Some blessings are obvious, but some can take me longer to recognize.
My story: The blessing of Jean
I worked at a retirement home when I first met Jean. She lived in an independent apartment upstairs and once-a-month she’d call to book a room for her church meeting. Always gracious on the phone, she remained so when she came to check if the chairs were sufficient on the day of the meeting. We would often chat and I appreciated this soft-spoken lady who acted as if I’d made her day by booking that room for her.
A few years later, Jean came downstairs with her daughter, touring the rooms to move in later that month. People on my floor required constant nursing care. I greeted her and kept my shock hidden. Was this Jean? Hollow, empty eyes had replaced the friendly expression, as if her soul had fled and left her body behind. I learned an anxiety disorder made it impossible for Jean to live independently, necessitating a move to the first floor. Thus began our adventure.
Anxiety can change who you are
Depression and anxiety are difficult to treat, especially in the elderly. Not usually the only diagnosis, they are often 
complicated by declining cognition, sight and hearing difficulties and other serious ailments. Doctors struggle, trying different medications and dosages, and sometimes the right combination never appears. In Jean’s case, she experienced worsening symptoms until the end of her life.
Jean’s anxiety followed a predictable cycle each day. Mornings remained relatively calm and pleasant, but after lunch she would “stake out” my desk and remain there most of the rest of the day.
“Who is looking after me tonight?”
“Judy.”
“Why isn’t she here?”
“She comes at 3:00 o’clock.”
“What if she doesn’t come?”
“She’ll be here. She’s always here for you, Jean.”
“What should I do to get ready?”
“There’s nothing to get ready, Jean. Judy knows what to do and she’ll help you.”
“What if she won’t look after me?”
“She always looks after you, Jean. She cares about you.”
“Who’s looking after me tonight?”
Variations of this conversation persisted through the afternoon. Something about the process of getting ready for bed each night sent her anxiety spiralling. Few attempts at distraction worked, and if they did, they were short lived. Any small ailment sent her into a tailspin as well. Itchy skin, frequent urinary tract infections and then there were the corns on her feet!
I nearly lost it with the corns
Her doctor, trying to be helpful when she complained about them, ordered corn plasters. Once the treatment started, Jean remained convinced they had fallen off and traversed the hall all day looking for them.
On a day when I thought I might scream if I heard the words “corn plasters” one more time, my sense of humor came to my rescue.
“It’s fallen off. I know it has. I need another.”
I gave Jean a long look. “Are we talking about the toe or the corn plaster here, Jean? Because if it’s the toe, we have a serious problem.”
She blinked a few times as she processed this and then the ghost of a smile crept across her face. My humor saved me from the corn plaster discussion for the rest of that day.
Some days after work I plopped on my seat on the bus with glazed eyes. The barrage of questions, the struggle to remain patient and respectful and the pressure to complete other tasks left me drained.
One of the few topics which brought a shine to Jean’s eyes and a glow to her face was the mention of her grandsons. Fine young men, they adored their grandma and would sing for her and the rest of the residents at times when they visited. Her back straightened a little as she mentioned their accomplishments. She also enjoyed visits from babies or young children and I found we could talk quite happily about my grandchildren as she admired the pictures on my desk. She also loved dogs, and I would regale her with stories of my puppy and his toilet paper fetish. Anything to keep off the topic of corn plasters!
The blessing
During her time with us, Jean had several falls, a few of which resulted in broken bones. Each time, I thought this would be the end, but she fought back and walked again. During an extensive stay in the hospital, I realized how much her continual presence meant to me. I finished my work each day without interruption, but I missed her. I found myself wondering at odd times how she fared and sent a quick email to her daughter to find out. Jean had wrapped herself around my heart. I picked up her favorite ice cream and went to the hospital to share with her.
Although I wasn’t happy about it, I knew retirement closed in on me, and I set the date for December 2019. As the time grew closer, staff threw a party and I talked to residents one-on-one, but I put off telling Jean as long as possible. I didn’t want to increase her anxiety and I dreaded the conversation. Finally, I sat and held her hand and gave her the news. She turned sad eyes to me and said, “But you were the only one who listened.” I knew that wasn’t true. Her wonderful family, her doctor, the music therapist and other staff had all poured into Jean. But I heard what she was saying. “You made a difference in my life.” Tears flowed freely as we hugged good-bye.
Covid-19 took my Jean, but not the blessing
My survival plan for retirement included volunteering once a week. As soon as winter ended, I would joyfully come down the hall, finding Jean in the dining area where she liked to sit. I would hug her and say, “Hello, Jean, it’s Ann.” A smile would light her face and I would pull up a chair so we could chat. I would happily listen to whatever complaints she had (even about corn plasters!) for as long as she wanted to talk.
A global pandemic interrupted my survival plan. I wasn’t allowed to visit, and early in the spring of 2020, Covid-19 took my Jean away. I sat in my living room, envisioning walking down the hall at work, only to find an empty chair.
I have a new plan. When my journey on earth is over, I will walk down the halls of heaven until I find Jean. As I lean in for a hug, we will smile at each other and I will say, “Hello, Jean. It’s Ann.”
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Dear Ann. This beautiful story touched our hearts. As have you. “Thank you “ cannot adequately express our gratitude, and yet that’s all we have to say . God bless. You’ve made a difference in so many lives. Xxxooo
Beautiful. You really have a caring heart. It’s no wonder you went into the medical profession.