Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

Giving Something Back

By Wynell Glanton Britton

After thirty-three years of managing the office for our auto-parts

store in

our small hometown of Athens, Alabama, we decided to sell our business and

retire. We also raised beef cattle on the farm where we live, so I knew my

husband would find plenty to do to keep busy, but what about me? I needed

something to fill my days and most of all to feel needed. Our two children

were

married and had homes and careers of their own. Oh, I knew I'd be busy

gardening, freezing vegetables and all the other things farm wives do, but

I was

used to being with people, and I loved the many friendships we shared with

our

customers and friends. How could I retire and still have a feeling of

connection with our community? After all, these were the people who

supported

our efforts when we first opened our business, two young people scared to

death

we wouldn't make it on a shoestring budget. We had been so blessed, and I

wanted to give something back.

Knowing my dilemma, a friend told me about a hospice meeting and asked

if I

would be interested in taking the training class and becoming a hospice

volunteer. I was so excited! Here was my opportunity to serve my

community,

give back to it, maintain friendships and begin new ones. The only thing I

worried about was that all my patients would be terminally ill and in their

doctor's opinion would not live more than six months. Was I up to the

task?

I could certainly sympathize with their families. I had lost both my

parents when they were in their prime of life. I had been a young mother

myself, and I desperately needed my mother's love and advice when she was

stricken with cancer. I longed for my children to have the opportunity to

get

to know her gentle ways and to remember her kisses on their skinned knees,

but

that was not to be. I spent many days and nights alone or sometimes out on

the

old porch swing with a cup of coffee, feeling as if no one knew or cared

for me.

How I wished for an understanding arm around my shoulder while my mother

slipped

quietly into eternity. Yes, I knew grief firsthand. If my experience had

taught me anything, it was to share compassion to the dying and their

families.

So I became a hospice volunteer, and my journey began.

Equipped with information from my new training class, my desire to

serve

and a willingness to learn, I was assigned my first patient. With shaking

knees, I knocked on the door of an elderly gentleman who was thrilled to

see me.

I recognized him at once as one of our former customers. Mr. , a

humble

man, could neither read nor write, nor could his wife. She had never

learned to

drive a car; therefore, I drove him into the nearest town for his cancer

treatments. I took him for drives through the countryside to his boyhood

home

and stopped occasionally for a cool drink of water from the sweet spring

there.

His wife found it too difficult to help him prepare for the inevitable, so

it

was I who helped him in the making of his last will and testament,

pre-planned

his funeral and helped him with his final wish - to accept the Lord as his

Savior before he died. Mr. taught us all the power of faith by

living two

years from the time I first knocked on his door instead of the usual six

months.

My next knock found my knees shaking, just not as hard. Imagine my

surprise when I was answered by a caregiver and led to the bedside of my

favorite high-school teacher, whom I had not seen in many years. Her body

was

terribly frail but her memory still vivid. We had many days of joyful

remembrances, and I was able to notify several of her former students of

her

condition, so she had many visits and calls.

My greatest challenge was my childhood friend, who had remained a dear

friend and confidant, and was diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer. By

her

bedside, we shared our feelings about life and how it seems to slip away

unnoticed, so many things left undone and unsaid.

Then came the elderly couple who were struggling to care for each

other.

At first, they were a little reluctant to let anyone into their lives, but

they

soon appreciated the loaves of homemade bread and fresh vegetables from my

garden. Their favorite gifts were the big bouquets from my rose garden.

My

rose garden was my greatest asset. I found that all my patients and their

families loved my roses. A fresh bouquet of vibrant red " Dolly Partons " or

the

creamy pink " Barbara Bushes " always seemed to brighten up a dismal sick

room.

My garden of eight to ten bushes, inspired by my patients' enthusiasm,

began to

grow. Twenty, then forty, then sixty-five bushes, a whole corner of my

yard in

wonderful fragrant colorful roses just waiting to be cut while the early

morning

dew still lingered on their petals. They seemed to know their purpose and

outdid themselves with some blooms as big as saucers. Soon, my garden

became

known as my Hospice Rose Garden. Word soon spread about the Dollys and

Barbaras. They began to appear at weddings, teas and other social

gatherings in

our community. Just another way I found to give back.

My greatest reward is being requested by a patient or family to be

their

volunteer. When I get a call from our director with the words, " Someone

has

asked for you, " I am filled with great humility. Each assignment holds a

new

challenge. I have learned from every family. We are all God's children,

and he

has a plan for each life. A smile is the same in every language, and " I

love

you " is really very easy to say if you mean it.