When I came into the facility, I saw an elderly man exposed from the behind using the raised feet of recliner chairs (that had occupants) to make his way across the room. There weren’t staff around which was unusual at this place and time of day. I went up to him and put my left arm across his shoulder and my right arm under his. I said, “Where are you headed?” He said, “bathroom.” About then a person in scrubs came up as well and snagged a community wheelchair. When my companion sat down into the seat, he got a look on his face that I suspected was the realization that his pajamas had fallen — his bare skin against the vinyl seat — but there wasn’t time to register that indignity because another one was coming if we didn’t get to the bathroom quickly enough. We did though.

As soon as he was set and the door closed, I looked up to see a woman advancing with her walker and waving in the manner attempting to get attention. I don’t know where that person in scrubs had gone. I approached and she said, “A woman has come into my room, laid on my bed and now she’s asleep. Can you help?” I said, “I can try.” She replied, “I can’t hear very well.” As I entered her room she called after me, “Please be gentle with her. I know she is tender-hearted.“

It was a nice space, sweetly decorated and inviting in style. The ‘intruder’ was sitting up just as I walked over and pulled a small blanket across a chair in the corner.

She said, “I put this here for you. Do you like it?” I said, “I do. Let’s sit together.”

She said, “here?” I responded, “Let’s find a couch. Do you like baseball?”

She said, “yes.” I sang, “Take me out to the ballgame. Take me out to the crowd…” I put my left arm around her back and my right hand under hers. She smiled and sang with me. At the nearest couch, we sat down. I sang whatever songs I could think of for a little while.

The thing is: I know all of these people some.

The man had been one of my friends in volunteering with Hospice, given a ‘live discharge’ because he was doing so well. He and his family had felt like there was a little too much hovering. That level of support may have been why he had improved though.

I had met the woman with her walker on a previous visit, new to the facility and a little shy about hanging out in the community rooms so she did not know many of her neighbors names. She truly cannot hear well so introductions may not have gone very far.

The second woman I have had interactions with previously; she had been unsettled by the strangeness of a lotus painting, but enjoyed meadow daisies. Watching her on this day, it felt like there had been a decline since I’d spoken with her last. Going into others’ rooms certainly could not be allowed (for a variety of reasons), and I felt a steeper fall in her experience of life may be forthcoming.

The first woman brought an afghan blanket and I put on my voice amplifier so that she could hear me more easily. She said I was so kind. I did not feel kind.

I felt that this is how it is sometimes. Sometimes we make it to the bathroom humanity intact and with help, other times we don’t. Sometimes we find one another in ways small and profound. Sometimes there are smiles and songs, sometimes sad.

Mostly it’s all of it…connected, some.

End blip.