I’ve driven Bernie home three times since I’ve been at this job. I could just about tell you his story. He’s funny and intense. There is little actual conversation. He’s giving a high-paced history of his life. His wife of 62 years has had Alzheimer’s for the last 6 years and he has no help at home. I suppose that he has so little interaction with adults that he has all this pent up need spilling out.
He and I left with two other people. He assumes he gets to go first because he has to get back to his wife. This time the logical and obvious order of our route would let him out second. Even so, he commanded the conversation space the whole way along. As he was getting out in his driveway he did allow that the next time we met he’d let us talk more.
Later that same day Patty and I are driving along toward her house. I ask her about her hobbies and her spare time. She’s thinking about calling Interfaith to see if she can get someone to come in a few hours, a few times a week so that she feels less guilty shopping and getting the car fixed. Her husband had a stroke a couple years ago. He has trouble with speech and self-care. Their adult son lives in town and comes over a couple times a week.
I think about this a little bit. The best I can. It’s not until I see an episode of Grey’s Anatomy in which they are dealing with characters broken in this way that I get a clearer picture. IT brings me to tears.
The upshot of this exposure is simply another reason to be grateful for whatever wholeness one can muster.
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