From What I've Seen of Harold...

One of our residents is named Harold.  When I started working there in July, he was already one of our most severe dementia cases.  At that time, he was essentially unable to communicate verbally, so when he needed something or was frustrated he would grip the nearest person's arm with a white-knuckle grip.  Unfortunately, this came across as being fairly aggressive so most people were afraid of him and would dismiss him right away (I suppose I can't really blame them; his grip was really strong). 

I quickly learned, however, that behind Harold's desperate grip, was an incredibly gentle, loving man.  Every once in a while this was shown in spurts when he would, instead of firmly gripping someone's forearm, delicately grasp and kiss the hand of a nearby lady.  More than that, however, I discovered his gentle spirit in his eyes.  Somewhere in there I could tell that this was not an aggressive man.  He was simply frightened by his sudden inability to form words and communicate.  When I take a minute to think about how legitimately terrifying that feeling would be, I am surprised Harold was still caring enough to give anyone a kiss on the hand at all.  My suspicions about Harold inward gentleness were confirmed when I met his wife for the first time, and she herself is an incredibly gentle, kind woman. 

About a month later, Harold's dementia was worsening and he no longer initiated interaction or moved himself with his wheelchair.  One day the nurse aides brought him in during one of our activities, "Familiar Stories from Sunday School," and sat him in the back of the room.  I was a little nervous, worried that his anxiety might be a disruption to the other residents (shame on me, right?).  After finishing the story of "Jonah and the Whale," he started to get a little worked up and I thought "Oh boy, here we go.." (again, shame on me).  I could tell he was trying to say something so I asked if he needed anything and he simply said, "Thank you.  I really enjoyed that."  I was shocked that he was even able to say a full sentence, let alone one that made sense.  Later at lunch when he saw me I could tell he was trying to say something again, so I asked if he enjoyed the Bible stories that morning, and he said, as clear as day, "I enjoyed that."  Afterwards I heard some of the aides talking about how something had changed today and he seemed much more calm than usual.

Later that day, his wife came in and I was eager to tell her what had happened.  She, knowing his true character much better than I do, was not as surprised.  She said "Well of course!  That's something that has always been very important to Harold. I'm just so glad he was able to express that to you."  She then told me a story of when Harold was in the service back in the day.  In the midst of some threatening situation during one of the wars (I regret that I don't remember those details), Harold was in a plane/submarine/tank (again, I need to write these details down before I forget them...).  While they were under attack, the rest of the crew was all saying to him, "Harold, go get your beads!" (referring to his rosary beads).  They all knew how strong his faith was and desperately wanted him to pray to ease their fears.  Just the glisten in his wife's eyes as she told me this story was enough to convince me of how deep her love and respect is for him.

I regret to say that as I write this, Harold is lying in his bed, virtually unresponsive, hooked up to the type of machines that we all pray we'll never see our loved ones attached to.  I'm told it won't be long, and every day I see his wife come in and sit with him, probably wondering if this is perhaps the last time she will get to hold his hand.  My heart aches for her, and I am inspired by her strength and persistent smile in this tough time.

Through Harold's story, I have seen firsthand a testimony of bravery and gentleness.  I despise the idea that his wife will soon be in mourning, but I know that the same faith that brought him through those terrifying war scenes will also bring her through this trial.  And I believe she knows it too.  I am grateful to have known them both and consider myself blessed to have had the chance to get to know the real Harold, even as he was trapped in what initially appeared to be a violent, incommunicable body.

May I never look solely upon outward appearance, but always seek after the heart.