Sometimes when life feels too much, it's nice to do something outside of yourself. We tend to have such small worlds, but we are such a small part of the world.
I was reflecting on time spent as a kid volunteering at the nursing home in Pomeroy. As a part of 4H when I was around 10 or 11, we all adopted residents of the local care center, with particular focus given to those elders who didn't have regular family or friends to visit with them.
There were always those residents who were kind and outgoing, eager for company. They were easy to spend time with every week and readily had volunteers with whom to be matched. We'll call these folks Group A.
Group B were the other residents who were sullen, quiet or uncommunicative. Sometimes their social skills had left them. Other times they had had strokes or other issues associated with aging that made it more difficult for them to communicate. I remember us kids being less eager to be matched with these people. Hands didn't shoot up over these folks. I tended to end up with an adopted grandparent in this group. I always felt like they needed someone to want them - I knew a thing or two about feeling unwanted, relating to the underdog.
Even when I was young, I loved the challenge of taking someone who wanted to shut out the world and to remind them that they were loved. I don't say this to toot my own horn. I have caused myself rather a great deal of pain in life by chasing love where it wasn't given freely. However, in the care center arena, I think this wish to impart love was really quite beautiful. Especially for a little girl who rather needed support and love herself. It might have been good for me to receive a Group A grandma to love me up. I think it proved more effective to place me in Group B. I had the tenacity for those folks.
Something I was told early on in the nursing home that has always stuck with me was that everyone was loved by someone at one time or another. Each person had a mom who (I pray) looked upon them with love. This simple concept made it easier to give my Group B adopted grandparent respect, consideration, patience. and my time.
My favorite B lady was Clara. Clara was silent for nearly every visit I had with her. I don't know whether she was aware that I visited her every week for over a year. Sometimes I just sat with her, holding her hand. Other times I'd tell her stories of events from school or bring a book I was into (inevitably a Little House book in that era) and read aloud from it. Clara always just looked out her window at the bird feeder outside, regularly nodding her head. She had a warm spirit but no words.
One day, it was like she woke up. She looked at me. Really looked at me. She thought I was her granddaughter because apparently I have a dimple in my chin when I smile, and this was a trait that skipped a generation in her family. I was so shocked she was talking, I just listening and nodded. She never spoke again.
Eventually, Clara passed away. I adopted another Group B person. I don't know how long I volunteered at the nursing home. I remember I hated the alarm on the door, the smell of the medicine and antiseptic mingling in the halls, the bright lights and the cries of some residents.
But I loved my B team members.
Kathy Mattea - Where've You Been
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