By: Patricia Francis Good     

A while back when I was living in Austin, my sister Pam and her husband Jerry bought a property close to Lake Travis and built a restaurant called The Drop Anchor. I often drove out to see them. On the way, I noticed a church, St. Luke’s on the Lake, perched at the edge of the cliff that had the most expansive view of Lake Travis.
Many times I stopped at this church, parked my car and sat on the hood of my car just to take in that magnificent view. As I was sitting on my car one day, I was approached by a man coming out of the church. He introduced himself as Rev. Timberlake, the pastor of St. Luke’s. We chatted a while and I asked him if it was alright to park on the church property. He said that was just fine anytime I wanted to
enjoy the view. Then he asked if there was anything on my mind that I would like to talk about. Well, I thought he was pretty generous to offer and I began to talk about my non profit job and a little about my volunteer work with the newly created Austin Hospice.

Pastor Timberlake then invited me to visit his church on Sundays. I was new to Austin and thought maybe I would meet new friends and I could look at that beautiful view of the lake once a week, which turned out to be even more spectacular from inside the church. Rev. Timberlake was a down-to-earth kind of preacher that I liked. I got a lot out of those Sunday sermons. Often I would have coffee during with him to discuss my problems at work.

During one of these “coffee” days, I told him about a work problem. In rather a cocky way, I asked him “What would Jesus do if he were me?” Well, without missing a beat, Pastor Timberlake said, “Well, first of all, Jesus would never get himself into the situation you’re in!” Ha! Ha! But, he continued. “I will tell you exactly what you should do! Get out a pen and paper and write this down.” He then said, “ALWAYS DO THE
LOVING THING.” And I asked, “But, what is the loving thing?” And he said, “That’s for you to figure out.” And at that, he took his last sip of coffee, stood up and told me he would see me on Sunday. I wrote his advice down on the piece of paper and put it into my purse. I must admit I lost that paper a long, long time ago, but I always emembered the advice he gave me. I have referred to it often in my life. It was one of the best pieces of advice that I was ever given.

At that time, a new non profit began in Austin. I was having lunch with a friend and she told me that she had been invited to join the Board of Directors of this new non profit called Austin Hospice. I only knew of the Hospice in London, England because earlier in my life I had melanoma cancer. I was told my prognosis wasn’t good and
because there were no hospices in the United States at that time, I was told I should consider using the Hospice in London for my end of life care when the time came.

Fortunately, I went into remission and never needed their help. After I told my story to this person, she encouraged me to become a volunteer for the Austin Hospice, so… I signed up! I helped seven patients and their families during my four years as a hospice
volunteer. My most difficult patient was a young woman named Joannie. After her father divorced her mother, both Joannie and her mother ended up in a mental health institution, unable to cope with their situation.

After being discharged from the mental institution, Joannie went to live with a boyfriend and her mother ended up as a bag lady on the streets of San Antonio. Joannie got pregnant and during her time in the hospital delivering her baby, the doctors discovered she had breast cancer. She didn’t have any health insurance, so the hospital was eager to release her as soon as they could and they finally got that opportunity. They had found her father and contacted him with the news that his daughter was dying and he should visit her before it was too late. When he got to the hospital, they told him they could no longer care for his daughter and that he had to take her home.

Not knowing how to take care of Joannie, he contacted Austin Hospice. I began visiting Joannie at her father’s home shortly thereafter. However, it was obvious to me that Joannie was not welcomed there so I began to search for a place that would
take her. I found a nursing home and she was transferred there immediately. In the nine months that I cared for Joannie, she rarely spoke. She was deeply depressed and dying. Several times during those nine months, Joannie got so sick she ended up in the hospital. I would call a number of her mother’s friend in San Antonio so she
could let her mother know.

Then I would meet Joannie’s mother at the bus station and I would take her to see her daughter at the hospital. Because Joannie never spoke, her mother and I had many hours to talk to each other in those hospital visits and quickly discovered that we were both home cooks. We shared recipes and our fondest food memories and one day she admitted to me that everyone said that she made the best apple pie. I questioned her extensively about her recipe and technique. I realized that she really had a normal life at one time with her husband and daughter and the break up of the family hit her hard and unexpectedly. But her memories of holiday cooking and serving dinner to her family were some of her fondest times as a married woman. But she lost that nice little home in San Antonio during the divorce and after her stay in a mental health facility, she ended up on the streets of San Antonio with no place to go. I felt so sorry for her
and her daughter.

The last month of Joannie’s life was difficult and she spent most of it in a hospital. I frequently drove down to the bus station to pick up her mother and take her to the hospital, where we would sit for hours. As the end drew near, her mother would stay all night with her daughter and when Joannie took her last breath, her mother was there holding her hand as I watched from the other side of the bed. The nurses came in and told me that I needed to take the mother out of the room so they could prepare the body for the morgue. But, the mother said that one of the many jobs she had taken was as a nurse’s aide and she wanted to help prepare her daughter’s body for burial. The nurse asked me to follow her out to the hallway. She explained that with
the mother’s mental health history that she would not allow her to stay in the room unless I was willing to stay with her and take care of the mother if she “lost it”. I agreed that I would. I watched a loving mother wash her daughter’s body and she never lost her composure. I don’t know how she did that.

At the funeral, the father and his new wife sat on one side of the church and I sat with the mother and a few of her friends on the other side. We drove to the burial site and a priest said the final words of comfort. The gravediggers were waiting for everyone to leave before they started to cover the grave. I knew they were growing anxious
and I gently encouraged the mother to turn away and walk back to the car. She said she would not do that because she was going to be with Joannie to the end and that included staying until the grave diggers had finished their job.

Once again, I stayed by her side and signaled the grave diggers to begin. As the dirt hit the box with Joannie’s body in it, I felt the mother tense up but with all the courage she had she remained beside the grave. Finally, the last shovel of dirt was tossed. It was the end of the graveside service. As I walked arm in arm with her back to the car, one of her friends said, “Don’t forget what you brought Pat that you left in the car.” At that, she ran ahead of us and opened the back door of the car and reached in. As she drew herself out of the car I could see she had picked up a brown paper bag and was carrying it ever so carefully towards me. Inside there was a beautiful apple pie.

She then said these words to me.
“I didn’t know how to thank you for your kindness to me and my daughter so I decided to do what I do best and baked you this apple pie.” I said, “But how did you do that?” One of her friends cheerfully told me that together they had found a person who let the mother use her oven and they had all pitched in to buy the necessary
ingredients to make her special pie! And in that moment I remembered what Pastor Timberlake had said to me years before … Always do the loving thing! That is what this mother had done. In the hours before she was to bury her only child, she found a way to do the loving thing. Never in my life have I ever been given a better thank you gift.

I watched as the car drove away with the mother and her friends in it. Then I walked back to the grave. I reached into the box and took a small piece of crust from the apple pie and I placed it on Joannie’s grave. I think she would have been proud of her mother. I wanted to share it with Joannie for the last time. By the way, I took the pie back to my apartment and shared it with several of my neighbors who knew the story of my hospice patient and her mother. They all agreed
it was the best apple pie they had ever eaten! It was because it was baked with the deepest kind of love. I never baked an apple pie as good as her pie, and I don’t expect that I ever will. But after that day, I made sure my first ingredient was always LOVE whenever I bake.

The following year I got a note from Joannie’s mother. She had found a way back to Michigan to her high school reunion. It was there she met up with her childhood sweetheart who was widowed by that time. They renewed their love, got married, and she began baking apple pies once again.

PERFECT APPLE PIE

Crust: 2 Refrigerated Pillsbury Pie Crusts (2 in a box), softened

FILLING

• 6 cups thinly sliced, peeled apples (6 medium Granny Smith)
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 2 Tablespoons all-purpose flour
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• 1/8 teaspoon ground allspice
• 1 Tablespoon lemon juice

INSTRUCTIONS

• Heat oven to 425°F. Place one pie crust in ungreased 9-inch glass pie plate. Press firmly against side and bottom.
• In large bowl, gently mix filling ingredients; spoon into crust-lined pie plate. Top with second crust. Wrap excess top crust under bottom crust edge, pressing edges together to seal; flute. Cut slits or shapes in several places in top crust.
• Bake pie on baking sheet @ 425 degrees. Bake until top crust is golden, about 25 minutes. Rotate pie and reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees; continue baking until juices bubble and crust is deep golden brown, 30 to 35 minutes longer.
• Transfer pie to wire rack; cool to room temperature (4 hours).

INSPIRATION: