"With calm conviction, and a touch of regret, she looked me in the eye
and declared that everyone has a story to tell. She felt that such a
significant task as preserving that knowledge should never be delayed
until it is too late."
Hospice volunteers often listen to patients and their stories. One
Pathways volunteer, Christy Yuen, chronicled the story of Jeannine.
This week is volunteer appreciation week. Pathways would
like to formerly applaud all of our volunteers who help our patient’s tell
their stories. Thank you for giving your time and attention to other human
beings when they need it the most.
Jeannine, an 89 year-old French lady, knew her days
were numbered. More than anything, she wished to put her memories down
on paper. I visited her three times before she suddenly passed away.
During those special hours as I typed, her accented voice whisked us
back into history…
Like the children in C.S. Lewis’ The
Chronicles of Narnia, I found myself in a world of adventure and war,
love and loss. Pausing occasionally to clarify the spelling of a French
name, Jeannine spoke for hours about her ancestors and their lives in
France. She told stories of war, including her time as a resistance
fighter in World War II, and of her father, a pilot, crossing over enemy
territory on dangerous missions. She told stories of tragedy; stillborn
babies, deaths from tuberculosis and pneumonia, and widows and orphans
left behind by war. She remembered how elderly folks were forced to
sleep on hard wooden floors in the wintertime while invading soldiers
occupied their homes.
She also told stories of the human spirit,
recalling how her uncle, a chef, made piping hot French fries for hordes
of hungry children who waited on the streets for their parents to
return home from working late. She described independent wives who
rejected their alcoholic, skirt-chasing husbands in favor of raising
their children alone and successfully running their own businesses.
Humor was frequently woven into her stories, such as the young woman who
duped her boyfriend into marrying her, and a village that fooled the
occupying enemy soldiers by playing a trick involving a sacrificed pig.
Interspersed throughout her monologues were
heartfelt remarks about today’s world. She spoke with ease and fluidity
about changing gender roles, the difficulty of learning a foreign
language, intolerance towards homosexuals, and the importance of
understanding cultural differences. She lambasted the government with
characteristic poise and clarity in one breath, while bemoaning the loss
of children’s innocence in the next. She remarked on the lack of
opportunities for “kids to just be kids.”
When she spoke about the
physical, social, and psychological devastation of ongoing wars, her
wise eyes would become rimmed with sadness. “We have not learned the
lessons of the past,” she would say, slowly shaking her head.
Unfortunately, Jeannine and I did not get to
finish her memoirs. I often remember something she told me at our first
visit. With calm conviction, and a touch of regret, she looked me in
the eye and declared that everyone has a story to tell. She felt that
such a significant task as preserving that knowledge should never be
delayed until it is too late.
For the privilege of sharing in her memories,
for the insight she dispensed with such wit and character, and for all
the reminders of what is truly important in life, I would like to thank
Jeannine. Merci Beaucoup.
