I believe that the thing that has changed my life the most over the last few years has been the volunteering work my family undertakes at a local end-of-life residential care home. Last week I made that statement to someone, and his response, reasonably enough, was “How?” I mumbled something about becoming more mellow. But then I thought I should try to formulate a better answer for myself, because, if it is true, I ought to be able to understand why and how and maybe to extract other useful lessons.
Four years ago our local mass was visited by a couple of nuns, one of whom made a quirky speech, seeking volunteers. Sister Elizabeth Ann was far from polished, but was utterly charming, and we were intrigued. There it would have ended, but a few months later my wife called them up and the family ended up visiting the facility one Saturday morning to learn more and for some training. When the nun tasked with explaining how to work a wheelchair turned out to be seventy-five and appearing to be not far short of needing such a chair for herself, we were hooked.
Queen of Peace is a residential old folks home near the Queens-Nassau border run by some nuns from an order called the Little Sisters of the Poor. It is a big facility, with a seminary in one building and accommodation for 100 residents and 20 nuns in another building, one that also houses a beautiful chapel, and common facilities like dining rooms.
The residents range from 80-110 and tend to progress through the floors. Some have lived there for twenty years, but others die only months after admission. The fourth and fifth floors comprise apartments where residents live quite independently. On the second floor the level of care becomes higher and those residents have meals served to them. The third floor has the highest level of care and oversight. Residents are not required to be Catholic, but those that are (and some that aren’t) can join the nuns at daily mass. When a resident is close to death, nuns form a bedside vigil. Many residential nuns are also quite elderly, but others are younger, and the novices from the seminary appear and offer extra energy on occasion. There are medical and service employees, and also some volunteers.
We show up every Saturday evening when we are free to help serving the evening meal to second floor residents. When they were with us, the kids did the same for the third floor: seemingly the weaker residents benefit the most from having young folk around them. In truth, the nuns and staff could serve the meals quite easily without us, and our role is partly to help but mainly to offer conversation and friendship. Over the years we have got to know many residents well and they look forward to our visits. After dinner, we visit the old friends who have moved up from floor two to floor three. Then once per week I show up to cantor the daily mass, and I am also on a list of volunteers available to act as drivers, usually ferrying residents to and from medical appointments. We try to show up on days when they might be short of volunteers and the old folk need cheering up, such as New Year’s Eve. Finally, one of our choirs performs a free concert for the residents each year.
So how has this rather humdrum activity changed our lives so much? The evidence that it has mainly comes from our moods. We look forward to each visit and are sad when we have to miss a Saturday. While there, stress seems to vanish and we become more peaceful and serene. We always talk fondly after every visit, not just on the way home but sometimes for days afterwards. We often refer to residents in general conversation, some alive and some now dead, and always with fondness. All those thoughts and conversations feel kinder and gentler than other interactions.
What is the secret sauce in Queen of Peace that makes those good things happen? There are several contributing elements and a few common themes.
Some of the experiences make us calmer and better people. There is something humble and generous about serving. We are not looking for accolades, it is simply calming and a joy to see gratitude on faces. Everything happens at a slow pace as well, something that helps to remove stress and build patience. There is plenty of gentle humour and humility too. Most residents are deaf and that makes them speak more loudly then they are aware, so often I will serve a table, leave, and hear a loud conversation afterwards, sometimes along the lines of how “that guy” has no idea how to make a good sandwich or some other failing.
Talking with the old folk also has many valuable lessons. One is not to judge based on appearances. Many residents are severely disabled physically but are still sharp mentally (and some the opposite), and it is a good reminder that everyone has an interesting story and warrants our respect. A lot of wisdom comes from those old mouths. I have a bad habit of stopping listening to people when bored or distracted, and serving at the home has reduced that. It is also a good exercise in finding something to say, in accepting people as they are, and in being cheerful and positive. Another benefit is becoming comfortable with disability – I used to avoid eye contact with such folk and even to shiver internally; now I can engage openly, which is usually what disabled people want.
Another theme is acceptance of decline, pain, and ultimately death. It is sometimes tough for the residents to accept that, for example, they need to transition from a walker to a wheelchair, and life can seem to become a series of small defeats to them. But the nuns help them through it with kindness. Actually, kindness permeates among the residents. One old bird was a curmudgeon when she first arrived, but some of the grace of her new friends and the nuns has rubbed off on her. Seeing this gives us hope and joy. Then, as death nears, the nuns help them prepare, so that often the end is not a source of fear or misery but more of a gentle passage. Seeing all this helps us put our own small troubles into a wider context.
Through it all the key word is love. Queen of Peace is a wonderful place full of human love. Nowadays, when one resident is sick or angry or frightened, I just try to remind them that they are surrounded by love, and often that is all that they need to hear. Perhaps that all that any of us need to hear, all the time, whatever our age or fitness or situation. Becoming a small part of that circle of love and witnessing its power maybe the greatest gift of all.
Sometimes I wonder if the magic comes from the volunteering or from the nuns. Certainly the combination is powerful, and I wonder if we would get the same sense of love and peace if, for example, we volunteered in a prison. We have started manning the food bank at our local church, and there me meet a rougher class of person and there are no nuns around to help. But somehow the magic still works. So my conclusion is that the nuns help to create something truly special at Queen of Peace, but that the service involved in any volunteering situation can offer serenity. That also fits with my experience in a twelve-step programme some years ago.
The experience at the home illustrates another truth, which is that we all tend to converge with our environments. I am sure I was at my least respectful when part of an aggressive, fear-filled business atmosphere. Luckily, most arenas that I inhabit today are much more mellow. We should not be surprised that kids growing up in deprived surroundings often fail to escape them. We should be slower to judge these people and quicker to help them.
I am not sure that my answer to the “How?” question would be much more succinct as a result of the thought behind this blog, but perhaps I can make my claim with a little more confidence than before, and feel more secure in the implied claim that volunteering can be a great gift for all of us. If I had to summarise it in a sentence, that sentence must include the word love. For love is where it all starts, and the nuns at Queen of Peace demonstrate love more than any group of people I’ve ever had the privilege to be among.
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