Contrary to popular belief, I think it is incredibly exciting to visit nursing homes. Sure, there are times when you might want to nod off like literally every other person in the room, but there are also times when I visit and my friends Helen and John are both talking to me at once, someone’s yelling because their toe got run over by a wheelchair, the nurses are running around with sweaters and glasses of water, and the Hallmark channel is playing so loudly in the background that the elderly preacher in the corner doesn’t even need his hearing aid. Especially when you’re on a college campus and all the people you live with are between the ages of 17 and 23, even just seeing an old person is exciting.
So I always love it when I get to go into South Bend and visit this nursing home. I’ll sign in, let the nurses know that I’m there, grab a chair from the dining room and slide it right up next to the wheelchair of Helen, who is my good friend there. Inevitably, her husband John will already be there visiting, so she’ll be sandwiched between the two of us.
Helen has been there for about six years with Alzheimer’s. She really likes to talk, especially when there’s someone to sit there and listen and look her in the eye and hold her hand, which is my job (I have the best job, guys). Sometimes her stories make sense, but most of the time, they don’t anymore. She’ll string together phrases or ask questions about things that she sees and points out to us, but that don’t actually exist. It makes it really interesting when John and I try to answer her questions.
I feel like John and I are pretty good friends now. I think he enjoys getting to talk to someone who can carry on a conversation because Helen can’t do that anymore. Almost every time I’m there, he tells me the story of how he and Helen met. He’s from around here, but he joined the service when he was younger and got sent to Long Island, which is where Helen grew up. One of his buddies in the Air Force had a girlfriend who lived there, and the two of them set up Helen and John on a blind date. They’ve been together ever since. The way he tells the story, though, is “Oh, she’s just a souvenir I picked up in the service.” He’ll have that devious twinkle in his eye, and all I can do is laugh and shake my head at him, because I know he cherishes her and the life they have made together way more than he lets on because every day, every single day, for the past six years that she’s had Alzheimer’s and been in this nursing home, he comes in and visits. He goes in, he rolls Helen up next to his chair, and they sit together. Sometimes she talks, and he’ll talk to her. Sometimes they sit there and watch the Hallmark movies that are perpetually on the TV. And even if she doesn’t recognize him (which is often the case) he still goes.
Twice now, when I was there, Helen has looked up at him, and completely seriously said, “I’m scared.”
Both times, he took her hand, looked her in the eye, and said, “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve been here the whole time.”
If he took a day off, if he didn’t go one day because he had a doctor’s appointment, or wanted to work in their garden where he grows his tomatoes, or if he wanted to ride in a parade with one of the old motorcycles he hoards in their basement, she wouldn’t know. She wouldn’t remember the next day, wouldn’t be offended. And yet he comes. He spends hours with her, just being there. Just there. Just loving. And it’s the greatest love that I’ve ever seen.
This past school year, I got to be the sacristan for my dorm, which means that I was in charge of setting up and altar serving for every Mass that my dorm had, which was on Mondays, Wednesdays and Sundays. I got fill-ins, so I didn’t go every day, but pretty often. And a lot of times, a lot of times, I did not get everything that I should have from Mass. Oh man, so distracted, so concerned about a paper that I had to write or thinking about the person next to me. And so even though I went to Mass three times a week some weeks, there’s no way that I got everything out of every single Mass or even got the Gospel. Sometimes I would realize that I wasn’t paying attention, and then I would hear, “The Word of the Lord.” Thanks, God, for your Word, and sorry that I missed it, but I’ll try and get it next time. That was not an unusual occurrence, which is sad, but I’m still working on it, guys, don’t worry.
But God was there. Jesus came, even if I missed him in the Word, He was there in the Eucharist, and I got to receive him. I got to receive him, three times a week sometimes! That’s just incredible!
Even if I wasn’t there fully, if I missed a day, if I didn’t visit, if I wasn’t listening, wasn’t speaking back, didn’t answer any of the questions about things God could see that I couldn’t, God still came. He came and he spent an hour, half an hour with me, just to be with me, just to show me his love. And that’s pretty powerful. Pretty powerful love right there.
It’s really easy see the love in John and Helen, the way that he comes and spends time, just like the Lord that I can see in the Eucharist, in Mass, comes to spend time with me. But not just at Mass, everywhere, every day, all the time, even if I don’t recognize him. To spend time with me, to listen to the prayers that I string together that don’t always make sense. Holds my hand when I tell him I’m scared, and he says, “You have nothing to worry about, Raechel, I’ve been here the whole time.”
