What's his last name?

Grasping my cold hands in his even colder ones, Roy’s  warm eyes held my gaze as they sparkled with curiosity undampened by his eighty years. He wanted to know who I was and why I was here; and he listened, intently, nodding while I explained my injured mother-in-law’s condition. Gazing into his peaceful blue eyes, completely at odds with his surroundings,  I was mesmerized.  His eyes sparkled, no, they twinkled – even twinkled doesn’t quite capture their sparkle – but his shining eyes completely captured my attention. I remember thinking to myself, “My mom’s got to meet Roy! He’s a catch!”  

As we visited, he told me about the other women in his life. One was a dark red-haired woman with nails to match who passed by while we chatted. He immediately grasped her hand, telling her how beautiful she was, which immediately brought a smile to her face, a smile which matched the one he seemed to wear at all times. A smile that radiated from his eyes. A smile people seemed to feel even when they could not see. And many couldn’t see well in this place.

The red-head talked a mile a minute, didn’t say much, but Roy listened to every word. And he always told her she was beautiful. And that was enough for her to make it through another day. Smiling. Sort of. Her eyes glistened with tears held back, while his eyes glimmered with encouragement. She needed to talk, and he knew how to listen.  

I knew Roy had listened to her a lot because he told me a lot about her. How she cried when she first came. How she kept to herself. How she wouldn’t socialize. But now – after Roy’s gift of listening -- she seemed more at peace with this place, not crying as much even though she was still angry and distraught for ending up in the last place she wanted to be. But at least she was at peace enough to smile at Roy as he took her hand and told her, I have no doubt for the gazillionth time, that she was beautiful. As she wheeled on, much happier now, he continued to smile and continued to scan the room, probably looking for someone else to encourage. Roy seemed to have found purpose in this place. He was an encourager. And with a twinkle in his eyes, he wheeled away with that purpose.  

Several hours later when we left to go home, I saw Roy focusing intently on a crossword puzzle in the living room.  I called, “Bye, Roy!” But he didn’t look up. I doubt he could hear me. But, oh, can he listen!

I thought about him on the drive home.

I thought about him when I woke up this morning.

I’m looking forward to seeing him again. I want to know his last name. I want to know more about this special man with the shining blue eyes. When I asked the other residents where they were from, they told me Houston or Katy or El Campo.  When I asked Roy where he was from, he told me, “Well, I live right here now.” I’m hoping Roy will be right there when I return to visit Nana. I like knowing he’s there. That the place is better because he’s there, caring about the people around him.  A man who knows how to listen. A man who has figured out how to have God’s peace in a place full of anxiety and sadness and distress.

And I still want my mom to meet Roy! My mom’s a red-head, too!