We started our volunteer duties by pouring drinks. Over 100 family visitors trailed into the dining room and lobby, laboriously set up in festive fashion, to feast on roast beef, Chicken Cordon Bleu and all the trimmings. After a thankful prayer by Joyful (who fits her name perfectly) the two-hour long buffet line began. I don't even want to know how many pounds of beef I placed on plates of hungry diners; but, I will tell you, I am now an expert at cutting pieces of beef with tongs.
What stood out the most, though, were the faces and families. Some residents had every person on both sides of their family there to celebrate with them. Those unable to negotiate the buffet have loving family members that know exactly what their loved one likes...and how much of it. I was taken back by this fact: none of us wants to be in that situation-- of watching a loved one losing their quality of life, ability to walk, talk, remember, or do simple acts, like cut one's own food. But the room was full of spirit and life and love yesterday. The tenderness of a son's arm, the hippity- hop of great grandchildren, and the gift of charity and purpose enveloped me.
Those who have known me over the years have heard many stories about my mother in law who my brother fondly titled "a hummingbird on speed." She's always been a force to recon with and a challenge to keep up with as well. We've basically been caring for her since 1989 when my father in law passed away. Right after his death, we lived nearby; we were her home away from home...at least when she wasn't traveling to visit other family and friends. Later, she would come to Tulsa for months at a time attending the boys events. She loved going to work with me no matter where I was teaching, presenting a workshop or even attending a class. Now, we are her prominent caregivers. She lives at Five Rivers for care, but more importantly, for social stimulation. She formerly ran a facility for the disabled; she now views herself as Five Rivers co-director.
Mom is one of the more congnizant residents. The director is smart enough to know she needs constant social interaction and can be an asset if encouraged to collaborate in the day to day activities. If you were to visit the retirement home today, you would see our 89 year old, 100 pound little boss everywhere. She might be playing piano, helping someone find their room, in the Bingo room working on winning my inheritance, or retrieving a cup of coffee for her friend Kay. She is seldom in her room (just ask anyone trying to call) and jumps at any free activity offered. She'll gladly tell you a story or 1000. (We've numbered them now.) And you will never find her without her earmuffs! I love her to death and she drives me absolutely crazy.
After dinner, we went to mom's room to take care of some things. A beautiful Christmas wreath greeted us on her door. She "inherited" it from the family of a resident who recently passed away. Laughing and knowing there was more to that story we entered her room.
There it was.
The moment we always dread. The "real" mom emerges. A panic attack evolves into tears because she'd lost the papers she wanted to show us. Matt tells her four different times, in four different ways, we've already "paid that bill." She stares blankly, her face cherub like that of a small, scared child. She's visibly tired and sometimes winces with pain. We know she won't rest with us there or if we take her home with us so we prepare to leave.
After we finish the daily financial discussion, we remove the fire hazard of cut-up yarn she's stuffed in her cherished ceramic tree, dump some food from the fridge, sneak more useless paper out, and dump another vase of dead flowers she can't bare to part with. As always, with the walker Matt insists she use, she walks us all the way to the car waving goodbye as if we were leaving on a five year stage coach journey home...as if she will never see us again. 
Driving away, her frail figure gets smaller and smaller. I think about all the employees who stayed up all night preparing this special Christmas dinner and the daily sacrifices they make which exceed any job description imaginable. I think about all the caregivers who came to Five Rivers yesterday. People who were busy with shopping, baking, decorating, church choirs, and other activities begging us for time during this season of the year. They stopped. For a couple of hours they came to be present. In fact, they are the present, the gift to those whose lives are diminished to anticipation of seeing them again...waiting...waiting to see them again. A call, a card, a visit. It was a day of anticipation, hope, giving...the very definition of Christ's birth and the reason for this time of celebration each year.
My mom is in a facility, too, and in a special dementia unit. Her dementia is not nearly as advanced as most of the other people, several of whom I recognize as being in assisted living with her. Mom worked in a nursing home for many years as a dietician's assistant and I know how hard those people work. My dad was in a nursing home for 18 months before he died. The people who work in those facilities are truly doing God's work. I'm thankful for them every day.
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