Written by Katryna DaCosta.
The first day of serving I was at Nirmal Hriday also known as Kalighat, the Mother Teresa house for the destitute and dying. I was guided by one of the sisters into a seat next to an older woman with buzzed-cut gray hair, smooth brown wrinkly skin, black and pink streaked nail-polished fingers and was a little chunkier than many others. I called her Didi, sister in Hindi. I helped her with arm exercises, smiled at her a lot and talked to her. She got tired of the exercises and the weight of her hand and arm were now placed on my left knee.
Her friend across from us moaned and struggled to avoid pain. In that moment of seeing her friend struggle, she trusted the weight of her pain onto me. She squeezed my hand tightly and shifted much of her weight onto me. She relied on me that I would support her and not let go. I learned that the best thing I could do as her friend yelled and cried was to love her by squeezing back, smiling and speaking words of encouragement. I let God work through me. He allowed me to love on her and stay strong for her, as He held me up as I held her up. Without His grace and presence I would have been lost. I would have expressed the sorrow I felt for her.