The purpose of my blog...

   "I see dead people." This is what my coworker told me one night, and I'm forever grateful that she did.

   It occurred many years ago when I was a hospital nurses' aid working the graveyard shift (7pm-7am). I'd go to work, shower, then go to class.  Til today I don't know how I survived. (I wouldn't recommend it).  Besides the off the wall schedule, which led to chronically sleep deprived employees, nightshift is different in another way.  Nightshift workers bare their souls.  I always believed that the stillness of night coupled with the ridiculous amount of time to kill lent itself to this peculiarity.  We shared our beliefs, our dreams, our secrets, and our fears.  When we exhausted our own life stories, we'd divulge those of our family and friends. 

   I was the "baby" of my coworkers, the youngest by about ten years.  During those nightly group discussions, my prime responsibility was to listen.  "Listen and learn, small fry", was the constant command directed towards me.  Everyone has stories and life lessons they yearn to pass on, if only they had an audience.  Being the youngest, I had on choice but to serve as that captive audience.

   On one such night my coworker, Ange & I were sent to work on th psych ward.  I remember never being able to tell Ange's age.  She had a hard face that hinted to an even harder life.  Past the exterior, Ange was warm, fun loving and a bonafide movie buff.  Her philosophies and experiences were always filtered through her beloved movies.

  By about 3am, besides the constant low hum of patients whispering secrets to others who only existed in their minds, the psych ward was quiet.  So, as usual, we talked.  After exhausting a variety of topics, we spoke about life in general-what we thought about it, what we expect of it, how it treats us, how we treat it.  There was nothing unusual about our conversation.  Just the typical, sometimes profound sometimes silly exchanges of two drowsy coworkers.   This was until Ange looked at me with a sudden jolt of alertness and said, "You wanna know something? I see dead people."

   I laughed nervously while she continued to look at me intensely and seriously.  After quickly saying a private prayer I reminded her that 1. It was 3 o'clock in the morning 2. We were the only people with full mental capacity on the ward ( the nurse in the breakroom talking to herself did not count) 3. We were stuck on the secured (i.e. locked) psych ward.  This was not the time to share this little gem of information about herself.

Dorothy in the poppyfields

  Ange's stare turned from intense to disbelief.  "It's a good thing we're on the psych ward," she said between laughs, "'cause you need help!  I didn't mean like that!  I'm talkin' about people I see everyday sleepwalking through their own lives!  On the outside, sure they're alive with their cars and houses and big degrees.  But inside, where it counts, they're as dead as can be.  They had all these dreams and goals, but somewhere along the way, they got drowsy.  They couldn't remember their dreams if you asked them.  Just like Dorothy on her way to that Emerald City.  Girlfriend was almost there, then what happens?  She ends up in that poppyfield and that's all she wrote."  I wanted to mention that to my recollection that wasn't where the story ended, but something told me to keep my mouth shut.

   "I'm not the only person that sees dead people," Ange continued, "you see them, too." "Girl, we're surrounded by dead people.  It's a shame they see life as boring and ordinary, when in reality, life is extraordinary.  Promise me, small fry, promise me you won't end up like Dorothy.  Whatever you do, wherever you go, remember to stay awake.  While you've got life, small fry, don't forget to live."

   I promised.

   Years have passed since that night and I've learned many more life lessons.  Yet, it's Ange's lesson that sticks with me.  To an extent, it serves as a litmus test to how I'm treating my life.  The meaning of her words have expanded.  So far life has taught me that "staying awake"  means:

• Never living unconsciously
• Continuously opening myself up to discovery
• Realizing that it's not what I'm doing that's important.  It's what I'm being.
• Taking time to open my eyes. To see and experience what is around me and to react with more than just a customary nod.

   This is the reason for my blog.  To honor life, love and the memory on Ange.  The lady who inspired me to always find the extraordinary in the ordinary. ~Nika