"When people die, they leave by the front door, too."
After my dad died, my stepmom (horrible) sent me back to the care home he'd been living in to retrieve a blanket we'd forgotten. I'd seen his body that morning, by choice, but I absolutely did not want to see him wheeled out. I sat in the parking lot for five minutes before I went in, absolutely terrified. It's strangely one of my worst memories of that whole day.
Anyway, the timing worked out, I didn't have to see the stretcher, and the person at the front desk who handed me the blanket was incredibly lovely to me. They all were. Thanks for the work you do.
I used to pickup the mail for a resident who’s mail landed at her penthouse address at Pine & Cal. She lives full time in the country but keeps her penthouse there in case she “ever needs it”. She has since redirected all her mail to the country so I no longer get to smile at the front desk. It seemed to me that they looked at me a little bit like I was a criminal which was .. a unique opportunity to process. I figure it was bc I’m almost 6’ tall and for the most part they are not. Being different has its perks. I did try to build a friendly relationship or at least share a smile with them but they were cautious and fairly dry tbh, to engage with the tall girl who got the penthouse mail 😂😬💃
Many things were very difficult about my time working in a nursing home, but you've reminded me of some of the loveliest parts. There's something really heartening about being part of residents' lives like that.
As a kid, I often got along best with "mean" (usually just more serious) teachers, and I found myself really returning to that dynamic when I worked in a nursing home, where I often got along well with the prickliest residents. There's a lot that needs improvement in the way we (who do I mean by we?) handle the needs of people whose age or abilities mean they shouldn't live without constant care, but I think there's something really valuable about having places where a staff of caring strangers can ensure people live safely.
I remember accidentally overhearing part of a conversation when one of my most particular residents, Marjorie (of course not really Marjorie), was talking with her adult children, who visited pretty often. They were trying to get her to understand how her behavior in their childhood had hurt them, and while they were being patient and compassionate and trying to accommodate the way her memory worked, she seemed to be really struggling (or perhaps refusing) to follow. As they left, I remember thinking that I was glad she could get her daily living needs met by someone who had no baggage with her, and that her children could go home and process their conversation without also having to physically care for her in some pretty intimate ways. It didn't cost me anything to treat Marjorie with the same warmth and patience I always tried to, and her children didn't need to shove down complicated feelings to make sure she got to bed fed, clean, and feeling safe. I think that's one of the best parts of environments like assisted living facilities and nursing homes. Even for people with living loved ones who might be physically able to care for them, I think that sometimes having a little physical distance in the day-to-day can create emotional space that can be really important. (Of course, I'm making a number of assumptions about what this sliver of a conversation meant for some relative strangers, and everyone's mileage may vary, and this might be perfectly irrelevant to lots of people who live with some kind of professional assistance. But as someone with complicated feelings about some of my loved ones, this experience stuck with me and made me feel really fulfilled about the work I did with Marjorie and people like her.)
"When people die, they leave by the front door, too."
After my dad died, my stepmom (horrible) sent me back to the care home he'd been living in to retrieve a blanket we'd forgotten. I'd seen his body that morning, by choice, but I absolutely did not want to see him wheeled out. I sat in the parking lot for five minutes before I went in, absolutely terrified. It's strangely one of my worst memories of that whole day.
Anyway, the timing worked out, I didn't have to see the stretcher, and the person at the front desk who handed me the blanket was incredibly lovely to me. They all were. Thanks for the work you do.
The front desk has never been covered this lovingly.
Wow, Constance, Malcolm R., and Michael; the fire fighters, the real front desk staff: god bless us, every one!
I used to pickup the mail for a resident who’s mail landed at her penthouse address at Pine & Cal. She lives full time in the country but keeps her penthouse there in case she “ever needs it”. She has since redirected all her mail to the country so I no longer get to smile at the front desk. It seemed to me that they looked at me a little bit like I was a criminal which was .. a unique opportunity to process. I figure it was bc I’m almost 6’ tall and for the most part they are not. Being different has its perks. I did try to build a friendly relationship or at least share a smile with them but they were cautious and fairly dry tbh, to engage with the tall girl who got the penthouse mail 😂😬💃
Discalced LMAO - never say that a theological education has no practical purpose!
Many things were very difficult about my time working in a nursing home, but you've reminded me of some of the loveliest parts. There's something really heartening about being part of residents' lives like that.
As a kid, I often got along best with "mean" (usually just more serious) teachers, and I found myself really returning to that dynamic when I worked in a nursing home, where I often got along well with the prickliest residents. There's a lot that needs improvement in the way we (who do I mean by we?) handle the needs of people whose age or abilities mean they shouldn't live without constant care, but I think there's something really valuable about having places where a staff of caring strangers can ensure people live safely.
I remember accidentally overhearing part of a conversation when one of my most particular residents, Marjorie (of course not really Marjorie), was talking with her adult children, who visited pretty often. They were trying to get her to understand how her behavior in their childhood had hurt them, and while they were being patient and compassionate and trying to accommodate the way her memory worked, she seemed to be really struggling (or perhaps refusing) to follow. As they left, I remember thinking that I was glad she could get her daily living needs met by someone who had no baggage with her, and that her children could go home and process their conversation without also having to physically care for her in some pretty intimate ways. It didn't cost me anything to treat Marjorie with the same warmth and patience I always tried to, and her children didn't need to shove down complicated feelings to make sure she got to bed fed, clean, and feeling safe. I think that's one of the best parts of environments like assisted living facilities and nursing homes. Even for people with living loved ones who might be physically able to care for them, I think that sometimes having a little physical distance in the day-to-day can create emotional space that can be really important. (Of course, I'm making a number of assumptions about what this sliver of a conversation meant for some relative strangers, and everyone's mileage may vary, and this might be perfectly irrelevant to lots of people who live with some kind of professional assistance. But as someone with complicated feelings about some of my loved ones, this experience stuck with me and made me feel really fulfilled about the work I did with Marjorie and people like her.)