J. Gordon Duncan

Culture, Business, Fitness, Etc.

The Origin of the Title “Bedside – A Memoir of Care”

bedside cover sampleMom spent her life sitting bedside of those she cared for, and I was fortunate enough to have a tiny opportunity to return a measure of that love and care to her.  Enjoy this excerpt…

One injury as an adult sticks out the most.  My first job out of college was teaching high school English at an alternative school.  To “qualify” for my school, you had to be expelled from one of the county’s other schools.  The staff was small (four-five teachers), the hours were long, and I absolutely loved it.

Early on in that first year, the four of us were riding together back from a county-wide training session.  We were together in our science teacher’s Jeep Cherokee.

As we were riding along a country road, an animal of some sort jumped out in front us, and our driver swerved into the other lane.  As she did, I yelled, “Look out,” as we were now in the path of an oncoming paint van.  That’s right:  we were now facing a van full of cans of paint.

We collided full-speed, head-on both at 55 mph.

Our jeep was spun around, the van’s grill was crushed, and there was paint everywhere you could imagine.

We all survived with various concussions, broken bones, and soreness.  I had a gash on my forehead, was incredibly sore, but was, for the most part, okay.

I remember waking up in the hospital and finding Mom sitting by the bed and Sam standing beside her.  Even as an adult, they had come to take care of me.

They both took me home and put me to bed.  They spent the night, and I slept for about twelve hours.  I remember waking up in the morning incredibly sore and a bit disoriented.  I walked into the kitchen to find my mom cooking for me.  She quickly rushed me back to bed and told me I was to spend the day lying down.  She had chicken soup for me, and of course, she had made cookies.

Mom wouldn’t let me out of bed all day.  She would come to me and stand bedside and check on me throughout that entire day.

Mom worried a lot about me, and not just on that day.  But as I looked at her by my bed in my apartment, I felt like she loved the opportunity to take care of me once again.

Fast forward eighteen years, Amy and I are sitting bedside, and I am holding Mom’s hands in the moments before she passes…

I’m sad but thankful for the opportunity in a small way to return the love she gave to me.

The remainder of this story picks up in “Bedside – A Memoir of Care” – you can find it at

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September 19, 2013 - Posted by | church, church planting, gospel, men, mission, missional | , , , , , ,

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