First off, totally stumbled onto the Lanakila Meals on Wheels thing cause my neighbor Helen volunteers there. Kept hearing stories about the drivers and the old folks they help, so last Tuesday, figured heck, gotta try this myself. Signed up as a driver helper online – super simple form, basic stuff like name, contact, times free. They called me back quick, like the next morning.
Showed up early Thursday at their kitchen spot in Kalihi. Place was buzzing already, loud with clanging trays and folks shouting orders. Smelled like chicken stew and disinfectant. Got paired with Joe, this regular driver for five years. Joe didn’t talk much, just grunted “follow me, keep up”.
Watched the packing crew slap meals together:
- Hot trays: Sealed plastic containers with meat, veggies, rice piled high.
- Colder bag: Milk cartons, fruit cups, little rolls all stacked neat.
- Paper bag: Dessert and bread, kinda squished.
Hauled maybe twenty trays to Joe’s beat-up van. Thing rattled like crazy when he slammed the door shut. First stop was Mrs. Tanaka, 90-something, apartment smells like cats and camphor. Joe already knew the drill: He kicked a loose brick by her doorstop aside, slid the tray right onto her little table inside the screen door. Shouted “Lunch, Mrs. T!” before she even shuffled out. Key thing here: He didn’t just drop it. Placed it where she could reach easy without bending down, real gentle-like.
Next house, dude named Robert, probably late 60s? Looked exhausted wiping his mom’s chin – she had dementia, didn’t seem to know where she was. Robert grabbed those meals fast, mumbled “been waiting, thanks man”. Eyes were red. Felt heavy just watching. The food? Almost secondary there. Felt like we were tossing him a life raft just by showing up regular.
Whole route took three hours. Sun hammered down. Legs ached. Few other stops:
- Blind guy feeling his porch for the tray with his cane.
- One lady crying happy, said it was her birthday meal.
- Another spot where we had to climb over a busted fence cause the regular path was slick with mud.
Finished back at the kitchen. Joe finally spoke: “See? Some days it’s just dropping food. Other days…” He trailed off, wiped his face. Didn’t need to finish. Point was those quiet moments – fixing Mrs. Tanaka’s tray, seeing Robert sag in relief – that’s the glue. It ain’t just the grub keeping folks upright. It’s somebody knowing they’re stuck inside, someone showing up, no matter the heat or the rattle in the van.
