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| Bruce Burtenshaw, M.D. |
He leaned over our mother's bed, his stethoscope pressed gently against her skin. He lifted his eyes to ours as we stood there around her bed, our hearts aligning with the rhythm of the oxygen machine pumping away in her bedroom. He spoke with the matter-of-fact tone that we have come to trust. "You are doing everything you should do. She's in good hands." We took his hands in ours, holding that extra portion of time that means "I love you", then Libby showed him to the front door, thanking him for coming again. Few people these days have doctors who are willing to make house calls. Bruce is an exception to many rules. Years ago he earned our confidence as a doctor. Before he was our doctor though, he was our friend and neighbor. He holds a permanent place in our hearts, not only for the loving care he gave our mother, but for the care he gave each of us. When he took our mother on as a patient, he didn't know what he was getting himself into! We are a family of loving co-dependants: All for one and one for all. He got all of us for patients, including my brothers who live counties and states away.
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| Bruce and Kathleen |
Today I visited him in his office for the last time. Tomorrow he will retire. And in just over a month he and his wife Kathleen will leave to serve a mission for our church. He'll put his medical expertise to use in California. If you have a missionary heading to southern CA in the next year, you won't have to worry about their medical care. On the other hand, there are a bunch of us in the Hansen clan who are in a bit of a panic over losing our doc!
Bruce has been through a lot with us. For me personally, he has been there through many of my most dramatic human trials. There is a sacred bond that comes with the overseer of one's struggles. He asked today how my legs were feeling. He understands that my sorry neuro-pathetic appendages have a personality of their own. He understands what I mean when I say I wish I could just take my legs off for a couple hours. But the true believer in him also understands when I say I am grateful to have legs, even if they hurt.
I mentioned to Bruce today that this is quite a convergence of pivotal events in his life: he is retiring after decades of service, he is leaving their lovely home for 18 months to live in a small apartment in California. He and Kathleen will be together 24/7, which has got to be an adjustment, regardless of how much you love your spouse! Their youngest child is expecting his first child a week after they leave for their mission. And to top it off, Kathleen's mother passed away last week. This is only the stuff I know about.
My husband, sisters and a friend drove down to Pleasant Grove Saturday to pay our respects and attend the funeral for Kathleen's mom. Attending funerals generally trumps all events for me. It is one of the last tokens of respect we give people in their earthly voyage. We wove our way through the old pioneer houses tucked between new housing developments, past what used to be the Fugal plantation once covered with grazing sheep, to the church where Venice Fugal's large posterity had gathered to lay her body to rest. Her nine children had all born children, who also bore children, so that by the time her body had filled the measure of its creation, the whole chapel was filled with Fugal's. Bruce and his son-in-law sang a beautiful song, and Kathleen and her sisters painted a picture of the woman we had only known through the reflection in her daughter, whom we love. We sat there in the back, behind that massive convergence of lives, and I pondered what diverse goodness had come, relatively quickly, from one good woman. I mentioned to Bruce today how sweet it was that Venice's grandson had just last week been set apart as bishop of her home ward, and was therefore conducting the funeral. Bruce agreed, telling me that hers was his nephew's first funeral as a bishop, and that hers was also the last death certificate Bruce ever signed. Divinely orchestrated convergence. This must have been some powerful woman!
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| The Fugal clan |
Our family holds what I call appropriate reverence for Dr. Burtenshaw. His name appears on our mother's death certificate. He has been a good caregiver to all of us. And a good friend.
The picture I hold most dear is that blessed Sabbath day when our large family had gathered around our mother's bed, our guitars and our little ones pressed close to our hearts, watching our mother's chest rise and fall in shallow spurts. We comforted each other with song. The young Priests and their leaders had come to offer the sacrament. Bruce, as Priests Quorum advisor, led the young men down the familiar path to our Mom's bedside. Two beautiful teenage boys knelt at the hope chest at the foot of her bed, blessing broken bread and water. The silence and the holiness of that space remains most sacred to us. Bruce stood outside our mother's door, his head bowed, his hands folded across his chest. There and then I thanked the Lord for the divine convergence of the Burtenshaw house,our house, and my sister's house, all situated on this little dot on His great earth at the same time.
I am repeatedly reminded that what may appear to be coincidence is more likely divinely orchestrated convergence. Our lives criss-cross in our separate paths, so often and so beautifully that in the end we become bound together inseparably; threads in our Father's holy fabric.
