April 29, 2019
Two more residents have passed away, one yesterday and one today. That makes a total of six since my husband moved in last June. I can't say either one of these two was a surprise, exactly, except that death always is surprising, even when it's expected.
It is very hard on the caregivers, who do such a fine job of nursing and changing and feeding and showing affection to each and every one. To be the ones responsible for each resident's best possible life, at the very end of life, must be both a privilege and a curse. As each person declines little by little, or sometimes quite rapidly, how difficult it must be to maintain a cheerful and encouraging demeanor.
Even as a visitor, as I am, you develop a fondness for the residents, an understanding of their quirks, a camaraderie and community with their friends and relatives. And then, suddenly, they're gone. Gone gone. He won't be grabbing my hand and holding it tight as I walk by anymore. She won't be returning my greeting with a sweet smile. It's sad from our angle. But from their point of view, I'm sure it's glorious to be free!
As my husband and I walked and swayed to the music coming through our headphones today, I held him more closely. I gave him extra smiles and plenty of kisses. I stroked his cheek gently and gazed tenderly into his eyes. I showered him with words of love and admiration. I savored every moment.
Would that we all could remember that life is a gift, a fleeting vapor. Some things really matter. And some things really don't.
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