Jim is a new friend, several years my senior and retired, a jack of many trades, master of several, and a pretty good guitarist. “I ought to be,” he said the other day; “I’ve been playing for 60 years.” Lisa and I met him last week at a long-term care facility, or what we used to call a nursing home. Jim isn’t a resident but he goes there the third Wednesday of every month to sing and play for those who are. He invited us to join him for one of his “gigs,” so we did.
I hate going to those places as I suspect you do. Even if someone you love lives there. Even if it looks more like an upscale hotel with stacked stone arches and craftsman style architecture and smells of fresh lemons and flowers, as this one did, I still hate going. I’ll go back next month for reasons which I will elucidate below, but I’ll hate it. Some of the folks who live there know they have made their last move, that this is their last earthly home. Truth be told, it isn’t really theirs at all; it’s just the place where they stay to receive a level of care their loved ones can’t adequately provide and they know it. I choose to be sad about that.
Then there are others who don’t know where they are or who they are or even were. Or if they know, they’ve lost the ability to organize their thoughts and put them into words. So they just roam the halls or sit for hours saying nothing, seeing nothing and sometimes they scream out loud. Or silently weep.
I hate going, but I’ll go back. I’ll go back because of what happened when Jim and Lisa and I sang. He told us it would happen this way, but I doubted because among the trades Jim has mastered is tall tale-telling. Name a subject, any subject, and he’ll have a relevant story that may or may not have really happened. But this happened.
We sang some of the old gospel songs. Tell Me The Story of Jesus. Amazing Grace. I’ll Fly Away. I Come To the Garden Alone. Jim played guitar and sang tenor, Lisa sang alto, and I covered the melody. A lot of the folks who still know who they are, who can still tell you what year it is and that Barak Obama is the president, sang along with us. I expected that. These were the old songs. They were the old songs when these folks were young. Of course they knew them. Anybody over 40 who grew up as a Baptist or Methodist or in the Church of Christ knows these songs.
But one of residents who no longer knows, who sits just quietly, slumped awkwardly in his wheel chair, who doesn’t respond to questions or offer any of his own, whose eyes seem to always be looking beyond you – he sat up when we started singing The Old Rugged Cross. And he sang it, too. All the verses. All the words.
The gentleman cannot tell you his name or where he is from or whether he had breakfast this morning. He does not know where he is or how long he has been here or the names of his children. Ask him his age and he will answer you not a word. But he has been on a hill far away. He has seen an old rugged cross and clings to it still. He remembers.
Here is one of my fears. When I no longer know, when I have the faraway look in my eyes and sit slumped in a chair, I am afraid that when I go back – and I will and you will, too – I’m afraid I will retrieve some things from my past that should be left there, should never have been a part of my past to begin with, but are. I’m afraid I will say unbecoming things, things that shame and embarrass me or people I love.
Jesus once said, “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is evil: for of the abundance of his heart his mouth speaketh.”
So I’m going back to the nursing home. It will remind me to store up good treasure in my heart. Then, when someone comes to visit me one day and they sing one of the old songs, I’ll sing, too. All the verses. All the words.
(The picture in this post is of my maternal grandfather, O.G. Adams. He died when I was ten years old, but I remember. He was a good man, an actual clown and had a pig named Stinky.)
All your writings are good, but this one touches my heart very deeply. Thank you! Jeanie
Well said Jody. Thank you.
As always thoughtful insight. You have a gift which is a blessing to all who follow your postings. Thank you my friend.
Beautifully written. Our small group visited a personal care home when the mother of one of our group members lived. She suffered with Alzheimers and often did not know her own daughter. We sang old hymns for the residents (all 5 of them) and towards the end this mom started mouthing the words with us. No one in our small group had dry eyes. You could almost see the longing for heaven in the old woman’s eyes. A sad yet wonderful experience.
Jody, This one brought tears to my eyes!
Hit home – loved it, though
Jody,
This brought back memories of my Mom singing with all of the wonderful folks who volunteered in the nursing home each week. My Mom didn’t know where she was either, but singing brightened her day. God bless all of the Godly compassionate volunteers.
Thanks! My mom’s two sister, a cousin and my brothers got to sing the Old Rugged Cross in my mom’s room right before she died a few months ago. Although she didn’t sing the words, her eyebrows went up and we knew, that she knew, God was in that place.
Love You! Kin
I used to be part of a group that did this when we were stationed in Ohio. Was always as much a blessing to me as to them. I didn’t know Jim was doing this here. Think I’ll tell him to let me know if he ever needs someone.
Jody, this touches my heart, and I wish I had been there to sing and experience that with you. Thank you!
Awesome. Simply awesome.
Jody, the timing of this blot is spot on. My sisters and I just moved my mother into just such a place last weekend…assisted living they call it and it was one of the hardest most heart wrenching things I can collectively say “we” have ever done. All of those same folks live in my mother’s new home…a home I have avoided visiting after my first time as a candy-striper (w/ one p). Avoided way more than a hospital…even more than a funeral home. I don’t really know why..maybe just lack of the hope of living life. I feel hope for healing in a hospital and hope of heaven in the funeral home, but don’t have very many good feelings in an “assisted living” home…in fact very few. Your words have encouraged me….in fact inspired me to look for the joy in finishing a race well run…looking forward to the hope of crossing the finish line in
victory. Of course I will go back. My mother’s there, but maybe next time I visit her and the time after that and again the time after that I can see her and all those who live there in the light of this new hope. Man, I wish I knew how to play the guitar.
There were studies a few years back about people with serious memory problems who could remember words of songs from decades back but had no short term memory. I never heard any follow up.
And finally Stinky is a great name for a pig!
Jody, last night in bed Josh read this post to me. He got so choked up, as did I. I read it again this morning and cried again. Thank you for sharing your heart! You have such an amazing gift with words. Josh said last night he missed hearing you preach. I do too and so does the entire Walker/Koons clan! So glad r have your blog to read! Many blessings to you and Lisa!
-Lori Walker
Jody, this reminded me of the time in 2009 when Chuck and I went to visit his mom in the memory care section of a Senior Living home. A lone, sweet woman was attempting to lead residents in singing hymns. She was so grateful to us for joining in and remembering verses off the top of our heads to sing along with her as some of the residents hummed along. Chuck’s mom, who loved singing all her life, stared into my face and smiled. She couldn’t remember a word, but she kept time with the music, and when we were finished, she told me I sang “pretty”. No one has ever told me that before. I can’t carry a tune, but one of these days I hope to have a new voice in heaven and to sing along with Terry Ehrhart.
Jody:, I can feel myself in that room as you paint this picture I some times think a nursing facility is one of the most lonely places but so often in the rooms of these places we. See Jesus in the faces of these sweet loved ones. It is a hard place to go but it is a placed we find blessings as always thank you for sharing