Checkmate

I was helping him shower and his gratitude moved me, or would have moved me if I didn’t block out the thankfulness in his eyes and the humble way he appreciated every spray of water that I maneuvered around his body. I washed his feet, between his toes, scrubbed his back, arms, legs, and then finally, his hair. I massaged the shampoo into his scalp while his words of thanks echoed, then bounced far away from me.

I didn’t want to be drawn in. I didn’t want to add yet another to the group of residents that have invaded my heart and are still clinging by incredible sheer will to life.

I struggle always, ALWAYS with boundaries. When to pull back, how to give compassionate care without losing myself in their pain, without losing myself…..

I’ve watched him from afar, he was almost independent and needed little patient care. That has now changed and he can no longer do anything without assistance.

I realize now that my attempts have been useless. He had me from that very first shower, the portrait of a man who had been forgotten, the hunger for human kindness, when just a simple act of washing his hair reverberated gratitude that didn’t bounce off me as I thought or wished, but stayed. Hibernating in the spaces of my heart that I thought were already filled, but that’s the thing about the heart, there’s always room for one more.