Honoring the person within

The first Christmas card I received this year is from a nurse who took care of my mother in Springfield. She sent a photo of her family and her Christmas letter full of news about her three children, their new home, herself and her husband.

Mother went through all three pregnancies with G and loved to see the her boys when G would bring them to visit, and rejoiced with her when G finally had a daughter. She'd listen to G tell about homeschooling the children, and sometimes had suggestions for G since Mother had been a teacher for many years.

G had various positions during the six years that Mother was there -- meds nurse, assistant director of nursing, charge nurse, and others I don't remember.

What I do remember was her gentle, calming influence on everyone there, and her interaction with the nursing home residents.

She listened. She clearly loved what she did, even if sometimes staff didn't show up or there were difficulties in dealing with doctors or administrative staff.

She respected the personal dignity of each person she helped, and always -- ALWAYS -- treated the residents with honor for who they were, not what they had become in their decline. She saw the person who raised a family, worked, volunteered, laughed, danced, loved, not just the person who was in Depends, needy, anxious, sick, complaining.

There were many nurses' aides who came and went during those years, and many of them found their way to Mother's room where they'd pour out their secrets and stories to her, and she'd listen patiently, occasionally offering advice. Even though some had moved to other opportunities, they still came back to visit, to show off their babies, to bring photos and tell stories.

There were others who were impatient, careless, and never stopped to consider the humanity of the residents they were assisting. They'd breeze in and out, usually talking loudly and clearly in a hurry to get things done NOW. Mom occasionally registered a complaint about one or another -- but they rarely lasted very long anyway. They didn't bother to look at the person within the one who needed help and instead just saw the infirmities.

Oh, I'm sure that not everyone in a nursing home is a *good* person -- there are some real stinkers in our everyday world, y'know, and some of them live long enough to need help. I'm not sure I could manage to be pleasant and helpful to someone who lived their life angry and abusive and selfish.

I am grateful for healthcare workers who can, though. And I am grateful that G was there for my mother and honored her as a person of grace and worth to the end of her days.