Written on Tuesday, November 22nd, 2011
Sauerkraut Here!
Today was a “Celebration of Life” Program at the old folks home. In a nutshell, we keep track of everyone who passes and every few months we invite family, friends, staff and residents to join us in honoring their life.
The host reads their name, lights a candle and passes around a microphone to anyone who would like to share their thoughts. If no one is there to represent that individual the host reads an excerpt from their obituary. After acknowledging a former resident a representative or staff members hangs their name on a tree that sits within our community.
Today was my first time attending the Celebration of Life Program. I decided to attend out of respect for our residents, their family and support those left behind. One by one the host went through the names, some I knew and some had passed prior to my start date. I enjoyed listening to the tidbits shared about those I did not meet and I reflected on the time I spent with those I had. Much of my reflection was recalling my last memory of them; I will share these with you:
Mr. B – Mr. B was one of the first people I met at the old folks home. My last memory of him is rather sad.
After his stroke, I took him flowers at his new home. I went to what I thought was his room but did not recognize the man sitting in the recliner. I asked the nurse, “Do you know where Mr. B’s room is?” “Mr. B!?” She replied. “Yes,” I said. “This is Mr. B’s room.” I spent the next few minutes arguing with her, insisting that was not Mr. B in that room. It wasn’t until I saw a note on his bathroom door that I recognized from my community, it was informing staff that his family would do his laundry and hanging right next to it was Mr. B’s clothing.
I took the flowers back in and noticed that his daughter had already done her best to make her father feel at home. She had hung his freshly laundered clothes, decorated his room with photos and brought some other comforts of home as well.
When I looked at Mr. B my heart sunk, he was nothing like I remembered. His ears appeared much larger, he was dressed in pajama bottoms and his dress shirt, which had always been so neatly tucked in, was hiked up, allowing his belly to hang out. I tried to speak to him, but it was clear the stroke affected him greatly. I sat the flowers down and quietly exited the room. That is the last memory I have of Mr. B.
Shirley – Shirley was in our memory care unit and had become rather mean toward the end of her life, it wasn’t her fault but rather a symptom of her disease. One day, I was giving a tour to a potential residents family and accompanying me was our community dog. Shirley noticed the dog and in the middle of my tour yelled out, “Get that dog outta her before I kill it!” Needless to say the family never returned.
Mrs. M – Dr. Bob and Mrs. M were also some of the first people I met when I started at the old folks home. One day it was determined that we could no longer provide Mrs. M with the care she needed so she was sent to live at another community.
Upon request we have been instructed to tell Dr. Bob that Mrs. M went to the hospital and they are taking good care of her. To clarify, Dr. Bob has dementia. He has good days and bad. For example, some days he wanders the halls asking staff members if they’ve seen “where he left his wife” and other days he remembers that she’s “in the hospital.” The truth is Mrs. M has passed.
When we first sent Mrs. M to another community Dr. Bob got word that we (my boss and I) were going to see her and he asked us to take her something, her red lipstick. Mrs. M was known for her ruby red lips.
I remember sitting on Mrs. M’s bed, my boss handing her the tube of lipstick and without a mirror she ran that bright red lipstick over her lips like a pro, it was a flawless application.
Mrs. M loved her lipstick but did not love what was happening in her life. I remember her looking at me with her piercing blue eyes, she asked, “What do you think of all this?” Honestly, I don’t remember my response, but I remember thinking to myself, she may be elderly and she may have dementia, but she knows what’s happening. And that was it, I never saw her again.
Mr. R – Mr. R was a character. I met Mr. R at Bingo; he loved Bingo and never missed a game. I learned that he was a very intelligent man, a university graduate, a respected businessman, etc. I also learned that he would be crushed to know that he had become the resident clepto.
Mr. R would steal anything: other resident’s newsletters, dry erase markers from the activity room, miniature teapots, sugar packets, you name it, he would take it, but flowers were his favorite. Mr. R loved flowers and no flower in the building was safe, he’d even pluck flowers from the wreaths hanging on his neighbor’s doors. If you ever had the opportunity to see Mr. R’s room it was packed full of his pickings.
It was common knowledge that when you saw Mr. R walk by, you followed him, at least until the next person took over. We tried to be inconspicuous as to not upset him, but it was obvious what we were doing. I remember Mr. R walking past the door to my office, both the receptionist and I stood up, watching him make his loop past the sugar packets and head to the elevator. As he passed me, lanky arms a swinging, I asked him how he was. He stood there, hunched over in his blue shirt, turning to reply, “Good.” I watched as he took the elevator up to his room and that was the last time I saw him.
Sweetie I – I never met Sweetie I. In fact, I only saw her once, at a glance when I was walking past her room. I remember she passed away on the first Saturday I worked alone. I remember seeing one of Sweetie I’s daughters crying in the lobby, she was on her way to the dining room to get Mr. H, little did I know it was because she was dying.
Later, I watched Mr. H emerge from her room in tears and when the coast was clear, I watched the morgue rush in to collect her lifeless body. I avoided watching them take her out to respect the family and Sweetie I’s dignity.
What stands out most to me about Sweetie I is her husband, Mr. H. Never have I witnessed a man so in love with a woman. Mr. H is an adorable man, just pure adorable. If I understand correctly, he met Sweetie I when he was seven years old; he was a friend with her brother. Years later they were married and I believe they spent 65 years together.
Although, Mr. H has a phenomenal family, which he credits entirely to his late wife I’ve watched him lose the will to live. Not a day goes by that I don’t see that man sitting in a chair, his mind flooded with thoughts of Sweetie I. He’ll peruse a magazine, his eyes resting on a necklace and say, “If Sweetie I were still her, I’d get that for her. She loved roses. Red roses. Red like her hair.” I used to take him red roses to set near a candle he has in his room with her photo on it, but I decided it was not helping him. Recently he got sick and he was convinced he was “getting ready to join Sweetie I.” Deep down, I know that’s what he was hoping for.
Today he shared with us a story, simple, but cute. He told us that every time he told her he loved her, she would reply, “I love you more.” At the end of his speech he closed by saying, “Goodnight doll” and kissed the microphone. One can only hope that they experience the love Hugh had for his wife.
Glory – Glory declined very quickly. I remember sitting in my office on a Saturday afternoon when the oxygen guy informed me that she was throwing herself around. Worried that she may fall, again, I went to her room. There she was, sleeping, in the middle of a bad dream. I woke her up, informed her that she was having a bad dream and asked her to try to stay awake.
The next time I saw her was the afternoon of Halloween. I remember watching her round the corner, she had a bucket of Halloween candy on her lap, her daughter pushing her in her wheelchair and what appeared to be some grandchildren in tow. That was the last time I saw her.
I went to Gloria’s funeral and I learned a lot about her. I learned that she loved to shop, she loved to drive and she loved the University of Utah football team. In fact, on game days she would set out a red shirt that her husband used to wear every game day. They buried her with that shirt.
Clove – In honor of our Veterans we had a professional photographer come in and photograph our residents. The CNA’s got Clove all dolled up and wheeled him down to the activity room where he sat quietly awaiting his turn with the photographer. After his brief photo shoot I offered to wheel him down to his room. When we got in the elevator I attempted to strike up a conversation with him about lunch but he was already asleep. I pushed him to his room, pushed his pendant so someone could help him get undressed and that was it, I never saw him again. He died 2/3 days later and that was the last photo ever taken of him.
Ida – Ida wasn’t with us very long. I remember she moved in, celebrated what I believe was her 67th wedding anniversary that evening, fell the next morning, went to the hospital, then rehab.
I went to see her a few times in rehab, the last time was right before she was scheduled to come back home. It was a Friday and she was working out in the physical therapy room, she looked and felt great. She was scheduled to come back Monday and passed away Sunday night, her husband never saw her again.
In my opinion, sitting in that room was not a Celebration of Life. I reflected on my time with these residents and couldn’t help but feel as if I had let them down by not spending more time with him, getting to know them, etc. I felt panicked that I was not spending enough time with my loved ones. And my heart sank when I looked around, watching my residents cover their mouths in shock, cry, leave the room, etc. What was going through their minds? Perhaps they were upset that they had lost a loved one, perhaps they were upset facing their own mortality, whatever it was it was heartbreaking.
On that somber note, I think I should write a book. And I’m planning on it. So, if any of you steal my idea I will hunt you down and kill you.
That is all.
Sauerkraut
P.S. Some other funny things:
- “If I die, hang my name at the very top of that tree, maybe they’ll let me into Heaven.” Mrs. C
- “Beautiful, beautiful flowers… Did someone die!?” Again, Mrs. C
- “I need something to charge my hormones. Sigh. Still, Mrs. C
- I let a deliveryman into the room of a resident the other day; little did I know she was sitting on her bed buck ass naked. I’m sure that man is ruined for life.
