Discharged on Friday

My weeks’ service at the nursing home is complete. And I have to admit to missing it a bit. The Warden claims that I was getting “too much attention” from the gray-haired set. I guess I never should have mentioned “Esther.” I did find one resident who was under 50, but she left on Thursday after spending two weeks recuperating from an accident. I did feel especially young throughout the week, even though a head cold descended upon me around Wednesday.

The middle of the week also brought some sad news in our family as we heard of the passing of my brother-in-laws’ mom. She was a contemporary to many that I worked around (literally) during the week. I thought of Fran as I received the multitude of smiles and gracious hellos as I continuously walked the halls going from room to room. Fran was like another grandmother to our kids, always remembering them and asking about their progress. (Our kids are truly spoiled, or better stated “blessed,” with two sets of devoted grandparents and other supportive and concerned senior adults. Well, on second thought, they probably need that to deal with their parents.)

But back to the “care center.” This place, which is operated by the Volunteers of America, has an amazing positive spirit. Words of encouragement and laughter were common in the halls, and it seemed genuine. In the schedule were at least daily hymn sings, Bible studies, or worship services, along with reading from the newspaper, sing-a-longs, craft sessions and scores of other events that were well-attended. I would sometimes plan my work in certain rooms to be near to where the music was being sung, especially the hymns.

I did have to endure something this week, however, that I can normally avoid—daytime television. Usually the TVs were left on in the rooms as the residents were off doing other things. Not many were actually watching the tubes. And that’s good. The garbage on the screen provided a stark contrast to the overall good-natured atmosphere present in the halls and commons. This wasn’t the worst example, but I do remember Regis, and whoever his sidekick is, oooh and ahhh over some Hollywood bimbo I’ve never heard of and how great she looked in her $10,000 dresses. I’m glad I have a day job.

One sad encounter was with a blind lady whose room I visited repeatedly one day. She was awaiting a ride to take her shopping at 1 p.m. I was working on her walls before and during and after that time. She would continually inquire as to the time and wonder what happened. As the hour arrived and passed I continually tried to offer her hope (the day’s rain might have hampered traffic, I said.) However, her ride never came. Her day was spent a little like the characters in Beckett’s novel “Waiting for Godot.” The good news though is that the following day she was gone. I’m assuming that her ride did come, maybe she had the day mixed up or maybe her ride did. But I’ll go on assuming that they hooked up and enjoyed an outing together.

Next week my job will go back to “normal,” just me and the walls, with no worries of dropping mud on individuals or in beds. But I’ll probably miss the constant hellos and the sweet refrains of “Amazing Grace” coming from the adjoining rooms.