Tag: caregiving

Silly, Sweet, Sacred: Moments In Scrubs

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Today was a day off, and also a sick day, so I took a break from my usual busy pace to rest.

As always, when I slow down enough to have time to think, moments from the past week of volunteer shifts replay in my mind.

I realize why I’m tired.

There are a lot of intense moments in caregiving. Yet I love it, because of that intensity!

Sometimes it’s a sweet moment, like watching the sunrise with residents.

Or hearing, in response to my “I love you,” these words: “I love you, too. I know it don’t always seem like it. But I really do appreciate all that you do for me.”

She went on to explain why some days she feels the things she does, and my heart aches for the cruelty of the wounds this world inflicts.

That kind of vulnerable admission turns a sweet moment into something more sacred.

In my scrubs, I am ushered into a world that few young people are privileged to see.

I am given a front row seat to witness the beauty of old age (and sure, some of the not so beautiful things that come with it.)

Recently I felt like I was standing on holy ground as I connected with someone who’s been so difficult to reach lately.

Desperate to break through the agitated fog of confusion, I tried singing old hymns while I made the bed.

When I started singing “How Beautiful Heaven Must Be,” the glazed eyes were momentarily replaced with an intense, unwavering gaze.

With an unusual suddenness he rose from the chair, stepped closer, closer, and leaned over to listen intently as I kept singing about heaven.

How do you pray for someone in a moment like that? When the longing to go home is written so clearly on their face, when their earthly body has betrayed them in so many ways… yet no matter how much care is required, we love them, and we miss them when they go.

Some days I come home feeling a bit like an old soul myself.

When you spend your days listening to stories of long ago yesterdays, or chatting about what songs you want sung at your funeral, it’s inevitable. As their caregiver, I am also touched by the glow of the approaching sunset for these people.

It’s beautiful. It’s a privilege.

It calls me to deeper reflection, slower living, gratefulness in each moment, and enjoyment of the simple things.

Maybe that’s why I’ve developed a fondness for adopting tea cups lately… (I think it has more to do with me needing to find my spot in a new community. I like browsing thrift stores for tea cups that have no matching partners, and bringing them home to become part of my tea cup collection.)

But before you think everything about my life is tranquil and holy, please know there are also moments that catch me entirely by surprise.

“Wait until you get old, Jackie,” I am advised by the lady I am transferring from her wheelchair to her bed. “Just wait until you need someone to take care of you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Cautiously, I replied, “yeah, most of us will reach that place in life eventually.”

She continued, “Well, I will take care of you, so don’t worry.” She paused, thought a moment, then added, “If I’m still able to by the time you’re that old. I hope I can though, because you’re caring for me so nicely now. It would be one way I could hope to repay you.”

As I positioned her in bed I thanked her for her thoughtfulness and assured her I don’t expect to be repaid.

I left the room baffled by the irony of that conversation – I’m still not seeing the logic in it.

But that’s typical of life around here. The search for logic will drive you insane, because most times, there is none.

So I smile and agree that there just might be bears in the dining room, and we should certainly go see them if there are.

I solemnly agree that I just might be going crazy, if my suggestion of breakfastime brings that accusation.

I listen to vivid stories of bygone days and enjoy the obvious embellishments.

I smile at the shrieks and giggles in the common area and go find out what the latest dramatic news is. (Tonight I learned from our younger population that they can’t stand their parents for more than a week at a time, and they’d rather live here with us.)

I mop spills that challenge the laws of physics (who knew one cup of milk could splatter that far?).

I accept hugs even when the giver is wearing their meal on their face and clothing – and then I gently wash the face and change the clothes.

I laugh, pray, sing, and play with them.

In short, I roll with the chaos. I try to keep sight of what is reality among all the confusion.

And no matter how intense it sometimes is for my heart, I love my life in scrubs.

Cozy & Content

Published on by Jackie1 Comment

My fuzzy blanket wrapped around me, I’m relaxing after another busy day.

The sun has set (a few hours ago) in a fiery blaze that framed the hills in the distance.

Today was good.

I stepped into the little white church this morning, and it felt good. Almost… normal. I still miss my home church people, but I’m getting to know this congregation. They are a gift from God, all of them have given me such a warm welcome since I moved here.

I sat beside a little boy who decided to be friends, and put a fishie sticker in my Bible. He’s about the same age as my nephew that I miss so much… and my auntie heart was delighted to have that bit of interaction with a child again.

I came home from church and warmed up leftovers for lunch. (The bacon in the casserole was a gift from friends who visited me recently. I think the world would be full of happier people if we would all gift each other with bacon occasionally.)

I took a nap in my comfy bed, then went upstairs to spend the rest of the day with my people.

I blow dry hair, go for walks, serve meals, give hugs, sing Christmas carols, trim fingernails, search for missing hearing aids, change bedding, give hugs, draw pictures to color, retrieve abandoned walkers, listen to sad hearts, put clean laundry away, give hugs, brush teeth, lay out fuzzy pajamas, tuck the sheets just so…

I give one more hug, and say “Goodnight, I love you, see you tomorrow!”

The Christmas carols today. That was so fun. We were having a great time, some of us singing the lyrics on the page, others singing the best part of the song over again just for good measure.

Sunlight streamed in on our impromptu choir, and grey heads and wrinkled faces were shining golden as we all praised Jesus together.

Heaven comes a little closer in moments like those.

Or when someone says, “One of these days I’m not gonna need this wheelchair anymore! I’ll be walking in heaven!” I reply, “Not only will you walk – you’ll be flying!”

She asks who I think will run faster, me or her. I said, maybe I can race you!

She laughs and says, “Let’s do that someday. But first I gotta go see Jesus. After that, we can race!”

Another gentleman, who is a wealth of sage advice, has told me that I’m stuck here forever. “You can try to leave,” he warns, “but I’ll always pray you come back again! And God hears me!”

These dear people.

I like being here, too.

This life really is beautiful.

They Call Me Mom

Published on by JackieLeave a comment

My people are all sleeping.

Blankets were tucked around wrinkly chins, gray hair was brushed into ponytails for the night, and shaky arms reached up to hug me before I turned out the light.

I held hands larger than my own and prayed bedtime prayers for a good night of pain free, restful sleep.

They’re not my children.

Most of them are old enough to be my grandparents, or at least my parents.

But they call me, “Mom.”

Sometimes they say it teasingly, but there’s an underlying note of seriousness. And other times, depending what they’ve just asked me to do for them, there’s a depth of emotion in their voice when they say, “thank you – Mom.”

A lot of the residents in the care home where I volunteer are children at heart.

They remained dependent on their parents into adulthood, and still need to be mothered. But their moms have either passed away, or are too elderly to care for them anymore, and so they are here to receive the care they need.

I wish I could have met the moms represented by the people I serve.

These women who must have been wonderfully dedicated mothers, for how affectionately they’re spoken of by their now-elderly children.

These women who knew just how to tuck the sheets, and which kind of bedtime snack, and how to soothe a hurting heart.

I’m trying to learn these things about each resident, because they deserve to feel at home. I come here to work; they live here. This is home to them, and we need to provide care with all the homey touches their moms had.

It’s daunting.

But I love them. And even though it’s challenging, and not always easy, I’m determined to love them well.

Whenever I’m faced with a task that’s not so appealing, I remind myself that this person was created by Jesus. I visualize Him kneeling beside this bed, or pushing this wheelchair, or cleaning up this floor.

And I ask, “How would Jesus love this person?”

I can never replace their mothers that they still miss so much.

I certainly can’t know and meet their needs in perfection like Jesus would.

But maybe, with the daily challenge to do each act of service the way Jesus would, I can provide care that lets them know without a doubt: they are precious, and they are loved.

I know one thing for sure: they fill my heart.

And, out of all the names I get called in a day (trust me, there’s a wide variety) I always smile when they call me “Mom.”