I once shaved a dead man...
Due to popular demand here goes it:
His name was Ingvar. He used to be a boxer in Iceland and spent the last two years of his life in an old-people home under my specific care.
From my first day there he was: my chosen one. There is always that special person you immediately make a connection with and he was it. For an obvious reason. He liked me very much and whenever anyone crossed me at work in an unpolite way, Ingvar would raise his hands into boxing position and dare the offender to be nasty to me again.
He was so serious and looked so determined...would it not have been for the wheelchair he was in. Yes, his fists worked fine,his heart was in the right place, but his feet were old. And eventhough he had Alzheimer, his face lit up everytime I entered the ward.
Noone was messing with him and noone crossed me. It was a pact!
But as life went on, Ingvar became less and less strong, but being a boxer for most of his life he really fought for a long time and put up a brave fight.
On the day he passed I was called and told that he had moved on and if I would like to say goodbye. I was there in a heartbeat...
It was very tough. He was the first dead person that I have ever seen, just lying there, not breathing.
There he lay and his relatives were about to come when I noticed that the previous shift forgot to shave him. Ingvar never left his room without one. My supervisor asked me if I could do it. I was all cool and said yes, but inside I felt really frightened ... would I be able to touch him.
I locked the door, got out his shaving gear I had used so many times before and started gently to clean his face. It was a good shave, no cut, very smooth ...and all of the sudden the tears just started to run down...I guess I realized that it was the last time I´d move that razor around his face.
I kissed him on the foreheaad, thanked him for making each workday more pleasurable and for being a good friend.
When I went outside, I silently asked him for a sign, just something that would let me know he is alright. I guess it is very hard to stop caring. Smiling slightly at my own silliness, it started to snow...the first snow that year. Gently. For only a few minutes...I took it as my sign and went happily home.
I am looking forward to the very first snow each year now, it is like a greeting card from the past.
This was the story of how I once shaved a dead man!
Due to popular demand here goes it:
His name was Ingvar. He used to be a boxer in Iceland and spent the last two years of his life in an old-people home under my specific care.
From my first day there he was: my chosen one. There is always that special person you immediately make a connection with and he was it. For an obvious reason. He liked me very much and whenever anyone crossed me at work in an unpolite way, Ingvar would raise his hands into boxing position and dare the offender to be nasty to me again.
He was so serious and looked so determined...would it not have been for the wheelchair he was in. Yes, his fists worked fine,his heart was in the right place, but his feet were old. And eventhough he had Alzheimer, his face lit up everytime I entered the ward.
Noone was messing with him and noone crossed me. It was a pact!
But as life went on, Ingvar became less and less strong, but being a boxer for most of his life he really fought for a long time and put up a brave fight.
On the day he passed I was called and told that he had moved on and if I would like to say goodbye. I was there in a heartbeat...
It was very tough. He was the first dead person that I have ever seen, just lying there, not breathing.
There he lay and his relatives were about to come when I noticed that the previous shift forgot to shave him. Ingvar never left his room without one. My supervisor asked me if I could do it. I was all cool and said yes, but inside I felt really frightened ... would I be able to touch him.
I locked the door, got out his shaving gear I had used so many times before and started gently to clean his face. It was a good shave, no cut, very smooth ...and all of the sudden the tears just started to run down...I guess I realized that it was the last time I´d move that razor around his face.
I kissed him on the foreheaad, thanked him for making each workday more pleasurable and for being a good friend.
When I went outside, I silently asked him for a sign, just something that would let me know he is alright. I guess it is very hard to stop caring. Smiling slightly at my own silliness, it started to snow...the first snow that year. Gently. For only a few minutes...I took it as my sign and went happily home.
I am looking forward to the very first snow each year now, it is like a greeting card from the past.
This was the story of how I once shaved a dead man!
19 Comments:
Nice story honey.
Spectacular story. And perfectly told.
I remember you telling me this story... I can't quite imagine doing it myself! I'm sure he went to heaven looking perfect for St.Peter at the pearly gates! :-)
Yes, he was very special to me and I have never bestowed that honour of this specific shaving on anyone else! It was only once and for him alone.
That was such an interesting story. Woof!
The only insignificant thing about my life that I can think of is how I got my name, Icy. We had an ice storm and my parents were in the backyard and had sex. They became hung up as dogs normally do, but the neighbor got upset and thought my parents had froze together in that position from the ice storm. So when I was born, my Masters named me Icy. Woof!
Ok, Icy! I always thought it is because you are so white! But a good choice for a name. You could have been called Frosty the Dog, or
Snowy or something. I like Icy the best!
Hi Monika. Here via TLP.
I've never looked forward to snowfall, but I can see how you would. Great story.
(P.S. Where I live, there's no such thing as snow. Which, btw, is why I live here.)
Hi Fred and welcome here. I already feel like I know you from the Pezes blogs and Doug´s!
Florida, ey? I could not imagine winter, or Cristmas for that matter, without snow. There is somethign so special when the earth is covered in a white canvas and you are a little chilly and have some hot chocolate, candle light... It truly is a magical time.
Come to think of it, it shouldn´t be long now for the first snow to arrive, we already have frost :)
I grew up in southern California, without snow, until we moved to Pennsylvania. Kids used to ask how we could have had Christmas without snow!
And a wonderful post ~ thanks for sharing it with us. Brought tears to my eyes.
I'm usually golfing over the holidays. Take that!
3D, congrats on your twins ;)
Fred: Take That, British boyband of the 90ies?!
Take This: I go warmly dressed outside. I throw myself in the snow and make a snow angel. My cheeks are red. It is windstill, I hear a small noise of branches breaking.
People pass me by smiling. I meet a friend down the street. A snowball fight erupts. I win(hey it is my imagination!). I get home after a long walk, slightly chilly. At home I make myself a hot chocolate and sit in my favourite chair, looking outside the window and see all those outside Christmas lights refelcting themselves in the snow.
Yes, Monika, that's a great story.
Quick Pez-poll (and Icy) who would like to hear that story in a German accent?
Doug, I think I will have to dissapoint you. I do not have a very strong accent, but a rather refined British RP variety of an accent :)
At least I like to think so!
We're American. You can tell us you're Irish in Portuguese.
We're American. You can tell us you're Irish in Portuguese.
I know you are American, I heard your Wednesday stories:) Now there is an accent if ever I heard one.
I beg your pardon! I don't have an accent!
No, youa re all American, my friend.
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