Everyday Extraordinary: Nerlyn Jean

In late 2012, early 2013, I started working at the Quality Inn in Palm Bay Florida. The hotel catered to short term and extended stay guests. That’s where I met Rebecca, or Becky for short, a woman in her early to mid-60s living at the hotel. 

At first, she was a bit standoffish — her outward appearance was stern and seemed to say, “I don’t need any friends.” I like the tough people; I could tell there was a softness to her, and I hoped I could earn her trust and become her friend. I noticed she received a good deal of packages, especially from QVC, so I made a point to hand deliver them and develop a rapport. Quickly, her tough demeanor fell, and we became close.

At the time, I was trying to start a side business where I would run errands to help elderly folks and people with disabilities. When I expressed this to her, she told me she would be my first customer. At first, I mostly drove around town to pick up her orders from various department stores, which made her very excited. I always kept a lookout for her QVC items to make sure she got all of her stuff.

Eventually, she asked if I could take her to doctor's appointments. She never explained what the appointments were for, but I always respected her space and never pressed her for details. I was very curious about her life and who she was. She was quiet, but she would open up little by little. Over the course of our rides, she told me about her daughter and their strained relationship. That made me sad, because I’m close with my mom. She shared that she had made some mistakes that caused their separation. 

I encouraged her to reach out to her daughter — after all, life is short! — and she expressed that she would love to make amends, but wasn’t sure how. I told her she could practice her apology on me, and that made her happy. She was constantly writing in her journal, which is something I also do, and that made me feel even more connected to her. When I think about Becky, I remember her amazing spirit, and how grateful she was to have found me. 

Our relationship only lasted about two or three weeks. One day, after I dropped her off at a doctor’s appointment, she never called to arrange a pick-up. When I finally did get a hold of her, she said she was ok, but the doctors wanted to keep her overnight. 

The next day, I came back to visit her and brought her some flowers. When I got to the hospital, they told me she was in the ICU. When they finally let me in to see her, she wasn’t responding. Eventually, I found out from one of the nurses that she was in a coma, and that she had a terminal illness. When I returned to the hotel, my manager let me know Rebecca had passed.

The news completely knocked me off my feet. At first, I was hurt. Why hadn’t she told me? I thought about all her QVC orders filled with jewelry, and her love of poetry and music. How she spoke about one day reconnecting with her daughter and making amends. She didn’t want to be a stage IV cancer patient; in her last days, she wanted to live.

When her daughter, Nicki, finally came to town, and we met for the first time, it was clear how upset she was at their lack of closure. I told her all about her mother’s final days: how Becky wished she could apologize, how proud she was of her daughter, and how deeply she was loved.

Nicki’s fear was that her mother would die alone and feel disconnected. I reassured her that I told her she was a great woman every day I was with her. She was grateful to know her mother was taken care of, and it was healing for her to hear how much her mother thought of her and wished to reconnect. 

Though our time together was short, my relationship with Becky changed my perspective forever. Not only am I keenly aware of the briefness of life, but I am also so humbled by the power we have to affect positive change in the lives of others. Society tells us that we are individuals, but I believe we are all deeply connected, and every time you reach out and touch someone else’s life, your impact reverberates infinitely. I thank Rebecca for that lesson every day.