The tone of this blog is about to get more emotional than the end of Marley & Me (no idea why my mind just went there since I haven't read it... maybe Old Yeller is a better example. Apparently I've got depressing dog literature on the brain). Now that my time as a volunteer is officially filed away in the file cabinet of life, (that metaphor sounds way too administrative- a completed chapter in my autobiography? Better...) I can begin to reflect on my experience. As the memories formed here in Costa Rica play out in my mental movie theater like a highschool graduation slideshow, I recognize them as trying times and life lessons brought to life by unforgettable characters forever earning a place in my heart.
Some things I won't miss. It scares me that showering with cockroaches, spiders and geckos no longer phases me. I can't wait to throw toilet paper in the toilet again (here, it all goes in the trashcan), go through a day without rain, hang up wet clothes and have dry ones mere hours later, be able to control hot and cold water in the shower, and breathe air uncontaminated by black bus exhaust thick as fog. I'm yearning for the ability to have the right of way as a pedestrian and not be terrified riding in a car like a young child yearns for Santa on Christmas. If I see another grain of white rice I will scream. But these "problems" are first world problems- mere discomforts. Witnessing first hand the often times atrocious unsanitary conditions and complete lack of patient privacy at the nursing home here quickly catapulted me from my cushy little life and into a completely different reality. I desperately want to know the secret of the nurses and other staff at the nursing home. How could they look at a suffering old man screaming as they cleaned his wounds and smile kindly at him while stroking his back even as he tried to hit them? I told one of the nuns that she was a saint and she merely laughed off the compliment saying it was simply her duty.
My last day at the nursing home was, sorry for the overused adjective, bittersweet. The hardest part, leaving Sor Isabel, wrenched my heart. Here was this little lady dressed in white who barely knew me and clearly, as could be seen in her eyes, cared for me. She took me by the arm and walked me to the door- the theme from The Hulk, that emotional song The Lonely Man, played on a loop in my mind as we strolled arm in arm- my final walk through the halls of the nursing home. As she left my at the door, she hugged me with immense strength and told me to be careful in this scary and dangerous world and thanked me profusely for my help. Tears welled behind my eyes as she turned and departed from my life forever.
Some things I won't miss. It scares me that showering with cockroaches, spiders and geckos no longer phases me. I can't wait to throw toilet paper in the toilet again (here, it all goes in the trashcan), go through a day without rain, hang up wet clothes and have dry ones mere hours later, be able to control hot and cold water in the shower, and breathe air uncontaminated by black bus exhaust thick as fog. I'm yearning for the ability to have the right of way as a pedestrian and not be terrified riding in a car like a young child yearns for Santa on Christmas. If I see another grain of white rice I will scream. But these "problems" are first world problems- mere discomforts. Witnessing first hand the often times atrocious unsanitary conditions and complete lack of patient privacy at the nursing home here quickly catapulted me from my cushy little life and into a completely different reality. I desperately want to know the secret of the nurses and other staff at the nursing home. How could they look at a suffering old man screaming as they cleaned his wounds and smile kindly at him while stroking his back even as he tried to hit them? I told one of the nuns that she was a saint and she merely laughed off the compliment saying it was simply her duty.
My last day at the nursing home was, sorry for the overused adjective, bittersweet. The hardest part, leaving Sor Isabel, wrenched my heart. Here was this little lady dressed in white who barely knew me and clearly, as could be seen in her eyes, cared for me. She took me by the arm and walked me to the door- the theme from The Hulk, that emotional song The Lonely Man, played on a loop in my mind as we strolled arm in arm- my final walk through the halls of the nursing home. As she left my at the door, she hugged me with immense strength and told me to be careful in this scary and dangerous world and thanked me profusely for my help. Tears welled behind my eyes as she turned and departed from my life forever.
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