I was at a nursing home Christmas party yesterday.
My mother and I were there to see my aunt. She's been there for about four years now, and I recall that our first nursing home Christmas party was pretty hard to take -- the lame and the halt and the demented; some residents lying immobile and unresponsive, barely hanging on; the strained expressions of loved ones as they tried to be cheerful. I remember afterward, our just driving around and around our town for awhile, up and down all the streets, until we could regroup.
But now we're nursing home veterans, so the Christmas party is no longer a source of sadness for us. We're glad for my aunt, who enjoys it, and for the other residents who obviously derive pleasure from the festivities. And I think even for many of the residents who lie in their chairs with closed eyes and expressionless faces, the music and the bells still mean something -- something special and good.
Yesterday one of our local teachers, a young man with a mellow, pop-staples voice, played piano and sang sentimental holiday favorites: "The Christmas Song"; "Winter Wonderland"; "White Christmas." A jolly, well-appointed Santa Claus worked the room, greeting residents and passing out their gifts.
A resident with Alzheimer's was sitting in the front row -- a cheerful older woman who was very expressive in her delight with the whole production -- with the singing and with Santa and with her present. Then another teacher -- the piano player's mother -- read aloud the Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke. At each dramatic development, the resident with Alzheimer's shouted, with great excitement and clarity, "HOORAY!"
The angel appeared to Mary: "HOORAY!"
Joseph and Mary headed for Bethlehem: "HOORAY!"
Jesus was born: "HOORAY!"
The angels appeared to the shepherds and told them of the Messiah's birth: "HOORAY!"
Sometimes it takes a child, or someone with the mind of a child, to remind the thinky, anxious, preoccupied rest of us why we're celebrating a holiday in the first place. God is on the way -- HOORAY!
5 comments:
HOORAY is right! Preach it, demented ol' gal!
[Um, I mean the resident at the nursing home---not you, LC ;-)]
I used to take a service in a local Nursing Home, and found that the confused, demented and totally out-of-it residents could always join in with the Lord's prayer, and many would beat time (with spoons etc.!) to the good ol' hymns we sang!
Hooray! indeed!
Sometimes we visit on Sunday afternoons when some of the more, um, yelling local churches take turns leading the nursing home chapel service...it always irks me to hear these guys blathering on and on in their peculiar version of exegesis ("And therefore let us turn to Leviticus Chapter 6, verse 2, King James Version, and look at the second word: What does this mean contrasted with the third word of the first sentence in verse one?...") -- to a roomful of Alzheimer's patients. Good freaking grief.
Sing "Jesus Loves Me" with them. Talk to them individually; tell them Jesus loves them and you do too. Pray some very simple prayers with them. That is how you do church for frail, confused elderly people. Gaaah!
I still have this phobia about nursing homes. I spend quite a bit of time in them in my youth.
What probably cemented my fear was one Sunday when I offered to play the piano for our pastor when our church did the worship service. There was a woman there who did not want me (or probably anyone) at the piano. She walked by a few times muttering about me at the piano. Then she decided that she could physically pull me away from the paino WHILE I WAS PLAYING!!!
This happened several times. Finally, during the sermon, I went to the nurse's desk to ask for a little assistance. They just hung around, until she did it again, and then started walking her away. She just broke away and came back for me.
What was worse, was that I was situated behind the pastor. While they were all looking at him, they were really watching this poor kid getting beat up by a little old lady.
When they came around for communion, the assistant gave me two glasses, with the comment, "You could use a little extra."
The next time I played for the worship at the nursing home, I made my grandmother sit next to me to protect me!
A friend of mine used to bring Communion to a member of her church in a nursing home, an Alzheimer's patient. The lady barely remembered her name, did not know where or when she was, could not remember that her husband had died--but when Barbara began the Great Thanksgiving, she was there, word perfent in her responses, all the way through.
You remember what is most important.
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