I had a very eye opening experience with one of our wonderful residents the other day, and I felt so touched by it that I had to share.
I walked into one of the resident's rooms to check on them and sit and chat with her for awhile. She began to talk to me about how she wasn't feeling well but stopped halfway through her sentence and struggled to find her next words. She became frustrated that her mind had gone blank when she was trying to explain something to me. I assured her it was okay and that being forgetful happens to all of us. Instead of continuing on with the conversation she asked to sit down so she could explain something to me.
I sat down on her bed and she looked at me and told me to imagine that when I woke up tomorrow and tried to talk to my husband, I was unable to find the words. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember what I was saying, nor could I get the words out. "Now," she said, "imagine that you went to the doctor for it and they told you the words would never come back, that you would spend the rest of your life failing to find the words you needed to". I started to see where she was going with this, but listened intently as she continued.
She then asked me to imagine that next week, my driver's license was taken away. I was told I was no longer a safe driver and wouldn't be allowed to operate a vehicle. So there I sat, day after day, thinking of all the errands I needed to run, but couldn't because I wasn't allowed to drive.
She told me to think about how much I love to sing and not being able to anymore, or to think about sitting down to sew and no longer being able to thread the needle from shaky hands and poor sight.
She was starting to tear up, and so was I, as I imagine anyone would in this position. Finally, she said imagine your spouse passing, and then your sons and daughters saying they have their own families to take care of, so they're going to move you into a studio bedroom where someone else can take care of you until you pass on.
I didn't know what to say at all. I was stunned into silence. I have always looked at our residents with respect and an understanding that they have lived amazing full lives and deserved the highest care we could offer them, and respecting their independence, but this resident forced me to put myself in her shoes, to look at the world through her eyes.
I can't imagine the frustration some of our residents must feel when they find themselves out of their homes, or the anger they feel when they sense their independence has been lost.
It's something we strive to remember here at Beehive Homes, to ease their anger and frustration and make their stay with us as home like as possible. But still, this was an important reminder.
It's important to help them still sing, even if it's become more difficult, it's important to help them sew, even if we need to thread the needle. It's important to walk next to them, despite how slow their steps may be.
