Jan, I dearly love the piece you wrote today.. It brings back good memories and bad memories.. I worked as a nurse for 16 years the last 4 years as a Nursing Home Nurse and it broke my heart to see all the people that were placed in there and then the family never visited... My heart was broken on a regular basis.. Then the last 6 months I worked my mother was admitted for rehab from pneumonia , and wound up in a bed in the fetal position not knowing anyone... That is why I had to leave nursing , my heart just could not take it any more.............................. Mollie ----- Original Message ----- From: j <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Friday, September 01, 2000 3:52 PM Subject: [DC] Sunday Afternoon Rocking > Note: Because of the holiday, Sunday Afternoon Rocking is being delivered > early. > > As They Were (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) > > Afternoon All, > > "What was she like?", they asked me. "We see them as they are now, as they > come to us...but we don't often know how they were." And surprised and > gladdened they had asked, had given me the opportunity to tell them about > the vibrant life someone I loved dearly had loved, I began to tell them... > > For some time now, I have been visiting with frequency those places I once > was exposed to only periodically. I am becoming a bit more used to them, > to the smells of strong cleansing agents meant to cover the smell of urine, > of medicine, of the unpleasantries that seem attached to those final days > of aging. I am becoming used to seeing folk in every stage of their final > years, some aware and some not so, some sadly accepting and knowing, some > cheerfully greeting the days that are theirs now. Nursing homes no longer > shock or disturb me to the point of avoidance, and somehow, from the frame > of reference I now regard them, I see the folks that dwell there in a far > different light. > > There was no one quite like her in the world, I thought. She was magical, > some beautiful fairy godmother that stepped from the pages of one of my > storybooks, and only existed when I visited Tennessee. She was the > beautiful lady with the pretty and not at all practical dresses and > matching accessories. She was the lady who loved to dance and loved to > laugh and had more friends than I could count. She was the maker of more > than just cakes..but cakes that took some time to think through. And the > little touches like "coconut Easter grass with jelly bean eggs" were those > magical things practical busy mothers did not have time to attend to. She > was the aunt who, never having had children of her own, delighted in > escaping the kitchen where her sisters were preparing a family dinner, for > the sole purpose of thinking up escapades to entertain a lonely little > girl. She was the one who slipped out with me after bedtime to catch > lightening bugs, poked holes in a jar-home for them and let me slip them > under the covers with me to watch until I fell asleep. She was the one who > took time to slip off to a bookstore, where my eyes grew wide at the > possibilities, and bought a book of my very own so long as I promised not > to begin reading it until I went home. I mustn't have my "nose in a book" > when we could be "playing"! She was the one who planned picnics in the > park just with me, who didn't tell when I wanted to slip up at night for a > snack. She slipped me a "frog skin" when I left to go back home with my > parents, and I would sit and smell the dollar bill all the way home because > somehow her fragrance had managed to attach itself. > > She lays in a hospital bed now, mumbling sometimes, but incapable of speech > or memories or awareness of where she is. She does not know my name. I am > not sure she remembers her own. Although she was once the same height and > size as my adult self, she now weighs no more than a small child, and she > lies curled up in a position that belies the frame she once had. They come > to change her, come to see that she is getting nourishment, come to inject > medicine and clean her...but they never hear her laughter, never see her > dancing, never know the lady who loved the color pink so well and wore it > at every opportunity. I wonder how many of them wonder... how many of them > think that this bare shell of a person was once perhaps more vibrant and > alive than they. Two did...because they asked...and surprised me...but how > many? How many who tend to her? How many visitors who happen to glance > into her room bother to realize? And sometimes I want to shout down the > halls, "Let me tell you who she was! Who she really is!" The thought is > futile...except in terms of my own growth. > > I look at the others now with new eyes. The man who drools from the side > of his mouth, whose glassy stare tells me his awareness is now gone...who > was he? Did he fish once with a young son? Did he escort a beautiful > young daughter down an aisle? Did he come home one day with a bouquet of > flowers to surprise a wife? The lady who stands and writes invisible > numbers on a wall...was she a teacher? Is she at her blackboard trying to > explain to a group of students how to perform a mathematical > operation? Did she tie shoes, and dry tears, and pull baby teeth to wrap > up in a tissue for a child to take home to mom? They have a story, all of > them. Every one of them has been vital and active, laughing and > mobile...they all have a story. Some I can talk to and their eyes will > brighten when they realize someone wants to hear. Some I cannot, and I can > only imagine stories for them, appreciating that those stories indeed are > there. They have been where we are, they are where many of us will > be. They come to the final stages of life with a story. And somehow, if > we can only learn to look past the clusters of them in all those unpleasant > stages of aging, if we can only train our eyes to see beyond what appears > to be there...they still have a lesson for us, a deep lesson about life and > mortality, closure and aging, youth and appreciation, a lesson worthwhile > to learn. > > Next time listen. Listen with your eyes and smell with your ears...give > them time to tell you, and their families a chance to tell you, when they > cannot or won't... imagine...you won't be so far off base. They lived the > lives we live...and they are we and we are them. > > just a thought, > jan > > Copyright ©2000JanPhilpot > .________________________________________________ > (Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be > shared...simply share as written without alterations...and in entirety. > Thanks, jan) > Sunday Afternoon Rocking columns are distributed weekly on the list Sunday > Rocking. This is not a "reply to" list, and normally only one message per > week will come across it, that being the column. To subscribe send email to > [email protected] > _________________________________________________ > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > ==== DanvilleCrossing Mailing List ==== > My family Coat of Arms ties at the back ...... > is that normal ??? > >