The Grandies!

We have been making those monthly visits to the Nursing Home for several months now. And everytime we are there, it never ceases to stay interesting. The general structure of how each visit pans out is...we assemble, familiarise ourselves with the craftwork we are going to be doing with the Grandies, and then move to a table nearby where they are already sitting and watching and start talking to them, while crafting. Sometimes, if they are upto it, they help with things like the colouring and choosing what words go on it, and manytimes they just like to let you take the lead and nod along quietly, with a gentle smile most of the time. After about half an hour, its another half hour of music and this is when things really liven up and hands start clapping. Ours and theirs.

I call them Grandies, but not lightly, in lieu of finding an easy nickname. I use it with a lot of affection. Most of them are grandparents and they light up some several 100 watts whenever they see Winkie and Thambi. The fact that they are small built adds to their charm-factor for them, I suppose. Even Winkie gets treated like a little baby, and he loves the attention.

I know it wasn't how it began. I know the qualms he had facing them every month on that third Sunday. He didn't like going there, and though he didn't use as many words for it, I could tell it made a trifle uncomfortable. Well, I started off that way too. I remember my awkwardness only too well. And my self doubt....as to whether I could be of any value to them. Could I really cheer them up by my presence? Could I make them feel human and loved? And not like just another face among the old people, who lived their life secluded from the families they have raised? Could I get past my own dual vision and see them as an extension of me? Of God?

Every month that I go there, one or more of these questions begins to answer itself. So much has changed since then and now, and still many things remain the same. What has changed is that I have a set of regulars who I love to spend time with. There's Mary Lou for instance. A nurse with 3 daughters, I think, who loves to play the piano and has sung in a choir. She's my favorite, because she's always been easy to talk to, and easy to understand in return. Her voice still remains stable, her faculties are very sharp, and we have gotten to a point where we can joke with each other and high five or hold hands. She always welcomes me with a Hi Darling!

She likes the boys a lot too. And that includes R, who is very comfortable sitting next to her the entire time, chatting her up. I was introduced to her through him. I think her favorite colour is red, because she almost always wears something in red. And her nails are always painted red. She has red lipstick on, and only last week, I noticed that she has a small Minnie Mouse doll in a corner of her wheelchair, and she was all in red too. There are times when she forgets some basic facts about us, which she asks over and over again. But that's okay. Because we forget too. This last week, I really felt a strong connection with her. My heart soared when I saw her and I felt happy being by her side, helping Winkie make her a helping hand heart. Actually, she helped him more by telling him when he was putting too much glue on and spelling out her name for him to write on top of it. He was in good hands in that while.

And then there's James. I have seen him many times before, but never approached him, with more than a smile, since he always had somebody by his side, giving him company. But this last week, that changed. He was actually sitting outside by the front entrance, on his wheelchair, when I walked by. We called out our greetings. He joined us inside pretty soon and was right by Mary Lou's table. Since no one else was with him then, I walked over and asked him if he wanted a heart made for him as well. He said yes, with this very warm smile that came from his twinkling eyes. So while Winkie and Mary Lou got along nicely, I got to know James. It was obvious he loved his wife of 36 years, who had passed away just a few months ago. He was a Detroit guy who claimed he had never seen Chicago downtown. He seemed to be very fond of his grand-daughter, whom he kept talking about. We spoke of music and his family most of the time. When Winkie came over, he said....that's the age where you can really love them. The slight note of bitterness in his voice was obvious, and some experiences must have been scathing. But I generally try to stay away from unpleasant subjects. We are there for 1 short hour, so let it be as happy and cheery as possible, right?

I believe in the power of touch. A gentle placing of the hand on a sleeve or a shoulder really speaks so much. And makes that exchange so human. And it helps me to reduce my ego, the part that whispers to me that I am a do-gooder and just come on par with him in a regular way, in an effort to bridge our understanding. We responded well to each other's natures and shuttling between James' table and Mary Lou's, I was a very happy person that Sunday morning.

The hardest thing about interacting with these sweet old people is just treating them naturally. Instead of thinking of them as people to whom we have come to give service, if we could look at them as just anybody else in our lives, whom we wanted to get to know with friendliness, that makes it so much more real, than the relationship of provider and benefactor. Because the lines of giving and receiving are not clearly drawn. In the act of being there, we receive so much more than can be acknowledged. We receive awareness of our natures, we make a deeper acquaintance with our ego and the way it acts up even in good deeds, trying to convince you that you're a martyr of a sort. On a simpler level, we also receive a lot of affection from them. They call us 'darling' and tell us that seeing our beautiful faces this morning, makes them happy and that life is good. They give so much love and attention to our children and make the sight of small, smooth, supple skin against softly wrinkled, heavily lined hands such a natural one and so beautiful. The hug that is timid as well as gentle, but with an eagerness to please and to pleasure. We get so much from them. What we give is precious little in return. And how sublime are the moments when I stop being me, and they no longer seem like them, and what is just so real just then, is that little camaraderie we have between us. So caught up in our words to each other, the understanding becomes the union of our souls and God becomes.