Mother Teresa Charities

During my week visit in Kolkata at the suggestion of a friend I volunteered at the Mother Teresa Charities and Ministries for a few days. The ministry is comprised of several locations, which care for either handicapped or abandoned children, or elderly people on the verge of dying. My friend and I signed up to help at Premdon, a large facility that cares for dying men and women. Our day started by hand-washing clothes in an assembly line with about ten other volunteers from all over the world, where we took turns scrubbing, soaking, rinsing, or hanging the clothes and sheets (It’s an awesome experience in itself to work with people from every part of the globe who have a desire to serve the poor and destitute). Clearly, any sort of washing machine would cut the time of this task by more than half but apparently the Mother Teresa way is to keep things simple and simulate the way the people you are taking care of live their lives. However, her outreach started quite some time ago and if she were here now I’m thinking she would not disapprove of a refrigerator so meat wouldn’t spoil or a few washing technique upgrades. Nonetheless, the experience bonded us with the other volunteers and I feel so blessed to have been even a very small part in the Mother Teresa ministries.

One morning while ringing out clothes a sister called me over to help her change bandages for the patients. I was supposed to lift them on and off the table and keep them in a position suitable for the sister to clean their wounds and bed sores. I tried to keep my face flinches to a minimal as the sister peeled back the white tissue covering ghastly scares so deep you could see their bones, black and rotting from exposure to the open air. One women was so skinny she could have posed as a holocaust survivor, her shoulder blades protruding out and her stomach so sunken in it was difficult to define her actual figure. She had bed wounds so deep it was as if someone has gouged out a one-inch deep chunk of her skin all around the area surrounding her tailbone. Cleaning her wounds was obviously painful as she flinched and audibly moaned while the sisters squeezed out yellow goup revealing her inner flesh (which literally looked like a piece of raw meat) and then squirted several ointments and re-wrapped the wounds. I reached for her hand and stroked her cheek, I thought she was crying but I wasn’t sure if her face was simply stained with tears or if these were fresh tears. Each time she moaned and squeezed my hand tighter I drew my face closer to hers and whispered ‘it’s ok, you’re almost done’ but I think I said this more for me than her. I knew she couldn’t understand me but I had to say something. Our eyes met and I never felt so close to death, I wanted to cry but as I glanced at the sisters working diligently I knew this was no time to break down. I had never held someone so close to the end, we locked eyes again and I could almost feel the pain riveting through her limbs in her lifeless expression and contorted body, I held her hand more tightly and hummed gently still not knowing if this was to sooth her or me. Death is not something for any us to dread or consume our minds with, and if anything I feel more comfortable with death after working with these women, but it also made me want to believe that death is just one more stop along each person’s journey and not the final destination. Perhaps it will be my final destination but for these men and women I hope they have a second chance or opportunity to live a decent life. I guess that is the intent of Mother Teresa’s mission to give the poorest and lowest people in society a little respect and love before they died, which everyone deserves. Of course no one can say what will happens after death, but it can’t hurt to hold someone’s hand as they exit their time on earth.