the last puzzle piece.

July 18, 2011 in Uncategorized

iend Nina died a year ago today. To say "I miss her" does not suffice. She was one of the funniest people I have ever known–laconic, sardonic, dry–as well as one of the wisest, and one of the most ornery. I spent that weekend with her, unknowing, fearing, and yet walking toward her. When the nurses needed to be with her, I walked to the fancy lobby of the nursing home and took over a glass-topped desk with a jigsaw puzzle I found there.

I started it on Friday, the day my vigil began. By Sunday, it was nearly done. I found myself slowing down the pace, as if that would keep Nina alive, as if she would die if I finished it.

Then only one piece was yet to be placed. I held it, touching the edges, knowing it would fit if I placed it in the empty space, but unable to do so. I put it in my front right pocket, and touched it the rest of that day, until she died.

I left the puzzle out on that desk; the nurses all knew it was mine to finish, and so they left it. I carried on my life without Nina, except for the small cardboard puzzle piece in my pocket. For weeks we walked around together like that, me reaching into my pocket, feeling the edges.

As summer turned to fall, I went back to the nursing home and slipped the puzzle piece back into the box, to be solace to another holding vigil for a loved one.

Nina was not one to go gentle into that good night, but go she did. And part of me with her.

For what or for whom do you grieve?

About Patti Digh

Patti Digh is an author, speaker, and educator who builds learning communities and gets to the heart of difficult topics. Her work over the last three decades has focused on diversity, inclusion, social justice, and living and working mindfully. She has developed diversity strategies and educational programming for major nonprofit and corporate organizations and has been a featured speaker at many national and international conferences.

13 comments to " the last puzzle piece. "


jylene

July 18, 2011 AT 6:31AM

my friend Scott is quickly losing his own battle with ALS. we’ve just been told by his hospice nurse that the family should think about having christmas early this year. my friend Peggy, his wife, continues to care for him at home, mostly by herself and at the expense of her own health. they live 6 hours away from me, and i try to be there as much as i can, but it’s impossible for me to be there as much as i want to be. i’ve been thinking lately about how i can be there for them as the end comes nearer. they are heartbreaking thoughts.

Amy

July 18, 2011 AT 7:18AM

Love. Love. Love.

KimMailhot

July 18, 2011 AT 8:52AM

Soon after my Dad died, I remember pondering the question “How can somthing that hurts so very much have such beauty in it at the same time?” Some around me were not ready to see that beauty at all, some still aren’t after 15 years. But the beauty and the knowing that we are all part of something so much bigger than we even know, helped me come through. The pieces fell into place…
I love your writing, Patti, and I love you.

Joanna Paterson

July 18, 2011 AT 10:21AM

Oh Patti… much love x

Maureen

July 18, 2011 AT 10:57AM

Beautifully written post.

When my father died, the hospital staff gave me a brown paper bag that held his wallet, belt, watch, and t-shirt that still held his scent. My mother gave me the watch for my son. She did not know I kept the t-shirt, just as it was, for almost 20 years. When my brother died from cancer, I took the t-shirt off the shelf in a closet where I’d placed it and washed it. It was time to let it go.

_m_blanc

July 18, 2011 AT 12:10PM

I come to your site via the ever lovely Maureen Doallas via twitter. this puzzle piece weighs a ton in my palm as much as it floats feather light on memories of my own loss. It touches me at that unfathomable depth. Thank you for writing it.

Gwyn Michael

July 18, 2011 AT 4:59PM

You do well by Nina, then and now. We do lose a piece of ourselves when a loved one dies, but we gain pieces in other ways. Always arranging the pieces and trying to complete a puzzle with no end. This is life and it is beautiful.

XXOO

Gwyn Michael

July 18, 2011 AT 4:59PM

You do well by Nina, then and now. We do lose a piece of ourselves when a loved one dies, but we gain pieces in other ways. Always arranging the pieces and trying to complete a puzzle with no end. This is life and it is beautiful.

XXOO

Tiffany

July 18, 2011 AT 10:49PM

I lost a man who was like a second father to me 2 years ago to ALS. It is just the most heartbreaking disease. And I know just how hard the anniversary of the death is. I will be saying a prayer for you tonight.

~Tiffany
http://tiffanyd22.blogspot.com

Tess Giles Marshall

July 19, 2011 AT 4:40PM

This is so sad, and so beautiful.

kathleen

July 20, 2011 AT 4:25AM

Beautiful. Sending you love.

Esther

July 22, 2011 AT 4:41PM

Thank you Patti. When my sis was recuperating from cancer surgery, she was estranged from our parents, but she allowed that I could visit her. One of the ways we were able to talk was over the jigsaw puzzle we had with 1,000 pieces. We left it on her table, and we would sit working on it, first, silently, and then slowly, talking about things. I was there for one week before she dismissed me, but we could sit over the puzzle each day, talk a bit, work a bit, and talk a little bit more. The puzzle was almost a map for us, how to navigate a dysfunctional family. As the puzzle filled out, she would always tap the fitting puzzle piece into place twice. The ones that didn’t fit, no taps. The puzzle became the metaphor of our lives, slowly trying to make sense, to see the whole picture, finding our way through the 1,000 pieces. Some were easier to put together as some topics were easier to talk about. Others – no entry, ill-fitting and was so confusing. I will always remember this time we shared, and as her cancer returned to finally claim her, the puzzle stood in the middle. A space where everything was allowed and provided me an anchor through this time. I still miss my sister and will always miss her. I was grateful that we had the puzzle to work on together. Thank you for your remembrance of your dear friend.

Teri and the cats of Curlz and Swirlz

August 3, 2011 AT 9:22AM

How very lovely a memorial, the memories and the way our lives are such a puzzle at times. I smiled to know the piece returned to it’s box to help others navigate the world of loss.