You're a Good Kid

April 26, 2019


There was a party going on this afternoon when I arrived for a visit with my husband. Cheerful people were smiling and laughing and chatting and enjoying music. There was sparkling cider and a marvelous cake with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. It isn't every day someone turns 85! The resident being celebrated is married to a lovely, vivacious, much younger woman who comes to see him several times a week. It's good to know that most of the residents do have frequent visitors. It isn't the kind of place where you drop off Gramps, walk away, and never come back. So, there's that.

My husband was in his room, on his bed, staring at the wall. I sat next to him, and he allowed me to give him a little rubdown. I told him there was a party going on and asked him if he'd like to go there with me. It took some coaxing, but he did let me take his hand and lead him out to the common area, finally. He was all smiles, too, which is a bit unusual.

He smiled at me, he smiled at the other residents, he smiled at the hospice people who were there, he smiled at the caregivers. I was happy to see him in such an apparent good mood and took advantage of the situation to "dance" around with him a bit, holding his hands and beaming up at him like a schoolgirl. And just when I thought all his attention was on me, he reached out and patted the derriere of a guest who was bending over a table. She seemed rather flattered, thank goodness. Pro tip:  Don't bend over tables around people who have lost all their social filters!

We continued intermittently "dancing" and resting. He hadn't said anything at all, but that isn't unusual anymore. At one point, as I was giving him one of many special hugs, he reciprocated, tried to lick me, grinned, looked me right in the eye, and said, "You're a...You're a good kid."

It's stunning how such a small thing can mean so much.