It’s been almost three years now since I first stumbled into Victory Lutheran Church.
Wayne, when I first met you, I must admit, your group frightened me a bit. I wasn’t used to being around folks with Alzheimer’s and Dementia, and a variety of brain injuries. So initially, you all seemed like an odd bunch of coconuts to me!
And yet between your daily wheelchair laps around the church sanctuary and stopping in the office to give me the daily news, it was immediately clear we were going to be buddies. You showed me the church garden and gave me tips on growing everything from cucumbers to upside down tomatoes.
My daughter Katie would come by and steal cherry tomatoes from your plants, but when I let you know, you were happy she did that. You became our baby tomato hook up.
I would peer out my 2nd story office window and see you working tirelessly with your one strong arm, from painting to watering the garden to weeding. One hot July day I brought you a glass of Gatorade, and you were upset it was Gatorade! I told you it was good for you and you grumbled a little but eventually I got a cute little smile and a twinkle of those big blue eyes.
When I first started working at Victory, and found out you had a green thumb, I snuck a dying plant down to you, put it in with YOUR plants, and wrote a note saying, “Hi Wayne, please take care of me.” And you did. Thank you for doing that.
Because of you I also tried kale for the first time. It was fresh from the garden, and I LOVED it. Payback soon followed, however, as Pastor and I made you try sauerkraut. NO ONE lives as long as you and completely escapes sauerkraut!!! And as he and I bickered about who was gonna make you try it, we heard you say, “hey, this is pretty good!” (See what you missed all these years?)
The day came when I left that job. No one has ever given me a gift so lovely as your gift of vegetables from the garden. Gold or silver couldn’t have had more value than that precious gift from your heart. And when you came and said goodbye to me, and said “don’t be a stranger” with big teary blue eyes, I kissed your cheek and watched you roll away in your wheelchair.
I closed the door to my office and cried for ten minutes.
These days, I drive to my new office, in a tomato red car that I named Wayne in honor of my heart-adopted Grandpa. I heard you passed away on Sunday.
I long to hear the piano music play again, and see my beloved friends walk (or roll) around the sanctuary and sing.
Wayne, I miss you.
“Home free, eventually
at the ultimate healing
we will be home free”
W. Watson
