Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?

I'd like to tell you about three special people who grace my days.

The Divine Mr. M.

The first is Mr. M. If you passed him on the road, you might walk across the street to avoid him. He's scruffy and sometimes smells bad. He rarely wears his teeth or hearing aids, and squints a lot. He refuses to use a walker, preferring to scamper along behind his wheel chair. When he gets tired, he sits in his wheel chair and scoots along with his feet.

Mr. M. is a bit demented. He always thinks he's going to Philadelphia. He comes and asks for $200 for a bus trip, but can be convinced to be happy with $5 instead.

One day I found him crumpled beside his toilet. He was partially nude and pretty badly soiled. I covered him and ran for a nurse to help clean him up. Later that day, I stopped in to make sure he was OK. He seemed embarrassed that I'd seen him so exposed. I pretended the incident didn't happen and went on to tell him about my new grandson.

Later he showed up in the Business Office with his mandolin. Secretly I dreaded what was probably going to be a painful performance, but I offered him a chair and braced myself.

The transformation was amazing. He played beautifully. First he played Amazing Grace, then a couple of tunes I did not know. While Mr. M. played his mandolin the years melted away. His physical challenges became invisible. Both of us were transported to a time when he was young and vital and very talented. His performance brought tears to my eyes. When he was done, he plopped his instrument into the seat of his wheelchair, kissed the top of my head, and skittered off on his merry way.

Miss G

Miss G is relatively young to be in a nursing home. She's pretty much alone in this world. She never married and never had children. I've seen a niece once or twice, but her sister from New Jersey makes regular visits and takes her on trips to the casinos.

Miss G always smiles. She's so full of love that her glow can be felt even when you can't see her. She doesn't have much to smile about. Her hands are gnarled with arthritis. Her feet are stuffed into corrective shoes and her spine is riddled with degenerative spine fractures. I know she suffers every waking moment.

Every time her sister takes her to the casinos, Miss G vows to "Make a million bucks, buy the nursing home and turn it into a cat house." (And she doesn't mean pet store!) She'll tell you that Hooters is always after her to be the star waitress. And her favorite pass time is to sit in the lobby and ask the handsome ambulance drivers to take her out for a date or give her their phone numbers.

It is impossible to be down when you're around Miss G. She's always got a kind word or an "I love you, honey!" I thank God everyday that I know her.

My heart belongs to Miss V....

I'm the fashionista of the building. I have over 40 pairs of shoes in every color you can imagine. One day I was walking down the hall in my orange Enzo's when I heard someone shout "ORANGE ORANGE!! ORANGE ORANGE!!"

It was a new resident. I went to introduce myself to her and was told that she hadn't spoken since her stroke. (I promptly went home and informed my fiancee that Jesus WANTS me to wear my shoes, they heal the sick!) The next day I wore green shoes and I got the same excited reaction.

We began a daily routine. I check in with her and she admires whatever I'm wearing.

As the months passed, her speech got better and better. Her speech got good enough to royally cuss her son out when he told her she wasn't going home. She was devastated and irate.

Her son isn't wrong. She's not able to care for herself anymore.

Her life is so interesting. She served in the military. She never remarried after her husband was killed in World War Two. She raised her son alone. She weathered this world all by herself. I could spend hours a day just sitting and talking with her.

One day she didn't seem right. She was rushed to the hospital where she stayed for several days. When she came back she didn't know me. I'd walk up to her and smile, say "hi" and touch her hand. She just looked confused and would say "why? why? why?" It made me so sad that she didn't know me anymore.

A few days ago I ran into her son and his wife. I lamented that she just wasn't the same anymore. He said, "Yes, it's sad that she's lost her eyesight." I confess that I just broke down and cried. I didn't know she couldn't SEE!!! No WONDER she didn't know me.

The next day I went to her. I sat by her and said, "It's me, Nansi." I took her hand and let her feel my hair (she loves to feel my hair). She grabbed me and said, "Oh honey. Why? Why? Why"" We both cried a little, but mostly just comforted each other.

She may be mad that she's in a nursing home, but I am so grateful that I have had this opportunity to know her and to make a difference in her life. She's certainly made me a better person for having known her.

These are our National Treasures, folks. Don't be afraid of your old people. Let them talk to you. Hear their stories. They're telling you YOUR story. They're the foundation of our society. The highest prize you can win is the friendship of a person at the end of their life. Listen. Listen. Listen. And when you do, you will have given Love.