The memories surface when I visit our church members in various senior facilities. Not the fancier facilities that offer all kinds of activities and several levels of care. But the places that are the last stop before eternity — what we used to call ‘nursing homes.’
As I enter the door, my olfactory sense is again awakened, and I am a young girl accompanying her father to minister within. On Sunday afternoons, Dad would load up his guitar and his Bible — then me, he eldest daughter — into our family’s Rambler station wagon. We drove to whichever nursing home was on the list for that day and set up in the main community room.
Dad gave his testimony about how he was playing a basketball game at Phillips University when suddenly during the halftime break, he decided to trust in Jesus as his Lord and Savior. Then the two of us would sing a song together or I would play a hymn on the piano — if the facility was lucky enough to have one. Then we moved from person to person, shaking hands and trying to encourage the folks who always seemed so downhearted.
I heard comments such as:
- “Thank you so much for coming. You’ve made my day.”
- “You’re so young. I was young once.”
- “Your hands . . . your amazing hands.”
They would compare my hands with theirs: paper-thin with veins bulging, brown spots forming conglomerated images across their flesh, their hands always icy cold. My hands warm and smooth.
When we left, I would ask Dad, “Why is it always so hot in there?”
“Because older people get cold. Their skin is thinner than ours, so the temperature needs to be warmer.”
“But what is that smell? Every nursing home has it.”
“I’m not sure. Just remember why we’re there. To share the love of Jesus. Not to gripe about the temperature or the smell.”
Today, things are a bit different. Senior facilities follow government guidelines. The care of the elderly is a priority. The staff work to include even the most forgetful residents in activities. Most of the staff I have met these days are friendly and kind. They major in making a comfortable and safe environment.
Still, I sometimes catch the same odor which takes me to a strange place between present and past. I try not to think about what my future on this planet might look like. The fancier senior facilities are completely out of my income reach. My children are busy with their lives and their jobs. Who wants to be a burden? What kinds of smells will I experience?
Yet the calendar reminds me of time that passes without warning. Of goals I have not yet accomplished. Wondering if I ever will. Hoping I don’t run out of my savings before I run out of time. Writing about hope, then trying to summon some of it for myself. Struggling to trust God with my last act, knowing he is faithful. Wondering what that faithfulness will look like.
Then I prepare for my day using my own cold, brown-spotted hands to open the jar of medicated menthol cream that helps my back survive another day. The smell follows me through the house, and I suddenly remember those days long ago. Precious Sundays with my dad, learning how to minister to the aging. How to sing and play their favorite hymns. Wondering about the smell and not wise enough to foreshadow my own future.
The past merges into the present as I cry out, “Oh God! I smell old.”
©2025 RJ Thesman – All Rights Reserved
Image Attribution: beasternchen / Pixabay
Read about Reverend G and how she approached aging in Reverend G Meets the Memory Thief.
Yesterday morning, after Diana left breakfast to participate in the morning exercise class, I sat down with a new resident. A black guy. I can’t remember his last name, but his first and middle names are Theodore Roosevelt. He is new to our community, now a widower after recently losing his wife. She was his second wife after losing his first wife when she was just 26. What I sense around here has less to do with odors, and more to do with the fascinating lives these people have led. Like many of us, Theodore is a veteran. Unlike most of us, he served in the Korean War. He is 95. And grateful for the interesting life he led, and his children, grandchildren, and friends made along the way.
Sounds like an interesting new friend. Thanks for sharing.