19/12- Gratititude- It's Not Just Thank You

Contemporary

"I am so impressed by all your donations. This is an incredible turnout. It's almost twice the amount we had last year!" As Miss finishes talking, I finally sit back down. Pens given back, register taken, dates written down, all the cards signed... I think that's everything.

The five tables are brimming with gifts. Hairbrushes, lotion, fidgets, puzzle books, chocolate, hats, colouring pencils, you name it. It's amazing how 70 kids can give so much when the world always says that kids nowadays are so immature and disrespectful. We're proving them wrong. We have over two hundred pieces of evidence for that.

Everyone, excluding the heads of years, is dismissed, leaving only 10 kids, including me. We're the ones who'll get to see the people receiving these gifts and be able to show them our gratitude and care in person.

We go through all the classic "wear your best" and "keep your seatbelts buckled" before being told we're going to be wearing Santa hats. Giggles spread through the room, alongside grimaces.

"Oh come on," Miss says, looking around the large hall with disappointment. "You are willing to give up your time and money," She points to the items behind her. "But you won't let yourself bring a smile to these people's faces? They're at the hospital at Christmas, for goodness sake!"

"I'll do it!" an annoying kid from two years below me calls, rising to a stand.

"And me!" his friend adds, stamping a foot.

And that's where the inspirational gathering ended. Everyone else nods gently.

*

The minibus is packed. Every seat is taken, and the bags of donations we packed are sitting on the floor and on our laps. I sit right at the front, because I like to be able to leave the crowd as quickly as possible, and I have more space for my legs. Our hats aren't on yet, but we're going to put them on as we enter the hospital lobby. Everyone chats about random things, like last week's football matches and what lessons they're missing for this.

None of my friends are on this trip, so I'm quiet, thinking.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Miss said that the ladies at the hospital last year almost cried, and this year we have double. I don't want anyone to cry, as it makes everything harder. Especially if I start crying alongside them.

We forgot to take a photo by the school, so we stand in front of the minibus in the hospital parking lot -- admittedly, quite awkwardly -- and snap a quick picture. Then, with our Santa hats already on, we enter the lobby.

It's not as busy as I thought it would be, but maybe that's because it's still the working day for many. The walls are a blue that's bordering on being white, and the floor is that weird spotty design that you'll ever find in a hospital. But when you turn, there's a burst of colour from the children's ward, with giraffes and zebras and all sorts of animals painted on the walls. The main part of the kids' ward is behind closed doors, but I think I can hear a movie playing from inside.

We're taken towards the reception counter, where a lady with a massive smile greets us. "Are these bags all for us?" she exclaims, her eyes darting between all of them.

"Yes!" Miss cheers, and we all huddle closer at her command. "We've had an amazing collection this year."

"Oh, dear. Oh, dear. This is incredible! They're all going to be so happy. You've really made so many Christmases. Even my own. Oh, dear!" The lady looks in the bags, finding scarves, colouring books, toys, cosmetics and much, much more. "Oh, let's take a photo!"

I almost roll my eyes. Always so many photos. I have nothing against them, but sometimes they just take away from the moment. Clearly, I don't voice this, but I enter the frame with a real grin on my face. Who knew one woman could say 'Oh' so many times!

Four kids are given papers to read a speech. Me included. Lucky me, I have two to read, one for the staff and the other for the elderly patients.

I can't stay completely still for a moment during all the other speeches. Hopping from one foot to another, I pray for them to take longer. When my turn finally rolls around, I take a deep breath. You've got this.

My speech for the patients is.... how to put it? Generic? It's nice, but what I really love is the one for the staff. It was written on my behalf, so that's probably why I feel a bit like I could have made it a smidge better.

"You might be wondering why you're getting one too." I start, looking the first lady in the eyes, before moving to the rest of the room, now filled with members of staff. "These things aren't really for you, and this just makes your job easier."

"That's not the point. These gifts are also for you. To see the gratitude the patients have, and to be happy for them that they can have a merrier Christmas. And it's not just something physical like a puzzle book. This is about more. About our appreciation for you: the ones these patients turn to at this joyful time of year, even if they have no one else. You're the ones doing so much work, be it in often overworked conditions, yet you're sometimes.... not forgotten, but not acknowledged right."

"This is our little Thank-You. One we want you to hold onto all year, even if people forget. Until we come back here next year to give you more. Thank you for helping people who can't always help themselves, and for doing the work most of us wouldn't be able to brave. We're so grateful for you in this season of festivities. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year."

Thank you for reading. I hope you got a little Christmas joy from this story. Here, for anyone who wants it, is the maintenance.

If you enjoyed this story, please, please, please (I can add a cherry if necessary) like, comment, rate and share. It really helps me out and allows others to see these (hopefully decent) stories. Thank you, and Merry Christmas.