I could not help but think how fortunate he was to have such loving children that would sneak him bites of their burrito and give him a Sprite and make sure he was comfortable. It was touching to see, and I was thankful to be part of it. Some extended members stopped by as well as friends. Family members called on the phone to speak with him. Sometimes we forget, but I can't help but wonder if his surgery would have been as successful without all the love?
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