Two summers ago I was a volunteer in an ER wing at my local hospital. I couldn’t do much except stock shelves, give people water or food at the nurse’s request, and make beds. Interacting with patients was rare, but there was one instance that will forever touch me, and I didn’t even do much.
I was walking around the “B” wing when an older gentlemen called me over. The room was dark, and he was wrapped up in more blankets than I could count. He was alone and extremely ill. I asked him if he needed anything, and he shook his head but held out his hand. At first, I was confused, but then he asked, “Would you mind holding my hand?” I took his hand. It was ice cold and frail and clung to my fingers as if he were about to fall out of the bed.
Rather than telling me his life story like most other patients did, he asked about me. Why was I a volunteer? What did I study in school? Was I happy? We chatted for about 45 minutes. All of a sudden, he told me that his family never comes to see him when he is in the hospital, which was quite often from what I could gather. He told me that he felt alone, that when he came to the ER that it was a reminder of how short his life was. He asked me again if I was happy, and I replied with a quiet “yes,” for I was trying not to cry. After letting out a quiet chuckle, he explained that he had seen me walking around since the early morning, and he wanted to know why I wake up so early to do monotonous work. I laughed and told him that I felt appreciated here, that my work was making a difference even if it wasn’t exciting.
He smiled and let go of my hand. “I appreciate you too.”
The nurse came in to take him for a test on the upper level, and as he was rolling away he said, “Stop by again sometime.” I stood in a room that now lacked a bed and an intriguing individual. There was a sense of guilt that lingered in my chest, not just for myself, but for all of the others who led to this sweet man’s desperation for human kindness. My simple act of holding his hand and speaking about myself gave him immense joy. I never did see him again, but I find myself praying that someone extended a warm heart to his.
Too often we forget the power we have to make someone feel valued, appreciated, and loved that when someone extends kindness to us, we are taken aback. The friend I made that day reminded me of the power I have to shift the focus from the dreadful to the beautiful. During those precious moments, we forgot about illness and loneliness. By listening to my life story, he validated my importance, and as I held his hand, he was reminded of human kindness. It didn’t take much.
