Each Name

(Time Period: Shortly after moving Mom into the care home.)

At any one time in my mother’s group home, there were ten elderly residents. During certain periods, a man or two would be part of the mix, but more often the residents were women. Some lived there for several years and others just a few months. Most had a degree of dementia. All were limited physically.

I remember each of their names: Colleen, Edith, Pearl, Gail, Sue, Ann, Trudy, Marge, Maxine, Joanna, Bill, Irv, Janice, and others.

There was Flo who checked the mailbox every day and told me to drink my greens as she had done all her life having grown up on a farm. Nearly every time I greeted her she complimented my hair and asked, “Are your curls natural?” Standing right near my mother’s chair, Flo would inquire how Grace was doing. Unable to comprehend my facial cues that implored her to avoid the word, she would ask in full voice, “Is she senile?” I’d answer with a strained smile and slight shake of my head that I hoped muted the question for my mother’s ears.

When Mom first arrived, it was Pearl who welcomed her with a handwritten list of everyone’s names. Pearl remembered what she had needed upon arrival to the home and now she generously offered that to the newcomer.

Pearl’s List

Gail was the first person my mother bonded with as a friend. In the early days of Mom’s acclimation to the house, she patiently endured being trailed by Mom, including at inopportune times such as the day Mom followed her into the bathroom. Gail’s warm smiles were always reassuring.

There were two other special friendships that endured throughout Mom’s four years at the home: Dorothy and Leah. A few months after Mom moved in, I met Dorothy’s daughter, Patti, at the grocery store. We struck up a conversation while selecting plants for Mother’s Day. When I commented that my mother had Alzheimer’s and we had recently found a lovely care home, Patti looked up from browsing the flowers. She explained that her mother, who was outside waiting in the car, was starting to show signs of dementia. Patti and her husband were in the midst of figuring out next steps for Dorothy’s care. I suggested they consider the home and Patti gratefully accepted the owner’s contact information. She had been searching for a solution and came to believe that our chance meeting at the grocery store was an answer to her prayers.

We didn’t know at the time that Dorothy and Grace would become such good pals. On most days, Dorothy and Mom sat next to each other in the family room, chatting and often holding hands. When Leah arrived a few months later, she immediately became another bestie.

Leah and Grace

As with any group of people, personalities and demeanors varied and became part of the home’s ever-changing tapestry. Some residents were conversant, others mostly silent. Some were sweet, others combative. Some were pleasant, others tended to complain. Some were calm and others fearful. Most everyone took a turn being all of these.

I remember each name. I remember each face and each person. There was a rhythm to the turnover of residents in the house, each one making their way to the end of their time on earth. When someone died, I felt it – not only because it was a reminder that my mother’s turn would come – but for the loss of that person individually. The fabric of the group changed with each departure. Their presence was missed, their absence felt. Life moved on though, and as the elders from my mother’s initial peer group left, it taught me how natural the passage is.

Each resident and their families were moving through this transition in their own way, on their particular timeline and with their unique set of circumstances, strengths, and limitations, yet our experiences were overlapping in the same setting, this home being shared.

My sense of connectedness expanded when I realized that we were witnesses for each other. With each coming and going through the front door of the care home, with each greeting and acknowledgment of our loved ones, both residents and family members supported one another. Comfort and reassurance were available. Even in their diminished states, there was a goodness that flowed and made the bitterness more bearable.

With each person I came to know, I felt that for the brief time our hearts touched, it was somehow infinitely important.

Simple exchanges, the expressions that conveyed kindness and understanding, had an effect that lasted beyond the moment. Reflecting on these interactions – some funny, some sad, all of them a part of the experience – continues to fill me now.