Because You Were There
When giving back means so much more.
As I entered my dad’s “home,” the activity director was all abuzz—stressed about the volleyball team arriving to paint posters and therapy dogs coming to love on the residents.
Lunch was ending with tiny 102-year-old Julie yelping for help, declaring in her sweetest, Puerto Rican accent, “I’m done with my food,” and way-too-young-to-be-there Greg struggling to cut his much-wanted donut. My dad eyed Greg’s plate with jealousy; however, I knew better, Dad had already devoured his donut. Plates needed to be cleared and residents needed to be mobilized before the “fun” could begin.
Pair by pair, a player and parent entered the area, with the doorbell ringing constantly in the background announcing each new arrival. With posters distributed and paints poured, residents and volunteers took their places. Per usual, some residents were indignant about not participating, while others were equally adamant that they were not painters.
I pushed my dad into the activities room, settled him into a spot, and encouraged him to paint with the Kansas State purple (his favorite color, of course). Slowly but surely, he obliged and enjoyed, cautiously filling in letters and flowers. I stepped aside to allow room for others and to sneak one more chat with Julie whose little voice and story I adore.
Upon my return, I paused outside the door and noticed Dad was sitting taller, hands clasped, holding up the knee crossed over his leg. Just like he always would when regaling tales in his chair at our home. I could hear him engaged in conversation with one of the dads, “Well, I started my career at IBM in Kansas…” My dad’s voice stronger than usual.
I took a step back and locked eyes with that volunteer, clasping my hands in silent gratitude. My voice, weaker than usual, whispering “Thank you…”
And off I went. Leaving my dad without a hug or a goodbye but deep in a conversation with a stranger who was invisibly embracing him for me.
To that volunteer I express enormous gratitude. That split second of eye contact meant the world to me. Your gentle leaning in to hear my dad better felt caring. Your determination to make him feel seen felt sincere.
I can never anticipate how each visit will go. Every one can be different. But I can always anticipate searching for a glimmer of my dad or of hope. And that day, I got both, because you…because you were there.
❤️ Should you find yourself in this chapter with me, here’s a pro tip from my mom. When possible, time your visits well by leaving your loved one engaged in an activity or a meal. It’s as much for them as it is for you. ❤️
You’re a gifted observer and writer.
You make me tear up 🥲 every time I read a post! 🩷