Abstract
“What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.”
—Albert Pike (1809–1891)
I
I remember the day I received my first patient—Mr. Robertson (name has been changed). As I walked up to the doors of the boarding home I felt jittery, anxious, nervous, and excited all at the same time. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. I thought about turning back, but I forced myself to walk through the doors. As I walked into Mr. Robertson's room I saw an old gray haired man sunken into a chair watching the news. His skin looked frail and his eyes looked tired, and I immediately felt nervous again. In my moment of nervousness he turned to me and smiled, and suddenly I had never felt more at ease. Ironically, I was exactly where I needed to be; I had nothing to be fearful of and knew that I would be just fine.
I went to see Mr. Robertson every week this last summer. Mr. Robertson was an eccentric man who loved to share stories; even though not all of his stories made sense, sharing them with me brought life to him in a way I had never seen before. When he told stories about his time in the air force, he would pull up his pants and sit at the very edge of his seat; his eyes would be filled with the magic and liveliness of his tale, as if he was reliving the moment. Mr. Robertson and I had many times of conversation and laughter, but there were also times where we would simply sit in silence. I remember one of the last days I saw him he cast up his arms and said, “You must be some kind of magician; I haven't been able to remember these stories in years. I can't believe I remember. I feel young again!” After I got into my car I started crying, not out of sadness but out of gratitude. Seeing Mr. Robertson happy and full of life brought me the same blissful feeling I experienced as a child when I was able to set an injured bird free knowing I helped better its life. I was simply grateful to have been able to touch Mr. Robertson's life. It was that moment in which I realized hospice work would be the path I wanted to take.
The day I left Mr. Robertson I knew I would quite possibly never see him again. Being a hospice patient, I knew he did not have much time to live, but this time I wasn't afraid of coping with his death. In fact, knowing that I was there to care for him during his last few months brought me serenity. I may have not drastically changed Mr. Robertson's life, but he changed mine. On my first day it was Mr. Robertson's comforting smile that calmed my apprehensive nerves. Perhaps if he hadn't helped me first, I would have never been able to gather the courage to help him.
Although my summer at hospice is over, my experience made me realize the importance of a simple act of kindness. One simple gesture can impact a person's entire life. In fact, sometimes a kind act can impact your life just as much as the person receiving the gesture. Helping others can bring a sense of inner elation that is unexplainable through any words. My grandmother had always stressed the importance of caring for others; maybe that's why she was so happy!
I recently encouraged a friend of mine to volunteer for hospice, and since she had fears similar to mine, I took the time to put her mind at ease by sharing my experience. Afterwards, as I was walking to my car I noticed a small white jasmine flower on my windshield. Jasmines were my grandmother's favorite flower. I searched around to see where the flower could have come from but could not find any plants nearby. Where the flower came from I will never know, but perhaps it's my grandmother's way of telling me that her spirit will be with me wherever I go.