The Castaways

From his earliest memories, Jake could recall the echo of his late grandmother, "If you help dig someone out of their troubles, you'll always find a place to bury your own." She was a simple woman, the salt of the earth, but she possessed a wisdom unknown to most. She spent her last moments on earth at the Rose Hawthorne Home, a health care facility for terminally ill cancer patients. Jake was nearly sixteen when he began visiting her. Through the exploring eyes of a child, he quickly discovered she was not the only person to enjoy such precious knowledge.

No different from other nursing homes, Rose Hawthorne was a safe haven for the elderly. Its suffering patients were soothed by the gentle hands of a caring staff, while the home depended on community donations of food and money. During his visits, however, Jake also found that there were other compassionate souls willing to give something far more valuable. They gave their time, volunteering to help in the fight against another devastating disease called loneliness. The exchange between the patients and volunteers was both touching and humbling. To young Jake's surprise, he couldn't tell who benefited more.

Within Rose Hawthorne, there was a peace most people could have only dreamed of. Removed from the rat race of society, the tranquil surroundings were absolutely breathtaking. Hundreds of green plants filled the ward, while a handful of birds chirped in harmony. The sun's rays engulfed the interior of the building and the same sweet melody seemed to play over-and-over on some hidden hi-fi. Sometimes, while his grandmother snored, Jake listened carefully. There were always the muffled sounds of laughter.

Although torment loomed over each bed and death lurked behind every corner, Jake discovered a silent bliss. Each patient had reached the end of their life's path and most were finished with the denial, the negotiating with God - the anger. There was no battling the inevitable. Instead, the snickers of a friendly card game could be overheard, or the whispers of some treasured conversations detected. Armed with decades of experience, peering into the patients' eyes was like gazing into a history book. For those who dared to open the cover, lengthy discussions usually revealed years of hard lessons and the wisdom achieved. The teachers were old. They were sick and tired, but they had more to offer than anyone Jake ever met. Unfortunately, in the Western Hemisphere, the elderly were often cast aside as nuisances. Even at fifteen, Jake knew it was an ignorant assessment.

As the weeks progressed and his grandmother got worse, Jake introduced himself to many of her neighbors. Some spoke of their children and of the generations to come. Most, however, preferred to dabble in the past. Jake enjoyed those talks the best. He learned so much about life at the turn of the century:

One frail woman, each winter, strapped on ice skates and commuted across the Taunton River to work every morning. Her brother, during the Great Depression, kept his family alive on a staple of potatoes. One of the quieter men boasted of the fortune he made during Prohibition, while another reveled in the memory of the hurricane of 1938. As if he could still see it, his eyes went wide, "Many a homes were wiped out back then, but the folks in the North end came together like nothin' I ain't ever seen since!"

From bed-to-bed, there were endless stories of WWI and WWII. The graphic and brutal details of combat actually caused Jake several sleepless nights. Awestruck, he also learned that the families who remained on the home front suffered terribly in their own silent ways. Every soul shared in the war effort and the labor was considered hard, but righteous. Occasionally, even politics was brought up. The consensus was, even years ago, integrity was never considered an actual criterion for the profession.

Some spoke of the day-to-day life. There were trolleys that ran from one side of the city to the next and boys who thought nothing of stealing a free ride. There were steamboats that paddled down the river, while horses transported those with land legs. All meals were cooked at home and children never dared disrespect an adult, while expecting to keep all their teeth. And speaking of teeth, "The dentists and medical doctors back in them days were no better than the vets that castrated bulls."

Jake marveled at the raspy whispers of Lizzie Borden and her infamous axe. Many of the patients still regarded her as the Devil incarnate. Yet, when Jake asked, "Do you think she did it?" he received only grins for answers. History disclosed that Old Lizzie was found 'not guilty' for the gruesome hacking of her parents and the crime was never solved. Looking past the grins and into the eyes of those Jake asked, however, it was almost as if they knew the truth and weren't talking. Then again, with a deeper look, it was as if they knew the truth about everything.

Afternoon conversations included the value of the dollar and all one could buy when, "It was worth something." Verbal pictures were painted of men peddling their goods. Blocks of ice, vegetables, everything was bought and sold in the street. "Shoot, you could get your scissors sharpened, buy a new set of flatware or a Sunday hat without ever leaving your doorstep," one woman bragged. Radio programs left more to the imagination than the invention of television. Most could even remember exactly where they were when the Titanic sunk or Elvis Presley gyrated his hips for the first time.

After three months, Jake considered each one of them a genius.

It was a cold March morning when Jake's grandmother decided she had endured enough pain. Two days before her departure, he visited for the last time. While making his rounds, many of the patients thanked him for his time and compassion, as if they knew they would not set eyes on him again. It seemed silly. If he'd done anything, then he had already been paid back tenfold. Though there was no exchange of money, the gifts he received each visit were worth so much more. If time was all he needed to give, then it was the best investment he'd ever made.

Jake bid farewell to his grandmother that afternoon, never realizing that it was actually goodbye. On his way out, he noticed a plaque hanging on the wall. It appeared out of place. As he hadn't seen it before, he took the few seconds needed to absorb its meaning. The poem was written by an anonymous author:

Tired Eyes

Watching from a park bench -
A world that's cast aside:
The years of priceless wisdom
from tears already cried.

Glancing from the shadows
at a generation - lost,
That wants to know the future,
but can't afford the cost.

Peering from a wheelchair,
as youth comes running past.
If only they would stop a while
and think enough to ask.

Staring from a deathbed
at mistakes that needn't be;
Lives - taken for granted
from hearts that barely see.

Squinting through a teardrop -
The last from tired eyes,
Filled with every answer,
but lost to bluer skies.

Stepping into the brisk sunset, Jake had no doubt that his grandmother was right. It was so clear. From here on, any time he was in search of answers, he needed only to visit a haven for elderly souls. Although the teachers of forgiveness and acceptance dwelled within the company of angels, they were equally happy for the company of youth and the opportunity to share their knowledge.

Grandmother's final gift was so valuable it could have never been wrapped. She had introduced Jake to the greatest natural resources on earth. Each time he had found one of the teachers generous enough to reveal their thoughts he considered himself fortunate. Better yet, when he had found another kind enough to open their heart, he considered himself blessed.

Jake Evans might have leant a helping hand to some, but it was the stronger, gentler hands extended back to him that would have shocked the world.