At two, if you asked a brown girl what she wanted to be, her parents would say a doctor. At fourteen if you asked her again, her parents wouldn’t need to answer because their words would be her reply – a doctor. This girl would know that to be a doctor meant building community volunteer hours. In this way, it’s easy to forget the intent behind our actions, the real root of why we do something. It’s a warning that my mum gave me the fifteen-year-old version of myself three years ago when I first decided to volunteer at a local dementia rest home. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t start because I wanted to become a doctor. Instead, I undertook volunteering to prove that youth volunteering didn’t need an ulterior motive and that there were still volunteers who did it to make a difference within their community.
When you volunteer for three years you learn a lot about, not only the residents, but also about yourself. On the first day of volunteering, I’ll never forget entering with so much excitement and leaving with an intense sadness. At Cromwell Hospital House, the rest home I volunteered, many of the residents were deep in their struggles with dementia. While many of the residents appear to smile and converse, it is evident that they are not seeing you but rather a person from their past. Dementia is funny like this, and why the official definition of ‘ a condition characterized by progressive or persistent loss of intellectual functioning’ does not do it justice.
Many residents have grown accustomed to people they care about slipping away, both mentally and physically. This is because, while most families visit a loved one every day after their initial admission into the rest home, gradually, these visits become weekly, then monthly and eventually every year on a special occasion such as a birthday. It’s hard to blame these families for this since it’s painful to watch dementia take away the person they once knew. However, for all people, regardless of age or illness, it’s human instinct to seek comfort through connections, which is why volunteers are so important. The hour or two that we take from our day may be insignificant, but these are possibly the last hours that some elderly residents could have to understand that their illness did not define them and that they were still cared for.
Volunteering is not about making big changes or seeking recognition; it’s about the small, quiet moments that matter the most. It’s in the conversations where no one might remember your name, but you’ll remember their smile. It’s even in the quieter, more solemn days, where simply sitting holding a resident’s hand is enough. I think we often believe that a big difference can only be made through grand gestures, but sometimes the most profound impact comes from the simple act of being present.
In the end, perhaps it’s not the doing that matters, but the being. And in this space of volunteering, I have found that the truest moments of connection are the ones that are felt, not remembered.
By Anushka Dissanayake – Auckland
