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Compassion
Occasionally I lose track of where my body ends and the rest of the world begins, like the day I slammed the van door on my right hand as I was going to pick up Sarah Majors. Stunned and pale, I take everyone to the Hampton Inn and sit down a minute. Mary Burke brings me a glass of milk to ease my queasy stomach. I go over to the clinic where Dr. Krebser x-rays my hand, gives me a splint for a fractured middle finger and says, “No charge. It’s my contribution to the senior citizens today.” I received comfort from all the people at the site that Thursday and I will never forget the compassion in Raymond Hitt’s eyes, as he has lived with daily physical pain and limitation for years, and he knew the hurt, even though mine would heal quickly and his wouldn’t.
I want to thknk Rosie Wharton for the help she’s given in trying to find places for isolated elderly people to spend the holidays; and Carmen Delzel for scrounging the community to find homes for displaced senior citizens; and Lucille Cameron for standing on her feet so many hours to cook our food; and Faye Crescenti
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