Family Matters

They are our fathers, our mothers, our grandparents, our history.

In the course of my day, I have occasion to visit a variety of nursing homes where I am confronted with the inevitability of aging. These residences vary in cleanliness, amenities, and staff commitment. But through all, one thing remains constant: the residents, themselves.

Their faces are tired, worn, etched deeply with experience and often, hardship. Their bodies and minds have betrayed them, leaving them pale shadows of their former selves.

If they are lucky, they are engaged by well-intentioned yet overworked staff. If they aren’t lucky, they are stacked in forgotten corners like so many unread books: full of stories and life if one only took the time and trouble to open them up.

Outside each resident’s room is a showcase of sorts for displaying their respective memorabilia. Taking the time to peruse the photographic memories of days long gone by, you are reminded that these people were once vital, vibrant members of society who made an impact on the world. They had children and friends and lovers and successes and failures.

Not a visit passes where I don’t find myself choked up at the sight of pleading, hopeful eyes; frantic waves; sometimes haunting wails. I offer what little I can: a smile, a wave, a kind word. Sometimes it’s all I can do to get out of there without breaking down.

What lessons do I take from these visits? I suppose I see a possible future reflected in their desperate eyes. Maybe I am spurred on not to take life for granted, that I should make the most of the time I have in the world.

Mostly, I offer a plea of my own: that those who have family in these homes will not leave them to fade away unremarked. Spend some time with them, even if it is just to share the warmth of physical contact. Tell them a story. Ask them theirs. Get to know your history. One day it could be you in there and you would be glad that somebody took the trouble to remember your life…