SNOW!
It's Saturday. The day that I sit with dear Chester so his wife can enjoy the afternoon with their daughter without worrying about his welfare. Their daughter drives about an hour and a half to visit, and with our current winter storm, I half-expected Virginia to call and cancel. To my surprise, I heard not a peep from neither Virginia nor her daughter, so I drove off into the snow-covered streets for my afternoon "man sitting."
The snow was rather deceiving... small, wispy flakes that tricked you into believing that they were only there for a dusting of things... but there were so darned many of them, and when assisted by the blustering wind... they turned the sky white and buried the roadways!
As Chester and I settled into our Saturday routine, a nagging need to shovel the driveway and walk kept tugging at my mind. I didn't want Chester to think he was alone, and I certainly didn't want anything to happen to him while I was outside tending to the trickery of the snowflakes. But, I just couldn't sit there, able-bodied, and not shovel the snow.
To minimize the risk of Chester being alone, I decided I would shovel swiftly, with a keen ear... just in case. The shovel at the side of the house was some silly thing... I'm sure designed to make shovelling easier, however, this ergonomic snow remover was slowing down my swift shovelling for sure! I was now battling the sneaky snow that kept landing on the tips of my eyelashes, only to melt wetly upon my eyes. I was battling the wind, the wind that was making me unsure that I would hear Chester's cry for help. I was battling this silly shovel... worry... and time. My simple task was growing ever more complicated, but I could not stop halfway down the drive! What sense would that make? What good is half a good deed?
I'm quite sure that I was only gone for a short time, and I managed to get the walkways and the driveways cleared without anything disastrous happening to myself or Chester. I took off my boots and my snow dampened coat, straightened up my disheveled hair, and decided today would be the first day that Chester ate or drank for me.
I poured his sip-cup full of grape juice, and pulled a sugar-free strawberry jello cup from the refrigerator. Despite his earlier denial of being thirsty, he eagerly reached for his cup, and took a few healthy gulps of grape juice. Chester's eyes were examining me. His big, blue eyes studied my face as if he were looking for something familiar about it.
As he ate the first bite or two of jello that I spoon fed him, his eyes seemed a bit softer. Inside I was thinking how pretty his eyes were; a soft, slate blue, with a hint of his soul's sweetness in the light that sparkled about them. For some reason, the words weren't wanting to be spoken. But when I thought of how wonderful kind words can feel, I knew I had to say them.
"You have beautiful eyes, Chester." I said them, and it didn't hurt one bit. As I fed him another spoonful of jello, his eyes gazed into mine... as if he were wishing to say something to me. I've heard that Chester was quite a proper man, and maybe he wished to thank me, as most proper people would, but this mattered not to me. What mattered to me was that Chester was awake. He was eating and drinking, and thank God, breathing.
I've learned that Chester was a well-respected teacher for 33 years. He was a talented athlete, and an avid golfer. An excellent cook, and butcher's son, Chester taught his wife all she knew about cooking. He is a proud father, and grandfather. A good... proper man. And I just know that though he may not speak much, and even though he relies on others for his care... that man is still inside his withered exterior. I know his brain still holds memories, curiosity, and emotion.
I realized how difficult it can be to get our own needs met, when we are of able mind and body, and this is why I am drawn so compassionately towards Chester. I thought of how many times I had failed to ask another for help when I was in need, and wondered if Chester refused his own needs to avoid the same sense of burden that I often felt myself. I knew all to well the silent pain of feeling neglected, and I could never wish that for another... especially one who was no longer able to care for himself, knowing he had spent over 90 years dedicated to his students, his wife, and family.
Spending Saturdays with Chester allows his wife the opportunity to enjoy the afternoon, soaking up all of life's simple pleasures, all the while knowing that they may soon escape her, and her dear Chester. Spending these days gives me a sense of preparedness for the future care of my own family as they grow dependent upon the care of others, and gives me a great sense of comfort knowing that the power of kindness is... immeasurable.
It's Saturday. The day that I sit with dear Chester so his wife can enjoy the afternoon with their daughter without worrying about his welfare. Their daughter drives about an hour and a half to visit, and with our current winter storm, I half-expected Virginia to call and cancel. To my surprise, I heard not a peep from neither Virginia nor her daughter, so I drove off into the snow-covered streets for my afternoon "man sitting."
The snow was rather deceiving... small, wispy flakes that tricked you into believing that they were only there for a dusting of things... but there were so darned many of them, and when assisted by the blustering wind... they turned the sky white and buried the roadways!
As Chester and I settled into our Saturday routine, a nagging need to shovel the driveway and walk kept tugging at my mind. I didn't want Chester to think he was alone, and I certainly didn't want anything to happen to him while I was outside tending to the trickery of the snowflakes. But, I just couldn't sit there, able-bodied, and not shovel the snow.
To minimize the risk of Chester being alone, I decided I would shovel swiftly, with a keen ear... just in case. The shovel at the side of the house was some silly thing... I'm sure designed to make shovelling easier, however, this ergonomic snow remover was slowing down my swift shovelling for sure! I was now battling the sneaky snow that kept landing on the tips of my eyelashes, only to melt wetly upon my eyes. I was battling the wind, the wind that was making me unsure that I would hear Chester's cry for help. I was battling this silly shovel... worry... and time. My simple task was growing ever more complicated, but I could not stop halfway down the drive! What sense would that make? What good is half a good deed?
I'm quite sure that I was only gone for a short time, and I managed to get the walkways and the driveways cleared without anything disastrous happening to myself or Chester. I took off my boots and my snow dampened coat, straightened up my disheveled hair, and decided today would be the first day that Chester ate or drank for me.
I poured his sip-cup full of grape juice, and pulled a sugar-free strawberry jello cup from the refrigerator. Despite his earlier denial of being thirsty, he eagerly reached for his cup, and took a few healthy gulps of grape juice. Chester's eyes were examining me. His big, blue eyes studied my face as if he were looking for something familiar about it.
As he ate the first bite or two of jello that I spoon fed him, his eyes seemed a bit softer. Inside I was thinking how pretty his eyes were; a soft, slate blue, with a hint of his soul's sweetness in the light that sparkled about them. For some reason, the words weren't wanting to be spoken. But when I thought of how wonderful kind words can feel, I knew I had to say them.
"You have beautiful eyes, Chester." I said them, and it didn't hurt one bit. As I fed him another spoonful of jello, his eyes gazed into mine... as if he were wishing to say something to me. I've heard that Chester was quite a proper man, and maybe he wished to thank me, as most proper people would, but this mattered not to me. What mattered to me was that Chester was awake. He was eating and drinking, and thank God, breathing.
I've learned that Chester was a well-respected teacher for 33 years. He was a talented athlete, and an avid golfer. An excellent cook, and butcher's son, Chester taught his wife all she knew about cooking. He is a proud father, and grandfather. A good... proper man. And I just know that though he may not speak much, and even though he relies on others for his care... that man is still inside his withered exterior. I know his brain still holds memories, curiosity, and emotion.
I realized how difficult it can be to get our own needs met, when we are of able mind and body, and this is why I am drawn so compassionately towards Chester. I thought of how many times I had failed to ask another for help when I was in need, and wondered if Chester refused his own needs to avoid the same sense of burden that I often felt myself. I knew all to well the silent pain of feeling neglected, and I could never wish that for another... especially one who was no longer able to care for himself, knowing he had spent over 90 years dedicated to his students, his wife, and family.
Spending Saturdays with Chester allows his wife the opportunity to enjoy the afternoon, soaking up all of life's simple pleasures, all the while knowing that they may soon escape her, and her dear Chester. Spending these days gives me a sense of preparedness for the future care of my own family as they grow dependent upon the care of others, and gives me a great sense of comfort knowing that the power of kindness is... immeasurable.
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