Poet, philosopher, hospice patient, angel
I first met Evelyn Jane Warner in 2010 when I lived in Santa Fe, NM. I had contacted a local hospice to inquire about volunteer opportunities. Rose, the volunteer coordinator, asked if I would consider visiting Evelyn once a week. She was living with her daughter and son-in-law. Hospice and Evelyn’s family had decided she would be most comfortable at home in her own room, surrounded by her books and with Willy at her side. Willy was Evelyn’s huge poodle companion. A hospice nurse and doctor would make regular visits to check on Evelyn’s health and assess her needs.
I told Rose I would give it a try. So off I went for my first visit with Evelyn, not knowing what to expect. I arrived at the house, rang the bell, and heard a voice from inside saying the door was unlocked and to make my way to the back bedroom. Evelyn greeted me at her bedroom door. I expected to see a frail, elderly woman, but instead I met a robust, gracious, and lovely person with the most infectious smile. And thus began my year-long journey with Evelyn Jane Warner until she passed away—a year I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Each week Evelyn and I would sit together, share stories, and discuss our lives. I was most interested to learn about hers, but she was equally interested to learn about mine. Evelyn was a poet, and with her daughter’s help, she wrote several books about her life, hopes, fears, and her journey with cancer. The books were self-published, featuring photographs taken by her daughter, a professional photographer.
Our relationship was one of true mutuality. I’ll always remember the day I had to put down Henry, my 15-year-old dachshund. When I returned from the vet, I went straight to bed, utterly bereft. Some time passed and the phone rang. It was Evelyn checking on me. She asked if I could come over to her place. Even though I was grieving, I told her I would be there shortly. When I walked into her room, Evelyn had spread a blanket on the floor with some snacks and a box of tissues. We sat on the blanket together, held hands, and she said, “Tom, today is about you. So cry if you wish and share stories with me about Henry. I’m here for you.”
On one of my last visits with Evelyn, she wanted to take a walk around the property. Arm in arm, we walked with Willy trotting by our side. At some point that afternoon, Evelyn said, “Tom, when I pass away, I will be an angel on your shoulder.”
There may be random coincidences in life, but meeting Evelyn was not one of them. I believe we were meant to be a part of each other’s lives, and I know for sure I have an angel on my shoulder.
I want to share one of Evelyn’s reflections from her book, Journey with Purpose — Poems of Faith, Hope and Compassion:
“Why was I born in this land, a land of abundance and waste, free to suffocate myself in luxury? Why not born in some distant land, where children wear swollen bellies and sunken eyes covered in flies, suffering not even to wonder why? While my bed, forever dependable, perpetually there, always restful. Should I also sleep on the ground or in the street as countless others do? Why in this land and why me, no fear of hunger or pain. No explosions, fires, or bombs, just me and the burden of freedom.”
Evelyn’s grandfather was a Quaker. When she first told me about him, I knew very little of the Quaker movement. But now that I am a member of the Religious Society of Friends, I can see how deeply Evelyn’s life was influenced by her grandfather’s example and teachings. Evelyn was grounded in God, and she always led with love, compassion, and service to others. She thought deeply and cared deeply. How lucky I was to have known her.