Years ago, I worked as a nurse-aide in a Catholic nursing home. The spiritual atmosphere and genuine caring of the staff and residents for each other made this one of the most rewarding jobs I’ve ever had.
Bringing happiness into the lives of the elderly while they were “waiting for God” was one of my greatest talents. And many of my co-workers and “sisters” working along side of me admired this. A friend and co-worker and myself would make rounds every evening and visit with the sisters. Even though they would not have necessarily be our patients. Many times they would be waiting up for us, or would not go to sleep until we came to see them. We were often told stories of one sister who refused to go to bed on the days I was off.
Visiting with the sisters, you really get to know them. How, under those matching black habits, they were women with totally different personalities. They had the best educations. And an innocence about them that’s hard to explain.
I had many humorous encounters and would like to share one with you.
One sister, extremely overweight, had been pretty much bedridden for a few years. She was a very proud person and dealt with the embarrassment of her condition by being a recluse. There were very few people she would allow into her room. When she first met you, she would not speak but to give you directions, never looking you in the eyes. She chased out many who never returned.
Soon we had become somewhat friendly and she began to loosen up. We joked and kidded around, much to other’s amazement. Her disposition began to change. She even let an elementary class into her room on nursing home day to show her their teddy bears.
One evening, while my friend and I were making rounds, we stopped in to see the sister, who now was one of our nightly visits. My friend left and I remained. The sister and I talked a while longer and I said goodbye. There was some comment made by me, I can’t remember what I said. But the sister replied with, “And tomorrow’s my birthday.”
I went to my friend and the next day we bought gifts, balloons, and flowers for the sister. She was not allowed to have cake so we got her one of her favorite sweets.
Into the nursing home, we went with our gifts. Everyone we passed wanted to know whose birthday. We went right up to sisters room, knocked on the door (you never could go into her room without knocking), entered with a cheerful “HAPPY BIRTHDAY.” The sister had a look of surprise I had never seen on someone’s face before. Tears began to stream down her face. My friend went over, hugged, and kissed her and then I did.
“Who told you it was my birthday?” asked the sister.
“You did!” I said.
“When?” she asked puzzled.
“Last night when I was leaving.”
“I was making a joke.” She began to laugh and we joined and laughed until we were all crying. Then she stopped laughing, then seriously said “We will pretend today is my birthday.”
Hearing all the commotion, the other employees and residents wanted to come in and find out what had happened. We announced it was the sister’s birthday—not letting anyone know it really was not.
One nurse stopped us outside and said, “It’s not her birthday.” We explained what had happened and we all began to laugh again until we cried.
Before the night had ended, almost everyone in the community and the staff including the director of nursing stopped to wish sister a happy birthday.
I soon left to work at another facility. About a month later, I had heard she had passed away. She didn’t make it to her real birthday.
