Can I tell you my favorite type of workday? That would be the workday which starts at 10:00 instead of 8:00 because we have to do all sorts of errands before going to work. It would be the day that ends with sitting in a pharmacy sipping coffee and conversing about random things. It would be the day that I realize that me and my coworker are becoming more than coworkers, we’re become friends, and I’m pretty sure we’re become connected in the way that God intended all human beings to be connected to eachother. Connected in the way that even though we come from different worlds, that our hearts break over the same things. The way that we recognize we are different, and yet know we’re the same.
Every day my heart breaks a little bit. I learn a little bit more about life here, and it’s hard to take it all in. But there’s so much love and joy in this elderly home too, and the combination of joy and heartbreak is what inspires me to want to make a difference here. Today Zoila told me more in more detail why some of the residents are here. She told me about my English-speaking friend who spent all his money on alcohol about 10 years ago, and his family got so fed up that they abandoned him here, and they never come to visit. She told me about the woman who comes and sits at the doorway every single day waiting for her family to come, even though they never do. She told me how that woman used to sleep under the bed because she was terrified at night. There’s lots of stories of abandonment, and there are a lot of broken hearts living here at this elderly home.
Zoila asked me how much someone who works at an elderly home makes in the states. I told her I wasn’t sure and she insisted that I guess. So I told her I would guess about $30,000 dollars a year. She was in awe. I don’t like answering questions about money or anything related to it- I think that tit kind of raises this feeling of jealousy. I mean I’ll tell you- I make more in one day substitute teaching than Zoila makes in an entire week. And that’s not fair. She works 6 days a week, receives no benefits, and doesn’t have any paid vacation time. If they take a day off, they don’t earn wages for that day- and because they can’t afford to do that, it means 6 days a week of hard labor, 52 weeks a year. But these are the things I can’t change. The things that I know deep down are wrong, and I can’t do diddly-squat to make a difference. I hate that feeling. But I intend to keep doing my best to at least make a difference here at this little elderly home. Maybe I can’t save the world- but I can certainly make a difference.
Until next time,
Rachel
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