Time well spent

My last two weeks have been filled with early morning CNA clinicals.  I've been working at a nursing facility whose residents all suffer from some kind of psychiatric issue, whether it be dementia (the most common), schizophrenia, bipolar, or anything else.  I think old people are the sweetest, and I didn't doubt that I would get at least a little attached to me residents, but I never guessed that I would fall in love.  These residents, though many of them are noncommunicative, are so much fun and have such great personalities.  It's weird and sad to think that after Saturday, I'll probably never see any of them again.  I've loved getting to know the residents and their habits and preferences.  I love seeing Calvin wander up and down the hall, eyes half closed but somehow avoiding all the walls, and offering a sweet smile to anyone who says hi.  I love waving to Luisa every morning and seeing the joy she gets helping us tidy up.  I love Gwen's mischievous face and her easy grin and hilarious personality.  I love Harold's encouragement, always asking for me, and the conversations we have.  I love Earl's short responses and his love for radio set to his favorite genre, and his grins when washing his ears and toes tickles him.  There are many more, but that gives you a little idea of the delight that comes with working with these people.  (Note: All names have been changed.)

As much as I've enjoyed these past two weeks, I still don't think I could do a job like that, even short-term.  I don't mind changing adult diapers and feeding people, showering them and cleaning up poop, but ultimately, it's too sad.  It's hard to see these people, especially the few younger ones, whose minds are ravaged by dementia and other diseases, who are rarely visited by family, who are only going to deteriorate, and know that this is their life now.  For some of them, it's doubtful that there's any quality of life left.  It's sad to think that most of them used to have jobs and families, full lives; now each day is just like it was when they were babies: eat, toilet, sleep, repeat, with a daily activity or two thrown in there.  Many of the residents are combative or violent, and that would difficult to deal with as well.

But, that said, I am so thankful for my time there.  I hope I never forget these people, and I hope that no matter where I go in life I will continue to remember the lonely generation deserted in nursing homes who would love some companionship.  And as my roommate realized this past semester, there is no one who needs God and is more receptive than the elderly in assisted living.  They're much closer to death, and often feeling alone and purposeless, with their normal lives a thing of the past.  They need Jesus for company and joy, and a hope for the future instead of fear.