Seated in his wheelchair, Ricky met my eyes and gave me a toothless smile. He was saying something unintelligible. When I expressed frustration that I could not understand what he was trying to say, he took my hand and put it gently on his cheek. His hands and arms were crusted with eczema. I began stroking his face, head, and shoulders, and he sighed happily. I was told that Ricky is a deaf-mute. Everyone at the center calls him Hipo, which means touch, which was all he wanted that Sunday morning at the home for abandoned and neglected elderly run by the Missionaries of Charity in Tayuman.
My sister’s singing group was invited to bring music, food, and Christmas cheer to some 90 residents at the center, where homeless elderly men and women rescued from the streets of Manila live under the care of the Missionaries of Charity, the order founded by Mother, now Saint, Teresa of Calcutta. Most of the residents are afflicted with the illnesses of the elderly like high blood pressure, diabetes, TB, and dementia. Most are wheelchair-bound, their hands and legs deformed by strokes.
Some are still young and treatable, like Danilo and Jeffrey who are blind and under medical treatment. They are hoping to get well and someday leave the facility. But most of the residents at the center have nowhere and no one to go home to, having been abandoned by their families.
In their familiar white cotton saris with blue trim, the Missionary Sisters of Charity take care of the old, infirm, and abandoned with uncommon patience and joy.
The women sat silent in their wheelchairs, staring blankly, unmindful of the strangers bearing food and song. The men, too, sat joyless, wearing red and white Santa caps brought by the carolers, waiting for lunch. This is the season when they can count on eating three meals a day. The Sisters depend on donations and there are days when the residents are fed only twice in a day.
Some lolas, their hands gnarled by strokes, had to be fed. I helped feed a very old lady who so relished the adobo, veggies, rice, and sweetened saba, I had no idea she had just come out of a deep coma.
We were told that two teenagers brought their grandmother to the center that morning, saying they could no longer take care of her. Another resident, a survivor of a natural calamity, is hoping to reach his family to let them know he is alive and safe in the care of the nuns. We learned that there are family members who bring their sick and elderly to the center, saying these are homeless strangers they found on the street.
The center is a sad, sad place where the abandoned elderly, though clean and cared for, are just waiting for the inevitable. But this was a Christmas party that the volunteers livened up with carols and old juke box hits. A few residents sang along to Que Sera Sera, Diana, Tiny Bubbles, Delilah. Some clapped their hands and nodded to the music, but most of them sat stoic, their gaze fixed on some distant memory, their faces creased with sadness over wasted lives and lost loves.
“Why are you asking for my name?” Mario asked. He is only 58 years old but looks much older. I told him I wanted to get to know him, and if he didn’t mind, I would write about him. He smiled and shared that he has no more parents or siblings, no wife or children. A former construction worker, he was living in the streets of La Loma before he was brought to the center. The Christmas songs, even the upbeat “Ang Pasko ay Sumapit,” brought only more pain to his empty life. “Malungkot ako,” he said, his eyes reddening, “Naalala ko ang mga magulang ko.”
Nardo, 79, looked tough and talked tough while gesticulating with gnarled fingers. He said he has three children but, he waved his hand like he was swatting a fly, they’ve abandoned him. That day, all he wanted was some cake. Gruffly, he commanded, “Bigyan mo ako ng mamon!”
Oscar, a former fireman, was smiling broadly as he grabbed my hand to read my palm. He said I am aloof, but kind. His life story that he shares with anyone who will listen, is sordid and tragic. He summarized it, saying, “I was worse than Erap.”
Rolando was missing his two children whom he hasn’t seen since his marriage broke up.
In the sick ward, a patient at the far end on the room raised his hand to plead for a glass of juice for his dry throat. When the carolers entered the ward to serenade those who were bed-ridden, he began to sob uncontrollably.
In a little over an hour, it was time for us to leave. The residents were fed, tired, and needed their siesta. This being the Christmas season, they will have their fill of food and good cheer brought by waves of volunteers. But I learned that more than the meals and the songs, the residents crave for attentive listeners, warm smiles, eye contact, and the touch of another human being.
During Noche Buena, in the embrace of our families, let us remember the abandoned elderly who are spending Christmas alone. May they find love in the service of the nuns and volunteers who give freely of their time and treasure to afford these, the least of our brethren, a measure of peace and joy in their sad and wretched lives.