Volunteering information

After I self-published my book, I reached out to the administrator of the memory care facility where my grandmother had been, as I wanted to share a copy with her. After a few emails back and forth, I eventually found myself in the general area of the facility with a little bit of free time. I had not followed the route to that parking lot in more than four years. The car was parked without any waterworks, so I felt confident I could get to the door without incident. It was strange to not be sure who was inside anymore. 

The receptionist gave me a sort of quizzical look when I asked specifically about a couple of staff members whose names I could recall. As luck would have it, the activity director, who I was hoping to get a copy of the book to, came around the corner. The tears stayed at bay, but my "word vomit" did not. 

In my excitement to see this woman, I was also trying to be sensitive to the fact that she may not have remembered who I was; reintroducing myself while telling her about the book I was trying to hand her. She said she remembered both my grandmother and me. We then went over to talk to another person who I assumed had long forgotten our family, but she had not. There was some chitchat and then what felt like joy creeping in, so I blurted out, "If you're ever looking for a volunteer..." Within a few weeks, my application was filled out, flu shot administered, and PPD test done. 

I was ready... not completely positive for what, but ready nonetheless.

About 10 minutes into my first visit, I knew I had made the right decision to find my way back. The staff was kind to me and many showed signs of recognition--evidence to me that I had once belonged to this community. Because my grandmother passed away during the height of the pandemic, thereby eliminating a proper departure and goodbye to what had become an extension of my family, the connection just sort of floated off like an untethered balloon. 

My small return enabled me to put some pieces back into my puzzle. I asked what I could do to be the most helpful, put on my fresh nametag, as well as a big smile, and set off to roam the halls. 

My role for a couple of hours once a week is to try to engage with residents who may not typically join group activities or could benefit from a little one-on-one visit. Every engagement requires a great deal of trial and error as I'm never sure what responses to expect. Not enough character studies could be done ahead of time and a warm grin and introduction were all I was bringing to the table. 

My usual line of questions are typically, "Did you grow up around here?" and "What kind of work did, or do, you do?" 

The answers let me know whether my new friends were at a place where we could dialogue, and at what level, ranging from blank stare, something unintelligible, an answer to a completely different question, trying to remember, or something plausible. As long as my presence didn't seem to be making anyone uncomfortable, I'd stick around for a little bit before moving on.

There were a few faces I thought had been there since my grandmother's time, but then I stumbled upon a face that actually resembled my grandmother's. I figured maybe it was just my imagination, looking for something I knew was impossible to find. 

The woman and I exchanged names and then just walked together, holding hands. Later, I mentioned to one of the aides that I knew it would sound silly, but I thought this particular woman looked a little bit like my grandmother. Her response was "Oh, yes, we all think that." 

Ah.

The next time I went to volunteer, I came across this woman again. (She walks the halls nearly constantly, so it is not a surprise to cross her path.) She gestured for me to join her and took my hand. Her conversation abilities have diminished greatly, but occasionally she does perk up with something to say. I try to figure out what she is trying to get across and just fill in as many blanks as I can. At one point that day though, we paused for a moment, she looked up at me, smiled and gave me a sort of side hug. It took my breath away.

Such an odd sort of gift with its sweet simplicity. She returns my huge smile with one of her own whenever I approach her, extends a warm hand to hold. I match her pace - which is surprisingly fast for her 100 years. We have settled in to our own type of communication that simply amounts to showing that we are happy to be in one another's company. There is no need to talk about how we've arrived there or the state of the world outside those walls. It is a moment we share, and I am lucky for it.

Thank you for reading! There are other stories I want to share about my volunteer experience, but thought they'd be more interesting if I gave a bit of background first. Stay tuned!