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Sunday
March 21, 2010 Since 1922 |
Visit to nursing home
By Elizabeth Gill
Contributor Published December 23, 2007 You would think that visiting a nursing home would be depressing, but that all depends on whom you are visiting. My dad thought his life had ended when he went to the nursing home, and it very nearly had. He lived there only a month. However, I have gone to see a number of my friends who made the trip most pleasing.
I remember some years ago that I had a friend who was old enough to be my mother. She lived at Green Acres in Baytown. I managed to get over to see her a few times every year. She was always glad to see me, though she couldn’t “see” very well. Her life had not been easy, for she had lost a son to suicide. All the same, she never complained. In fact, she praised God for her gifts. Her best blessing was her daughter who lived nearby.
After my friend Maxine suffered her first stroke, she was able to live with her daughter and walk with the aid of a cane. If we went to town, I took her wheelchair. Despite her handicap, she continued to be able to live at home for a few years. She had always been a strong opinionated person, but her memory slipped a little. Then after another stroke, she went to Green Acres. I visited her often, and the nice thing about it was that she had retreated to her childhood in her mind, making her illness bearable. At first I didn‚t realize her condition and would ask her questions about the present which she could not answer. Although she had a notebook with pictures of her family, her memory of them gradually faded away. Once I went to see her and she said, “Grandpa came to see me today.” Another time I went to see her in the dining room where an old man sat at her table. She thought he was Grandpa, and when he left, she said, “I’ll be along in a few minutes,” as he scowled.
She seemed to know me, but I really don’t know who she thought I was. She was having her hair cut when I went in one day, and she gaily remarked, “The boys always make sure I get a haircut when I need one.”
The hairdresser asked me, “Is she talking about her sons?”
“No,” I replied. “Her brothers.”
A singing group from a church came once a week. If I stopped to see her on that day, I would find her in the middle of the group, directing the music as she had done so many times in the past.
She lived happily in her childhood all her days at Greenacres. When a final catastrophic stroke took her to eternity, hert childhood was waiting in heaven, and I’m sure she continued her happy days.
Another of my friends, Vivian, is at home in the rehabilitation facility on North Main, in Baytown. She seems perfectly contented to get three meals a day, watch her soap operas, and work her crossword puzzles from the paper her daughter brings her each day. She likes her bed that can lift her to a sitting position. Since I saw a wheel chair next to her bed, I asked her if she could walk. She said, “I can walk, but I don‚t do it much.” She is better off there than at home, for I don’t think she ate right at home. Vivian doesn’t talk much, but she always remembers when I have stayed away too long.
After I left Vivian one day, I went down another hall to see Marie, who is very loquacious. She said, “You won’t believe this, but I was thinking about you.” Nearly every time I go she says that. I tell her she has ESP, and she laughs. Then she launches into whatever was on her mind about her family or her family history. I have to be alert to follow her train of thought. Most of the names she mentions are of family members, and I know whom she is talking about.
Awhile back when I was over there, she told me about going with her father when she was a little girl to see old man Barrow at his place near the bay. It was the 1930s, and Clyde Barrow (some relation to the old man) and Bonnie Parker stopped to visit.
Another time Marie told me about Grandpa Somebody who was thrown out of the Baptist church for sponsoring dances at his house. Baptists used to be very strict.
It is always interesting to visit Marie, and we always pray together.. Before I left the last time she told me she wasn’t long for this world. But she is ready.
Some ladies from our church often go to the nursing home on Park Street. They do nails for the residents, and once a month they hold a sing-along service with the hymn books. Most can’t find the page without help, but they know the old songs. Some of them are alert and smiling; some are just there.
A lot of former active and busy people inhabit the nursing homes in our area. Visiting them can be a joy to those of us still “outside.”
Elizabeth Gill teaches Sunday School at the First Baptist Church in Mont Belvieu, is a member of the Goose Creek DAR, Baytown Retired Teachers and Chambers County Delta Kappa Gamma.
Contributor Published December 23, 2007 You would think that visiting a nursing home would be depressing, but that all depends on whom you are visiting. My dad thought his life had ended when he went to the nursing home, and it very nearly had. He lived there only a month. However, I have gone to see a number of my friends who made the trip most pleasing.
I remember some years ago that I had a friend who was old enough to be my mother. She lived at Green Acres in Baytown. I managed to get over to see her a few times every year. She was always glad to see me, though she couldn’t “see” very well. Her life had not been easy, for she had lost a son to suicide. All the same, she never complained. In fact, she praised God for her gifts. Her best blessing was her daughter who lived nearby.
After my friend Maxine suffered her first stroke, she was able to live with her daughter and walk with the aid of a cane. If we went to town, I took her wheelchair. Despite her handicap, she continued to be able to live at home for a few years. She had always been a strong opinionated person, but her memory slipped a little. Then after another stroke, she went to Green Acres. I visited her often, and the nice thing about it was that she had retreated to her childhood in her mind, making her illness bearable. At first I didn‚t realize her condition and would ask her questions about the present which she could not answer. Although she had a notebook with pictures of her family, her memory of them gradually faded away. Once I went to see her and she said, “Grandpa came to see me today.” Another time I went to see her in the dining room where an old man sat at her table. She thought he was Grandpa, and when he left, she said, “I’ll be along in a few minutes,” as he scowled.
She seemed to know me, but I really don’t know who she thought I was. She was having her hair cut when I went in one day, and she gaily remarked, “The boys always make sure I get a haircut when I need one.”
The hairdresser asked me, “Is she talking about her sons?”
“No,” I replied. “Her brothers.”
A singing group from a church came once a week. If I stopped to see her on that day, I would find her in the middle of the group, directing the music as she had done so many times in the past.
She lived happily in her childhood all her days at Greenacres. When a final catastrophic stroke took her to eternity, hert childhood was waiting in heaven, and I’m sure she continued her happy days.
Another of my friends, Vivian, is at home in the rehabilitation facility on North Main, in Baytown. She seems perfectly contented to get three meals a day, watch her soap operas, and work her crossword puzzles from the paper her daughter brings her each day. She likes her bed that can lift her to a sitting position. Since I saw a wheel chair next to her bed, I asked her if she could walk. She said, “I can walk, but I don‚t do it much.” She is better off there than at home, for I don’t think she ate right at home. Vivian doesn’t talk much, but she always remembers when I have stayed away too long.
After I left Vivian one day, I went down another hall to see Marie, who is very loquacious. She said, “You won’t believe this, but I was thinking about you.” Nearly every time I go she says that. I tell her she has ESP, and she laughs. Then she launches into whatever was on her mind about her family or her family history. I have to be alert to follow her train of thought. Most of the names she mentions are of family members, and I know whom she is talking about.
Awhile back when I was over there, she told me about going with her father when she was a little girl to see old man Barrow at his place near the bay. It was the 1930s, and Clyde Barrow (some relation to the old man) and Bonnie Parker stopped to visit.
Another time Marie told me about Grandpa Somebody who was thrown out of the Baptist church for sponsoring dances at his house. Baptists used to be very strict.
It is always interesting to visit Marie, and we always pray together.. Before I left the last time she told me she wasn’t long for this world. But she is ready.
Some ladies from our church often go to the nursing home on Park Street. They do nails for the residents, and once a month they hold a sing-along service with the hymn books. Most can’t find the page without help, but they know the old songs. Some of them are alert and smiling; some are just there.
A lot of former active and busy people inhabit the nursing homes in our area. Visiting them can be a joy to those of us still “outside.”
Elizabeth Gill teaches Sunday School at the First Baptist Church in Mont Belvieu, is a member of the Goose Creek DAR, Baytown Retired Teachers and Chambers County Delta Kappa Gamma.