Stories

Penny’s From Heaven, Stories of Healing
Author, Patsy Swendson
Langmarc Publishing 2006

FIRST STEPS

Sometimes, things just happen when you least expect them. Sometimes, you try and try to do something, to force a result, and then I guess, not so surprisingly, when you let go, and let a higher power take over, it actually happens. Such was the case with Jim.

Penny had been visiting him for many, many months. Jim was paralyzed from the neck down. Each week, both he and Penny looked forward to the sweetness of her big golden head in his lap. And, each time she was greeted with enthusiasm, optimism, and a big smile. I would take his hand and wrap my fingers around the top of his hand. By placing both of our hands on Penny’s head, and moving them back and forth, he was able to feel her softness, and let her know that she was appreciated and loved for her visits. Each time he guaranteed us that “one day” he would be able to scratch her head by himself.

After getting permission to photograph Jim, I sat Penny by his side and told her to “stay”. As his therapist was busily adjusting the braces on Jim’s legs, it was obvious that Jim was totally absorbed in Penny and the process of getting their picture taken together. I backed up to focus the camera, and when I looked through the lens, I noticed Jim’s hand was on top of Penny’s head. I questioned this in my mind and assumed the therapist had placed it there, so I said nothing. Then, totally astonished, the therapist asked Jim if he had moved his arm from and placed his hand on Penny’s head. He responded with resolute calmness, “I guess I did.”

THE SURVIVORS

Penny seemed to sense the excitement as we entered the rehabilitation gym. She had missed participating the past two weeks, due to a surgical procedure and her subsequent recovery period. Now she was “ready.” You see, Penny herself is a cancer survivor! The staff knew firsthand what she had faced and was facing, but the only thing on Penny’s mind was saying “Hi” to each and everyone of her friends.

The patients, (about 60 in number), were also beaming as we entered the room to extended hands and non-verbal expressions of smiles, points, eye contact, head nods and gestures. All of these were truly small miracles from courageous survivors.

As I glanced around the room, I noticed Michael, a very special 20 year old we had been visiting weekly. For the first time, Michael was following Penny with his eyes. Prior to this he simply stared speechless into space. But on this ordinary day, this glorious ordinary day, Penny walked up to his wheelchair and nudged his arm with her head. And, seemingly effortlessly, he raised his arm and reached to pet her. I was carrying her brush, and without saying a word, I handed it to him. He took it in his hand and softly brushed Penny’s head and neck. As he did so, I knew that nothing would ever be the same for Michael.

With his therapist at my side, I sat silently as Michael and Penny shared something very special. I wondered if they knew what survivors they both were. I hugged Michael and told him how very excited we were about his improvement. I explained that Penny had others to visit, and that we would see him the next week.

Michael looked into Penny’s shining eyes and said, “Bye, bye Penny.” He had not spoken since entering the hospital.

THE TOOL BOX

For just a little over a year, a very special and precocious two-year-old Imperial Shitzu named Sophie had been working as Penny’s partner at the rehab hospital. Seventy-eight-pound Penny and six-pound Sophie drew quite a crowd, simply walking down the long halls at the hospital. They were quite a team. Sophie, mesmerizing everyone she met, was truly a confident and adorable showstopper.

On this ordinary, and yet extraordinary day, we had just about completed our rounds in the rehab gym, and were getting ready to leave, when our attention was diverted to Joe in his wheelchair. As he glanced at the dogs, we couldn’t help but notice that he was a robust, heavily tattooed, strong, muscular and seemingly isolated man who would be giving away his true self, if he showed the slightest bit of interest in these comforting, unique therapists.

But something told me he needed them. As we approached him, the dynamics in the room dramatically changed. Joe softened. His eyes never left Sophie. Sophie’s “mom,” Judi, astutely asked if he would like to hold Sophie. He simply nodded okay. Little Sophie happily stood on his lap balanced on her tiny little back legs, wagging her tail and gently licking his face and “giving kisses.”

What happened next was a true awakening. Quite suddenly, Joe’s deep hunger for release came in an instant. His face contorted. His eyes filled with tears, and he began sobbing uncontrollably. He tried to apologize. He was a man, and men don’t cry. But he soon reached a point where he couldn’t apologize, for his tears were honest and necessary. They were releasing the pain he had stored up and ignored for so long.

I asked the nurse if he were okay. She simply shook her head that he was.

Judi, Penny and I backed away, allowing Joe this unique medicine that he so desperately needed, this time alone, silently and unashamedly crying into this tiny six-pound furry miracle worker.

None of us wanted to remove Sophie from his lap, but it had been a long day and little Sophie was emotionally tired. She needed a rest, as did Joe. I mentioned to Judi that perhaps Joe would like a photograph of Sophie for his room. Judi handed him one and through his tears, Joe revealed the true depth of his feelings for Sophie. He told Sophie that when he went back to work, he would put her picture on the inside lid of his toolbox where he could see her all the time.

Sometime we need strength and support to get to the truth. Sometimes this comes in a very different sort of package.

Joe would be okay!

"There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face."
  -Ben Williams

ONE TOUCH

Penny and I had no sooner entered the hospital than we were immediately intercepted. A nurse told us that she had a patient who had cried out all night for her dog and had not slept at all.

We went directly to her room. Elaine, battling cancer, was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. I walked up to her and told her I understood she had been asking for her dog, and that I had a special visitor for her.

Penny approached her and laid her head on the edge of the bed. Elaine was very weak, so I asked if I could put her hand on Penny’s head. She simply nodded that it was okay.

Her fingers moved quietly and calmly, caressing Penny, but I knew in her heart and mind she was petting her own dog.

Within a matter of moments, Elaine soon fell into a peaceful, restful sleep, with her hand still on Penny’s head.

Sometimes things just can’t be questioned.

My little old dog: A heartbeat at my feet.
  -Edith Wharton