Greeting to all my dear readers,
I just got home from the hospital. It wasn't me. I went to visit an old guy like me—my dear neighbor. He suffered a mild stroke attack and has been on a hospital bed for almost a week now. When I was there, his condition was quite stable, but part of his left body wasn't like before. His voice was deep inside; I had to get real close to hear him.
His beloved wife, an elderly lady walking with a cane, sat beside the bed. Her face was a mix of tiredness, worry, and hopelessness. Her small eyes seemed to plead for sympathy, yet her lips threw a sincere smile the moment I arrived.
One thing that I want to share here is my own feeling. How I tried to keep my body steady. My face calm. My smile looking natural. Inside me, there was a kind of cold air rushing in, making me shiver. Facing the reality of an old guy like me, lying helplessly on that bed, I could see myself there too.
I bent down to attentively listen to his mumble, yet couldn't make it out. I nodded my head as if I understood what he said, looked into his eyes with a grin, patted, and then rubbed his back. He kept on mumbling, his voice like a marathon runner at the finish line, his chest heaving as if craving more oxygen. I still couldn't make it out.
My heart ached. My eyes started to shed tears, but I held them back. I kept my confident face as if everything was going to be okay. "Don't worry so much," I wanted to convey. But I knew that statement would hurt them more. Because I can't lie to myself, no comforting word is genuine enough in a moment like that.
I paraded my confident face. My steady stand. Without any words. Just gestures. Patted then rubbed.
At that very moment, it wasn't just him and his wife who felt helpless and maybe hopeless. Me too.
When he finally lay down again, silent, eyes closed, catching his breath, his wife started to share what she had been through. She spoke of how long she had been sitting there, how she fed her whole life partner with cereal, how he would push her hand away, not wanting to be fed, and who had come to visit.
I kept my smile, grinning maybe, nodding occasionally with simple "Oh yeah…" to keep her company. Giving her all my attention, letting her talk her heart out, while I stood at the end of the bed with my two hands tightly gripping the bed handle, restraining myself from falling down.
I saw her continuously rubbing or maybe massaging her husband's body as far as her hand could reach. I spent about half an hour there. I gave an envelope to his wife. She wanted to stand up to greet me home. I waved, and she sat again. She kept that smile, reminding me to watch my step.
I walked slowly, maintaining my balance. I realized my legs felt so heavy. When I reached the elevator area, I headed to one of the benches in the far corner. A young man quickly stood up and gave me the space. I smiled and nodded. "Thank you, young man." He left, and I sat there, summoning all the strength I could, trying to regain my composure. I said to myself, "This is what being old is all about."
Once I reached my apartment, I stopped at the drinking corner. Quenching not only my dried throat but my reality too. I sat down with the usual faces, sharing my visit to the hospital and exchanging remarks. Then, when I started to walk home, someone yelled, "You are still young and vibrant, Old Man Em Jay." I waved my hand without looking, smiling to myself. A word came from me, "Am I young and vibrant? Wow wow…"
Sitting here now at my wooden desk, the familiar late afternoon light filtering through the window, I sip my tea and reflect on the visit. It's strange how life can make you face your own vulnerabilities through the experiences of others. The hospital visit was a stark reminder of the fragility of our existence and how, in the blink of an eye, everything can change.
Writing these words helps me process the cold air that had rushed through me, the shiver that had run down my spine. It was my way of facing the reality that one day, I might find myself in the same position. The weight of the visit hung over me, a stark reminder of life's fragility. Yet, it also sparked a deeper gratitude for the present, for the ability to be there for my friend and to share these moments with you, my readers.
In times like these, being present and offering a comforting touch can mean more than words ever could. Sometimes, the strongest support we can give is simply being there, showing that we care through our actions.
Dear readers,
To anyone who has an elderly family member, maybe it is a good moment to pay them a visit while they are at home rather than paying a visit in the hospital bed.
Love
Old Man Em Jay