Have you ever laboured over a puzzle, only to find a few pieces missing at the end? It’s never an inconsequential corner, either. No, the missing piece has to be the iris of an eye or the middle of a building. It seems to yell, “something’s missing!” when you looked at the finished product.
That’s me without elders.
In the years I worked with them, I gave, certainly. But I would be like a puzzle with so many key pieces missing without the gifts they gave to me. And I am thankful.
The Power of a Hug
Mrs. G. would wrap her arms around me and the ensuing squeeze removed all the pain from the day. Many times, when I tried to complete my paperwork or deal only somewhat successfully with demanding families or struggle to intervene when staff had issues, I would think at the end of the day, “Was I an advocate today?” Ever hard on myself, my shoulders would slump as I packed up to leave, but Mrs. G. would call me into her room for a hug. We’d talk and laugh for a few minutes and when she released me my fractured confidence started to heal.
Mrs. G. knew how to hug my worries away.
The Power of Perseverance
Most of my residents struggled with multiple physical issues and some handled it better than others. Mrs. B. was blind and confined to a wheelchair but her zest for life and sense of humour taught me lessons I need today. Her vision was to share the stories of her life for the next generation. She’d been a firecracker in her day and never bowed to convention. Before glaucoma stole her eyesight, she’d begun to write out the stories, editing and perfecting them by hand. Rather than giving up when her sight dimmed, she phoned her daughter every night and they worked on them together. Some nights she would dictate, others she’d correct. Much laughter and a few tears ensued as page by page her memoir took shape. The day her daughter brought in the finished copy, we all celebrated.
My struggles and challenges are never insurmountable. Mrs. B. showed me.
The Power of Giving
Even though severe dementia had robbed Mr. C., it couldn’t take his giving spirit. He knew his generation liked to keep up with the news, but couldn’t handle (and didn’t want to pay for) a full newspaper. Each day, he’d walk several blocks to pick up a free, local flyer which contained a shortened version of the news. Depositing several copies on the reception desk, he smiled with the knowledge that he had given to others.
I may not have much to give, but I always have something. Mr. C. proved that.
Thanksgiving. The puzzle which is me has pieces added by these and so many more wonderful, funny, loving and sometimes grumpy elders. And I am thankful.
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