The Hail Mary is one the prayers that I grew up saying as a child. It was one that I prayed at night, along with the Our Father, when I was younger, and it is a tradition I still hold on to. Im not sure why I started repeating it, but I guess I liked the balance of praying to a male and female figure before starting my personal prayers. It was a recitation that I knew by heart, and to which I thought I understood the meaning, until this past Monday when I started volunteering at the local nursing home.
I walked in that first morning, not knowing what to expect. And what I came to experience was simply humbling. There is something special about walking into a room with 30 elderly adults, all with different mental and physical capacities, as they pray aloud as one. Even more moving was when halfway through the prayer repetition, I realized that they were praying the Hail Mary. Although I've known the prayer all my life, all of a sudden i saw and experienced the meaning of it first hand. I saw the meaning more than I even felt it. Here were a group of people all in the last stage of their life, repeating a prayer asking for forgiveness now and at the hour of their death, knowing that those two times are not as far apart as they once were.
As the repetition ended and everyone moved to hug each other, tears came to my eyes. I realized that no matter what we do with our lives, or who we become, we all end up at some form of this stage. Some of us develop Alzeihmers, some of us lose our hearing and some of us just lose the abilities we used to have. But at the end of the day, as we lose different pieces of our bodies and minds, we all want the same thing. To be forgiven and to be able to connect with others, now and at/until the hour of our death.
Many could say that when I go to the nursing home I do the least amount of work compared to the other organizations I'm working with. I do a lot of sitting and hand holding, occasionally play dominoes, help serve breakfast, feed some patients and hang laundry to dry. It isn't a lot in theory, but when my three hours are up, I feel more fulfilled than I have when I've worked whole days at home. There is something, I don't know what, about being able to hold someones hand that feeds the soul, both theirs and mine. There is something about feeding another person that breaks down any cultural barrier that may exist and is an expression of humanism in the rawest form. And when it takes me 20 minutes to leave because I have to hug everyone goodbye and promise to be back soon, it reminds me that human connection is what we strive for.
I've begun to learn that it's not the hours you spend on a project that matter, but rather how full your hours are. My three hours with these beautiful people are full. Full of life both past and present, of love, and of connection. I may not understand what they say, but I understand their smile. And in a world where it is increasingly important for us to understand different cultures, I can tell you that the elderly age the same here as they do in the US, and that despite our differences, we all end up on the same road.
So I would like to dedicate this not only to my grandfather, who may believe that he is living in a resort, but also to the hundreds of staff and volunteers who go and sit with him everyday. I know he may not make sense, but sometimes people just need to be heard. And when we give them that right, we give them connection, and a little more time. We help them, at least for a little, extend the time between "now and at the hour of our death". And in the end, isn't that the hope we all need?
Tomorrow, when i go back to see my new friends, i do so in the name and eith the respect of all the people who take the time to hear the elderly; Who let their stories live on in another generation of people. And here's to you, grandpa, wherever you may be in your mind and spirit. Have a milkshake on me,
Sabrina
Tears in my eyes.
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