Love You to the Moon and Back

A Real Life Story by Glenn Hansen

Dedicated to Sweet Judith, wherever you are in God’s universe.

CHAPTER 1

“Love you to the moon and back!” It was Judy’s absolutely favourite saying. Her wonderful heart willingly shared it with everyone she was really close to, including me. I felt fortunate to be a close enough friend to be a recipient of this caring affection repeatedly and gladly reciprocated so many, many times.

Death. It becomes us all in the end. But, this story is about life, the fight for it, and a celebration of sorts. On a particularly pleasant, sunny spring morning, with a faint fog lingering in the air, I was walking to Riverview Healthcare Centre again to visit my friend Judy. I parked for free on a side street with a two hour time limit. As I went to the centre often, constantly spending my limited resources on the paid parking lot right next to the centre was not a viable option. And, I didn’t have to be a marathoner to do the trek, which was actually good for me.

This is a unique, very special healthcare facility that offers expert, tender loving care to those battling critical illnesses. My visits were bittersweet. I loved to visit my friend and the incredible people who were caring for her. They repeatedly reinforced my hope in humanity in the increasingly toxic world I was trying to peacefully co-exist in. I also knew that with every visit, it was potentially one visit closer to the last one.

I’ve been around on this planet for awhile now. “I’ve seen good times, I’ve seen bad, guess I’ve seen it all,” to quote lyrics from a song I had written some years ago in my naive younger years. Not true. I now realize life constantly challenges you with unexpected occurrences and events you could never have imagined. They’re not all bad ones either. Quite to the contrary, good things can happen too. And good things can emerge from the bad ones.    

From what I just stated, you may have discerned that I am a songwriter. It is one of my many endeavours over the years, a constant one from age eleven, when I first played in the junior high school band. In today’s streaming music world, it’s ridiculously hard to make money in music, period. Sure, I would like to have even some modest success, but, like any other person involved in music, it’s like sports; no matter how much money you make, or don’t make, you do it because you love to do it in spite of all the rigours and roadblocks. Yes, I have made a very small amount of money. Fortunately, I have other modest sources of income to keep me afloat.

So anyway, on this particularly pleasant spring morning, as I walked to the entrance of the Riverview Healthcare Centre, I passed by a number of windows at the facility and in one of them I noticed an older gentleman playing a large Roland keyboard. Roland, by the way, makes great keyboards. He was happily playing away. I could see this from the joy in his round face and by the movement of his body as he played. I estimated his age to be around sixty-four (thank you, Beatles). He was fair and smooth in complexion, had very thinning light hair with a few strands combed over the top, and wore glasses with medium redwood coloured frames. From the movement of his body, I could also ascertain he was playing the digital keyboard on a piano setting. I smiled to myself as I walked past him.

The large healthcare facility’s structure is a wonderful, welcoming building with smooth medium reddish brown bricking, soft beige grout and trim, and organic medium forest green structural features. There is green space everywhere. A large, beautiful treed park with winding walkways, benches and tables is perched in front. When the weather is nice, you can see numerous patients in wheelchairs accompanied by loved ones, family and friends, or hospital staff.

I have never seen so many wheelchairs like I have at this place. The patients in them vary in the movement they can achieve from fairly flexible to extremely limited. Many have oxygen tanks. As you cannot, of course, smoke inside the hospital, smokers go to certain areas outside. It’s vital that the smokers and non-smokers, especially those with breathing difficulties and oxygen tanks, never get near each other. While you may think there should be no smoking anywhere, you have to appreciate that all of these people are at various stages of critical illness. Days can be very long for them, so for smokers, it’s a welcome diversion. Granted, it’s not a good diversion, but, they are in difficult situations, so I have empathy for them. They are usually life-long smokers. Please be assured though there are rules. You have to be a minimum distance away from the building and smokers and non-smokers must and do stay apart. Everyone cooperates.

As you approach the main entrance, there is a circular driveway for picking up and dropping off. You often see ambulance and stretcher vehicles there. The pleasant security staff keeps things moving. Ambulances and stretcher vehicles have priority over private vehicles.

I then walk in through two sets of very wide, automatic sliding doors. The foyer between them is roomy. The pay station for the aforementioned parking lot is here and there is seating for people. There is a hand sanitizing machine, the first of many you will encounter in the facility, and I mean many. When you do get through the second set of doors, there is an open, bright table area awaiting you with security staff. These are some of the most pleasant and capable security people you will ever encounter. Another sanitizing machine is there.

Behind is a huge, bright and welcoming common room. I am going to the right to the west wing. The walk there is along a long, curved hallway that is warm looking and conducive to a positive atmosphere. Next thing I know, I’m at the large, special elevators which are designed to accommodate wheelchairs. No surprise there.

From the elevators I go left and left again and I’m at my friend’s ward. The atmosphere is relaxed given the nature of the patients, but the expertise and warmth of the various personal exudes everywhere. If I should find myself in a critical illness situation, (hopefully not, of course), this is where I would want to be.

And now, I’m at the wide doorway to my friend’s room.