Thanks Given

Since spying these “Roses, Late Summer” in early November, Mary Oliver’s poem often hits my refresh button. What would Oliver do with the chance to start her life over? “I would want to spend it all on some / unstinting happiness.”

We have the chance to start over. I’ve known this, sometimes dimly and sometimes brightly, during the pandemic. And, last week when I returned to Richmond, my hometown, I felt it. Two youthful haunts revealed old truths. Beauty wins.

The Virginia Home provides lifelong care for its residents with irreversible physical disabilities. Here’s a glimpse of the duress, wrought by lost community, endured by residents isolated in their rooms and staff members giving their all to serve them. This insider’s tribute, written by Annie Kennedy, Director of Volunteer Services, captures it:

“When the pandemic hit, TVH shut its doors to families, volunteers, interns, and friends. We had to get creative to keep spirits up and needs met, reaching out to friends with sewing machines to make reusable masks and PPE and focusing on bringing activities to residents’ rooms. Trucks loaded with donations arrived. After months of lockdown, with morale quivering, our community sent letters of hope, videos of happiness, painted rocks, window plants, drawings, jokes. We zoomed and connected virtually. Time dragged on. When the vaccine was approved, we jumped onboard and started outdoor respite sessions, 1:1 in-room activities, outdoor concerts, modified seasonal events, and even IN PERSON VISITS! Yes, they might have been through the glass or socially-distanced, but it was a start. Flash forward to today – we have come so far. We’re now breathing fresh air in the park and enjoying in-room visits with our families. Still adhering to all guidelines, we now have hope to one day get back to normal. Everyone has stepped out of their comfort zones and areas of expertise. It hasn’t been easy, but family is family. As we continue navigating through this pandemic, we’ll come up with ways to work around any restrictions to make sure our residents feel loved. I don’t know how our residents got through this – they are truly inspiring, resilient, and so very strong.”

photo credit: Chris Gleason

Annie talked as we walked through the hallways to the back garden, a lovely oasis that my mother volunteered to help plant and nurture. Larry, a resident I’ve gotten to know on visits in recent years, waited for our hour visit. “Hallelujah!” he bellowed through his mask, louder with each laughing effort. We discussed baseball, music, art projects—the sun’s warmth, falling leaves, scampering squirrels. “Will you hold my hand?” he asked. “I’ll show you.” He arranged our laced fingers precisely, latched in a firm clasp. Naturally and painfully, the conversation turned to pre-vaccine life at The Home. Larry’s body stiffened, his face frozen in re-living that isolation, eyes slowly opening and closing. He tilted his head back, mask fogging his glasses, and paused between each word. “It was so hard. And lonely. And scary.” How healing for him to express it—how invaluable for me to feel it. Cheery again and making plans for our next meeting, Larry escorted me outside to the front veranda. I was a college kid again, roaming the halls of The Home while my mother fired the ceramics kiln for resident potters, witnessing human spirit at its finest. Silently, I shrieked a grateful “hallelujah.”

Ducks and geese glided in the lake down the hill from The Home. Fishing poles bobbed. Across the lake and Arthur Ashe Boulevard waited my second bracing dose of beauty.

Strolling around the Byrd Park tennis courts where I learned to play, I thought in a new way about my parents and grandparents. I’d loved them within the framework of my lifetime. With recent pandemic perspective, however, I now love them within the enlarged viewfinder of their lifetimes. My grandmother lived through a pandemic and world wars. My father graduated from college and quickly learned to fly a rescue plane to land in the Pacific. My mother acquired her lifelong, childlike love of Christmas during the Depression, thrilled at her first sight of Santa’s decorated tree with wrapped gifts nestled below. And what did any of these superheroes ever want for me? To be kind. To be happy. To love the world and to feel it love me back. So be it. So be me.

Thanks given.

Bring on some “Soulful Strut” blows Young-Holt Unlimited. New days, new ways—c’mon, a new sashay to Buena Vista Social Club’s “Pueblo Nuevo.”

Listen to a world that “you’ve never heard before.” Yes, ears cupped. Shirley Bassey sings that “On a Clear Day” you can see far, up, within and “the glow of your being outshines every star.” Well, shout hallelujah. Bill Evans leaves plenty of space between tenderly struck keys “On a Clear Day.” Write your lyrics.

Gobble unstinting happiness.

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