I drove away, thinking volunteering at a nursing home could mean anything, and a variety of those things could be unpleasant.
But I wouldn’t want to volunteer and demand that I got to read stories or oversee craft time.
I’d want to volunteer and do what was needed.
Which could mean cleaning up a number of messes, changing sheets, doing laundry, who knew?
And as I drove home, something strange stole over me. Something strange and new and unbelievable.
Because my mind was filled with all of the things that could be required of a down and dirty volunteer at a nursing home, and all I could think was that I hoped like heck they liked me.
Because I couldn’t wait to start.
*
“Praise be to Jesus!” the woman behind the desk at Dove House called to the ceiling, her hands lifted up there, her plethora of black braids shaking. She dropped her hands and her eyes hit Ruth, sitting across the desk in a chair beside me. “Call up the good Reverend”, she jerked her head my way, “and God sends a miracle.”
Ruth beamed.
“I’m hardly a miracle,” I mumbled.
“’Scuse me?’ Dela Coleman, Director of Dove House Retirement Home, asked me. “Did you just say you didn’t mind bed pans, changin’ sheets, lookin’ after dentures, wipin’ up half-chewed food, vacuuming, dusting? Not to mention folk who call you other people’s names and swear up and down for hours that you’re their own child or the girl who stole their boyfriend back in the day and they might come tearin’ at you, fingernails bared?”
“I did say that I didn’t mind that,” I confirmed.
“And did you say you could give me three days a week for three hours a day and I don’t have to lay cash on your behind?” she went on.
“I said that as well,” I told her.
“Then if you actually show up those three days a week for three hours a day and work and don’t take off and become a no show or tell me you’re,” she lifted her hands and did air quotation marks, “goin’ back to college at age fifty-six, then you…are…a…miracle.”
“People do go back to college at any age,” Ruth put in and Dela turned her eyes to her.
“Ruth, honey, I saw the woman at The Shack eatin’ omelets and suckin’ back coffees with her biddies and she did not have a laptop in front of her, workin’ on coursework for her online classes to become a graphic designer,” she stated bluntly. “Now, I got old folk attemptin’ the great escape every day, and they may be old but they are not stupid. So it’s touch and go we shut them down or we gotta go to Wayfarer’s to stop them shufflin’ down the aisles in their slippers. Loretta is not gonna be a graphic designer. Loretta was tired of cleaning up half-chewed food and havin’ Mrs. McMurphy shout at her every time she saw her to keep her hands off her man.”
I gave big eyes to my lap, doing this to stop laughing.
“I need to trust you.”
I lifted my eyes when I heard Dela say this.
It was quiet, but it was full of meaning.
“You’ll note you didn’t have to beat off old folk with a stick in order to get in here,” she carried on. “They don’t wanna be here. You’re here for a day, you’ll know why. We do our best with this place but this is not home. This is where you go before you die if you can’t take care of yourself any longer and you have no one who can take care of you. This is a sad place. We do all we can every day to make it less sad. But that’s a losin’ battle, Amelia. You gotta be on board with that, know it and keep a smile on your face and your commitment to me, to them, so we can all count on you. Because they need me makin’ their stay here a wee bit better, not sittin’ down with person after person like you who’s got good intentions, and we all appreciate it, but who’s gonna turn tail and go the minute it gets too much.”
I squared my shoulders and kept looking right in her eyes. “Then I’ll ask if you’ll give me the evening to think about it. I’ll consider what you said. And I won’t phone you to set up an orientation if I’m not certain I can make that commitment.”
She bobbed her head. “I’d appreciate that.”
“And I appreciate you giving me your valuable time and considering me,” I returned.
She shook her head at that, her lips curving up. “You know, if every volunteer considered what they were doin’ a job they gotta apply for, interview for and earn their right to stay, world’d be a better place.”
I didn’t disagree so I didn’t say anything.
She stood, rounding her desk and reaching out a hand to me. “I hope I get a call, Amelia.”
I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I hope I have that call in me, Dela.”
We let go and Ruth stayed behind to talk to Dela because she actually was starting to work, though she didn’t need orientation since I’d learned she filled in a great deal.
I got in my car and drove home.
I got home and didn’t fall into deep contemplation about whether or not I had it in me to go the distance as a volunteer in a nursing home.
I went right to my laptop, firing it up and trolling the Internet to get interior design ideas or possibly find pieces online, something I enjoyed doing throughout the evening. Though I didn’t buy anything. I liked to touch and see the real thing and if I actually bought something online, it would have to be fabulous.
But I did find a few more shops I could add to the “Visit” subsection of my six page to-do list.
So I did.
*
The next morning, promptly at nine o’clock, I called Dela Coleman.
I took the job.
*
I was in my kitchen making cupcakes for the residents of Dove House.
I’d gone through orientation that day. Then I’d gone out to a specialty kitchen shop and bought four cupcake carriers that moms who had little kids in grade school would own so they could cart cakes to school for their kids’ birthdays.
And while I was there, I bought all new dishtowels that matched my new kitchen rugs perfectly.
And a KitchenAid standing mixer in an exquisite shade of blackberry.
The next day I’d start my tenure as a volunteer at Dove House.
And I was bringing the old folks cupcakes.
I was on batch two when my cell on the counter rang.
I looked from the chocolate frosting I was using to ice the vanilla cakes, saw the display on my phone and stopped moving.
My doorbell rang.
My eyes went there and I saw another body I’d know from anywhere through the stained glass.
On the phone, Dad.
At the door, Mickey.
Why me?
Mom had stopped calling a few days before and I shouldn’t be surprised Dad was now up to the plate. Actually, I should be surprised it took a few days for him to make his attempt.
Mickey, however, I had no idea.
I made the difficult decision as to which might cause me the least pain, unsure if it was the correct one, ignored my phone and walked to the door.
I opened it and looked up.
It had not been long since I’d last seen him, just a week, but in that short time he’d somehow become a great deal more beautiful.