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Show Nursing home/3 But that first time we left the building in tears. Our initial visit set a repeated pattern. We braced ourselves for the encounter, seeing our mother curled up in that hospital bed in a sterile, stark room. We met her roommate, with whom we were also to become concerned. The next visit would be easier, we told ourselves. We would get to know the staff. We would be model visitors. We would take our loved one for wheelchair rides, help her eat, visit her often. We tried to ignore the strain of seeing an aged parent slowly wasting before us. We could almost understand why so many offspring choose not to visit. After mother was settled we became part of the landscape too. We had to accustom ourselves to the noise echoing along the hard surfaces of the sterilized walls. We concluded that the clamour was due mainly to the hearing loss of the residents. It is easier to talk loudly than to repeat your words. "What time is it?" called a 92-year-old man to every person passing his door. Some responded. Others, tired of the question for the hundredth time, chose to ignore him. Unable to arouse others' interest in himself with that question, he went to another tactic. "Die! Die! Die!" he called in a monotone. Someone shut his door, but the sounds came through the wood, muffled and methodical. Down the hall a once-strong voice sang, "I walked today where Jesus walked, in days of long ago." The words came clear and steady. He knew them all. Repeat and repeat. Then "Abide With Me." Curious, I left my mother's bedside to follow the sound of the singing. He was a stranger to me but I was warmed by his wanting to share. "You have a nice voice. I can tell you love to sing," I offered, introducing myself. He looked gratefully into my face. "I belonged to the glee club when I was young," he answered. "I have a lot more songs I'll sing for you." |