My Son
Think about it…living in a Nursing Home. The very word is restrictive. Like a restraint. It exudes a lack of freedom, a helplessness, an abdication to all things…life.
There are times when I walk along the hallways and peek in on the Residents. Some are engaged in an activity, most are blankly watching a TV screen. I feel…guilty for the life that I have. The fact that at the end of my workday I can leave, and drive into my suburban neighborhood…watch the kids run down the street, people waving at me from their golf carts…sprinklers softly misting the lawns. I can enjoy that, while Ms Mary has already sat in her wheelchair for seven hours, because the nightshift got her up at 4am. I walk down the hallways in my neatly pressed slacks and my freshly ironed blouse…while Mr John is wearing Mr Spencers shirt because the night aide couldn’t find his shirt. I do my rounds, because one of my job duties is to says I round…to, “check on the Resident’s and staff, get a pulse of the building”.
This morning I go into The Williams’ room. I have 7 minutes, I am planning to check into 2 more Resident’s. It will be quick, Mr William has fairly advanced dementia, but Mrs William has the clear and sharp mind of a 22 year old. I expect it will not take long, a few pleasantries, and I can make my other two stops.
“Good Morning Mrs Williams”, I say, smiling brightly, my voice exuding warmth. I quickly glance around the room, Mr Williams is asleep in his wheelchair, sitting at the table where Mrs Williams is doing her crossword puzzle. “Why, Hello!”, she beams, looking up at me, taking off her glasses. She has a what looks like a fresh stack of crossword books and the widest array of colored pencils. “How was your weekend?” I ask politely, expecting the usual “It was Ok”, or “fairly meddlin’ " or, “Same ol’ same ol”. But, no. “Oh! My Son came to see us this weekend”, she said. “It was wonderful”. Something in her voice, and the glistening of her dark blue eyes made me pause. “He did?” I asked, curious. “Yes”, she replied, “and he took me out”, she whispered the last part with pride, mixed with adoration. “Tell me what you did” I asked, leaning slightly forward, wanting to know. “He took me to the Goodwill, and he said, Mama, choose whatever you want”. She pointed at the blouse she was wearing. “So I got this, and another one”, she said, her face beaming. “I got some new pants. And I picked some clothes out for Ralph” she said, stroking her husbands hands affectionately. “We then went to the Olive Garden”, she said, her voice almost breaking”. It was delicious”. I could see the pride in her face, feel the joy in the room. Mrs Williams was radiating happiness and it could be felt.
I didn’t even want her to ask me what I did. I actually couldn’t remember in that moment what we did this weekend. I just joined in with Mrs Williams in her moment, basking in her joy, in her gratefulness. All because her Son had stopped by for a few hours on one sunny summers’ day. And for a moment, I didn’t feel guilty. I looked at my watch as I stood there and watched her face. I looked at her wide array of colored pencils. She followed my gaze, and gleefully said “And he bought me these”. I nodded and said, “You have every color under the sun”. She looked at me, and said “Yes, yes I do”. We looked at each other and smiled.
Sometimes a visit from My Son is all it takes to let the joy come in.