End of Life

My husband Dale preached at a home for senior citizens today. It was a lovely mid-week service, beginning with a sing-along of hymns led by the pianist, an elderly client who'd accompanied her former church for years.


The message was on despondency, and a quick glance around the room confirmed the need for the day's sermon.


These were forgotten loved ones, left to care for themselves after decades of taking care of others. Former teachers who'd once educated city leaders, store owners who'd lent a hand in times of economic crisis, and parents who'd bandaged skinned knees of children and grandchildren.


Alone.


They came from all walks of life. Some had adjusted better than others, making the home their campus and settling into the traditional popularity roles like Class Clown and Most Likely to Share Peas with a Newcomer.


Others had trouble finding the strength to make eye contact.


I tried to assimilate my knowledge of life on the streets with life in a senior citizen home.


Similarities: 1) Many felt hopeless. 2) Individual personalities shone through the circumstances. 3) Most did not have families around. 4) They had nowhere else to go.


Differences: 1) They were in a safe place with hot meals and baths. 2) Many came from homes and had never experienced life without shelter. 3) They knew they were nearing the end of life and the urgency of salvation was at hand.


A gift the Lord gave me a couple of years ago was to feel what the other person was feeling.


The first time I realized I had this gift was at my Aunt Mae's funeral. She was my maternal grandmother's sister and the only relative I had that lived in my hometown.


At the funeral I sat next to her sister, my Aunt Pauline, the only surviving sibling in a family of eight kids. The Stephenson women were strong so it was no surprise that my 90-year-old aunt was the picture of stoicism.


As the service began, I put my arm around her and nearly fell to my knees. It took me a moment before I realized that I was not having a heart attack but was feeling the emotions inside of my aunt. I nearly fell apart at her grief, and had a hard time processing the enormity of it all.


I didn't ask the Lord to take the gift back.


I'm not sure if I've learned to handle this gift better or if I have not encountered such depths of despair since then but I have not had the wind knocked out of me since.


Today came close.


I wanted to just sit and hug everyone in the room, to tell them their lives mattered, and that someone cared.


I wanted to sneak off into the office and call every family member in the Rolodex, berating them for not taking care of the ones who'd taken care of them.


I wanted to call my own children and make sure that it wouldn't be sitting there one  day.


I wanted to be able to sort out all the emotions warring within me.


In the end, I did the same thing I have to do on the streets.


Leave it to the Lord.


But I added a few more names to my prayer list.