“I would agree,” I replied. “That’s why I think I should know what I’m getting into so I can know if I can give them what they need. However, I do want to find something I enjoy doing, something that’s useful, and do it for the long haul.”
I drew in breath as I bought time to say the words I needed to say without lying in a house of God.
Then I said, “My children are older. They don’t need me as much anymore and my husband and I are divorced so I actually don’t have them all the time. I’ve never worked, but with an empty house, I need something to fill my life. I think I might like it filled with some elderly who are doing me a return favor by keeping me company.”
She studied me a moment before she said softly, “I like that you think of it that way.”
“I’m glad,” I replied then introduced myself. “I’m Amelia Hathaway.”
She lifted her hand and started to me, with me meeting her halfway. “Ruth Fletcher.”
We clasped hands and her hold was firm and warm. “Lovely meeting you, Ruth.”
“And you, Amelia,” she replied.
We let go and she motioned to the desk. “How about you give me your telephone number? I’ll call Dove House and we’ll set up a meeting with Dela Coleman.”
“Excellent,” I agreed, moving with her to the desk.
I left my number, we said warm good-byes and I went back out to my car.
I didn’t dally in front of the church wondering if I’d done the right thing.
I drove away, thinking volunteering at a nursing home could mean anything, and a variety of those things could be unpleasant.
But I wouldn’t want to volunteer and demand that I got to read stories or oversee craft time.
I’d want to volunteer and do what was needed.
Which could mean cleaning up a number of messes, changing sheets, doing laundry, who knew?
And as I drove home, something strange stole over me. Something strange and new and unbelievable.
Because my mind was filled with all of the things that could be required of a down and dirty volunteer at a nursing home, and all I could think was that I hoped like heck they liked me.
Because I couldn’t wait to start.
* * * * *
“Praise be to Jesus!” the woman behind the desk at Dove House called to the ceiling, her hands lifted up there, her plethora of black braids shaking. She dropped her hands and her eyes hit Ruth, sitting across the desk in a chair beside me. “Call up the good Reverend”, she jerked her head my way, “and God sends a miracle.”
Ruth beamed.
“I’m hardly a miracle,” I mumbled.
“’Scuse me?’ Dela Coleman, Director of Dove House Retirement Home, asked me. “Did you just say you didn’t mind bed pans, changin’ sheets, lookin’ after dentures, wipin’ up half-chewed food, vacuuming, dusting? Not to mention folk who call you other people’s names and swear up and down for hours that you’re their own child or the girl who stole their boyfriend back in the day and they might come tearin’ at you, fingernails bared?”
“I did say that I didn’t mind that,” I confirmed.
“And did you say you could give me three days a week for three hours a day and I don’t have to lay cash on your behind?” she went on.
“I said that as well,” I told her.
“Then if you actually show up those three days a week for three hours a day and work and don’t take off and become a no show or tell me you’re,” she lifted her hands and did air quotation marks, “goin’ back to college at age fifty-six, then you…are…a…miracle.”
“People do go back to college at any age,” Ruth put in and Dela turned her eyes to her.
“Ruth, honey, I saw the woman at The Shack eatin’ omelets and suckin’ back coffees with her biddies and she did not have a laptop in front of her, workin’ on coursework for her online classes to become a graphic designer,” she stated bluntly. “Now, I got old folk attemptin’ the great escape every day, and they may be old but they are not stupid. So it’s touch and go we shut them down or we gotta go to Wayfarer’s to stop them shufflin’ down the aisles in their slippers. Loretta is not gonna be a graphic designer. Loretta was tired of cleaning up half-chewed food and havin’ Mrs. McMurphy shout at her every time she saw her to keep her hands off her man.”
I gave big eyes to my lap, doing this to stop laughing.
“I need to trust you.”
I lifted my eyes when I heard Dela say this.
It was quiet, but it was full of meaning.
“You’ll note you didn’t have to beat off old folk with a stick in order to get in here,” she carried on. “They don’t wanna be here. You’re here for a day, you’ll know why. We do our best with this place but this is not home. This is where you go before you die if you can’t take care of yourself any longer and you have no one who can take care of you. This is a sad place. We do all we can every day to make it less sad. But that’s a losin’ battle, Amelia. You gotta be on board with that, know it and keep a smile on your face and your commitment to me, to them, so we can all count on you. Because they need me makin’ their stay here a wee bit better, not sittin’ down with person after person like you who’s got good intentions, and we all appreciate it, but who’s gonna turn tail and go the minute it gets too much.”