Lent 17

Where along the way did I get the idea that my words mattered so much? Let me clarify. Where along the way did I get the idea that someone who won't remember what I say to them or someone who can't hold a "normal" conversation isn't worth my time? Too many times I have given less time to dementia patients or let nurses let me off the hook when they say, "Don't worry about checking in there? She won't know who you are or remember you came?" I'm not sure where I got the idea, but I seem to have been operating under some assumption that what I say matters more than where I am.

I met a man today. I didn't know anything about him before I walked in the room. His door was open, he was sitting up on his bed and I walked in and introduced myself. He reached out and shook my hand, telling me his name. He asked me how I was doing and thanked me for stopping by. Everything seemed normal until: "Hey, you got any jumper cables?" "No, sir. What do you need jumper cables for?" "Because me and you are gonna hook 'em up and crank up this bed! You see that door there (as he pointed to the wall). Open that up wide. You reckon this bed will fit through there?" He proceeded to tell me all the places we'd go and do, using the bed as the car. I felt a bit of shame when the thought crossed my mind that I shouldn't have walked in that room. I then changed my thinking and started talking to him about the things we'd do and where we'd go. We had a 10 minute, whimsical conversation. The only bit of reality was when I had to convince him that he didn't need his shoes on, mostly because I was concerned he would walk out if I helped him put his shoes on.

I realized today that this experience, and all those other times I've let women think I'm their daughters and all those times I have let old men think I'm their wives, are moments of true care. I don't know when I got the idea that words I say carry so much weight that they should never be forgotten. It's the being there that matters a whole lot more.