Gloria Hurtgen: The Wounded Fairy

When I first saw Gloria a little over a year ago I saw a wounded fairy: a small, petite older woman who had all the signs of having lived a hard life, yet still loving others abundantly. Hardship had not handicapped her kind and generous spirit.

Though she had a trachea, her smile radiated warmness and that's all one could see or hear. Her last name only further validated my initial perception of her Gloria Hurtgen ... Though I'm not sure of the actual meaning of Hurtgen, it reminded me of the fairy-like creatures in Brandon Sanderson's "Stormlight Archive" called spren. Or of a precious gem, which Gloria certainly was. Though hurt or wounded, her spirit was still very much that of a spren or gem.

Gloria had heard my dad had been badly hurt in a car accident, and though we did not know who she was and had never met before, she came to our house to give and help us. Shortly after I begin to clean for her.

Whenever I came to clean, Gloria always asked how my Dad was doing. She always wore the biggest smile and asked how I was doing, and how my writing was. I'd ask her how she was and she always mentioned God and how things were good because of Him. Then while I cleaned, she would watch the news.

From those first few times cleaning my perception of her deepened. Not only was she a wounded fairy, refusing to let her light dim, but she was also a woman that truly cared about everyone around her, both locally and politically. She actually wanted to know how my Dad's therapy was going, she sincerely cared about my dreams though she hardly knew me, and politics didn't seem to drain or stress her because she actually cared about what was happening and wanted to know and care more.

She did not seem like the sort of person that was content with staying in her own little hurting world but wanted to scatter her fairy dust into everyone else's lives, too. And not because she had a lot to give, but because she cared enough to love.

After cleaning for her for a couple months she told me that she had cancer.

I didn't know how to respond. I couldn't say, "I'm sorry." Because that sounded so shallow. But ... I couldn't think of anything else to say, either. She never gave me a chance to say anything though but said she really appreciated my help with cleaning, because of her waning strength with all her chemo.

After that, I always asked how that was going for her, too. Sometimes it was clearly hard for her, but she always had a brave, hopeful attitude.

And then one day, she told me they could no longer do chemo.
She was sent home on hospice.

She grew weaker, but her smile always stayed the same, her questions about others never ended, the news always remained on while I cleaned. She told me many times during those last couple weeks, "We know where we'll meet someday again. Soon." 

One day Gloria gave me an envelope. "There is enough in there until after I die," she said. Enough for two months.

I think that's when it hit me that she was actually dying. Before that? I'm pretty sure I'd pushed it out of my mind that this wasn't real. How could it be? She'd be healed, or have more time than the doctors thought, or something. Death is just so unreal. Especially when you think of someone like Gloria who added so much to everyone and everything around her.

I didn't want to accept the envelope. But I did.
I hate showing my emotions, but I had a hard time keeping my tears back.

I am not a very touchy person; it's really hard for me to show affection. But I felt a strong nudge from God to hug Gloria before I left that day. I fought my natural instincts to just leave and pretend I'd see her again. I didn't want to hug her goodbye. Yet, something told me that could be the last time I ever saw her and I'd always regret not hugging her.

I'm so glad I found the nerve to hug Gloria that day because it was the last time I saw her. She didn't make it the two months but died a short while later on April 11, 2019, aged seventy-three.

I know she had great pain those last few days, but everyone that knew her said that her caring spirit never faltered. The last time I saw her she was still asking after my family, still watching the news, still smiling, still saying, "Even if we don't see each other again in this life, we know where we'll see each other again."

She didn't need to talk about her pain; she only wanted to help others.

Gloria did not lead a perfect life. She had many hardships. But in her last days, she was a huge inspiration to me in such a way that I feel should convict all of us that claim to love and follow God.

Gloria turned everything back to Him. 
Gloria seemed to truly understand Yeshua's commandment to love others as ourselves.
Gloria showed, not only in her words but in her actions and the way she carried herself that she knew peace and love, and shared of that peace and love freely.

Sometimes, when life throws bitter betrayals at me, I want to give up and stop loving, stop caring, stop helping. But I don't know if I can ever do that now. Sometimes the troubles of the world are overwhelming and depressing and I want to pretend none of them exist by closing myself off to all of it and hiding in my own little box. But how can I now give in to the stress and pressure of evil when I've seen how much stronger and beautiful good is?

Gloria never stopped caring about anyone until the very end.
I think we all should take this as a personal challenge to keep on caring forever.

Note: A huge thanks to Carmen Smith (long time friend of Gloria's) for meeting with me and making this post possible!