On Saturday, I met a woman named Nancy. She has no family locally. Her husband died eight years ago. Four years ago, she woke up with the first of a cascading series of health issues that have since made her a virtual prisoner in her own home. She lives in a two room area, and sticks to a daily routine as best she can. She has a nurse who comes twice a week and a personal care aide who stops in every Wednesday. She is incredibly lonely. She is scared. She asked me, Jennifer, what do they do with people like me when theyre done with us? Am I supposed to leave my house, lock the door behind me, crawl into a bed at some facility and just wait to die? All I could say was, well be here for you. Well check in on you. And along the way, well arm you with information and well help you understand you are valued and well do everything we can to help you not be scared anymore. She cried. I hugged her. I closed the door behind me. And then I cried, too. Last night, I took a lovely lady out to Southridge to get her eyeglasses prescription filled. She had been waiting 3 1/2 weeks to get them. Three and half weeks with poor vision. For one, she had to save the money to pay for them. For another, she had no way to get there. So after work, I drove out to Campbells Creek to pick her up. She met me at the door in her small wheelchair, all dressed up. We worked together to get her out of the house and to the car, which she was able to get in without any trouble. Her small wheelchair folded up and slid easily into the backseat. We drove out to Southridge and I helped her into the store, introducing her to the young sales clerk who took good care of her. She picked out a very pretty, feminine pair of frames, some lens cleaner, a hard shell case, and a sparkly chain to secure the glasses around her neck. We got back in the car for the ride home, and she told me fascinating stories about her life: her parents died in a ferry accident in Charleston when she was three years old. She and her sister were raised by their grandparents. She ran off to marry her love - her husband - at age 17. Her husband worked as a toll collector on the WV Turnpike for nearly 40 years. Finally, as we made the turn toward her house, she said quietly, I lost my leg a year ago. I lost my husband in January. But today has been a good day. Today has been like Christmas. I tell you these stories - and there are many, many more like them - for one reason and one reason only. If you ever doubt - EVER - that you can make a difference in the world? You are wrong. It doesnt take much. It just takes you.
Posted on: Wed, 15 Oct 2014 01:41:40 +0000
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