Beadmaker’s legacy of love came full circle

In 1996, my first patient as a spiritual care volunteer at Providence was Chris, a 30-something beadmaker/artisan from Girdwood.

I, eventually, prayed and visited with hundreds of patients on all five floors over 10 years. My first visit with Chris revealed a room void of any indications of family or friends (flowers, cards, etc.). As I entered the room, Chris was on her back with her knees drawn up under the sheet. Her eyes were closed with moisture around the edges. I walked up to her bedside and said, “Chris, I’m Paul from Spiritual Care. Would you like to pray?”

Chris moved her head down slightly and only once … a weak nod. I asked her how she was feeling. She was unresponsive. Chris experienced HIV/AIDS and was medicated to help manage the pain. I noticed her right hand was slightly cupped with her palm facing down on the meal tray. I invited Chris to follow along with me as I prayed the “Our Father.”

As I finished saying the prayer (“… now and forever, Amen.”) Chris slid her cupped palm across the meal tray, then lifted her hand revealing a small bead set consisting of 10 beads, with an 11th separated by a space from the 10 in a row. It looked like a miniature Rosary.

Tears were streaming down from Chris’ closed eyes. I asked he if she wanted me to have the bead set; an affirmation of sorts. She nodded twice with more vigor than the early single nod. I placed my left hand over the top of her still cupped, now resting, right hand and slid my right hand under her palm sandwiching her now warm hand between both of mine and said, “God bless you, Chris. Keep the faith. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek from her left eye.

The next day I arrived at Chris’ room for a visit and two nurses aids were making her bed with fresh sheets. Chris had passed-away. I still carry her gift and continued to do so when visiting patients and families for the next 10 years — a reminder of “being kind and loving … in the moment.”

This summer I worked in Palmer at a camp with youth who experience and have overcome profound challenges. One lunchtime, as staff and youth shared a meal, staff decided to talk about their individual experiences in human service activities. Through storytelling, we were illustrating ways in which we give back to the community, as examples and for consideration by the youth we served — getting “out of yourself,” if you will. I was the last of three staff to share, talking through lots of chatter; a difficult environment in which to hear and comprehend. I shared my story of “Chris the Beadmaker” from Girdwood and how Chris influenced my life with her life story and her gift of beads.

We then invited the youth to share their stories. The last camper to share told us about a gal who he and his mom met when he was very young. He said he loved it when his mom took him to see this gal, who worked in a shop and made things with beads because she got so excited about him visiting and would give him a gift each time. He said he’d stuff shirt and pant pockets with beads he’d gather over time and, then, go see this gal with his mom. The shop gal encouraged him to keep coming back.

When telling the story to all 12 of us at lunch, the young man’s face became animated with eyes wide open and alert. He said he and his mom visited many times. Then, one day, they visited and the other women in the shop said that “his gal” had moved. He and his mom continued to visit, and he’d continue to inquire about “his gal,” reminded each time that she’d moved away and wouldn’t be back. Shortly after each visit and inquiry the women at the shop would send a card thanking him for visiting the shop and for continuing to bring beads.

As chills ran up my back at story’s end, I asked him if “his gal” used to work in Girdwood and he immediately said, “Yes!”

Chris gave the young man and I, both, her “legacy of love.”

Paul Maguire of Palmer works for the Center for Creating Peaceful Neighborhoods.