HELEN

Her name is Helen. She is 86 years old, and her coming was not expected at all.
I heard people talk about her all the time, about how she had to be carried around, or strolled along in a wheelchair, and be bathed by someone else everyday. In other words, she is nothing but a helpless old lady.
But I heard that she liked kids, and sometimes she laughed over things.
And I started to be compassionate towards her. I guess I always have a soft spot for elderly people in my heart. Perhaps because I’ve never had grandparents, or perhaps because I know that someday I’ll be like them (oh, ok…I’m not yet 25, but God willing, I’ll live for many many years more).
And I started to wonder, how is felt to not look forward to something ahead like us, young folks (we think about our dreams, our future, our ambitions), but to look back to the past, to what they’ve been through.
When I turn 80, will I look back, and be embarrassed of how careless, selfish, and mundane I was on my salad days? Will I regret to see how I’d been thinking about my own self and forget to love others as much as I should have? Will I wish I had done more than I actually did? More loving deeds, more encouraging words, more tenderness, more patience…less arrogance, less timidity, less cowardice, less of my old self?
I hope not… I hope I will be able to look back and smile in satisfaction, and be grateful in my heart for what God had done through me, and my numbered days.
And I found myself praying for Helen, in my room. I don’t know how it feels to grow old and be more dependant to others, even to do things we used to do easily and without thinking. It must be lonely, it must be unpleasant, it must be saddening. In addition of that, Helen has no friends. She just came to Indonesia with her son (who leaves her all alone almost all day long), and the maids around her can’t speak English at all.
I’m not the kind of people who can easily be connected with strangers, or initiate a conversation, but I was compelled to get to know her.
So, after thinking back and forth, one morning I came out of my room, and sat next to her in a bench where she usually sits early in the morning. And I started to talk. She was nice, although a way too quiet and a little bit deaf. I tried my best to converse with her, but before long I was out of words.
And I haven’t had any chance to sit and talk with her again after that. Yet I still wonder what she feels when she stares at things around, with a glimpse of loneliness in her eyes.
I want to be her friend, I want to make her last days on earth colorful. I want her to know that God loves her, and I want to tell her that she’ll be fine.
But alas, I’m traveling soon! I like to travel, but sometimes it prevents me from building a relationship, like this one, with Helen.