The seniors’ home in my neighbourhood has two separate wings — one is more of a residence, the other a hospital. A while back, I donated a stack of recent magazines to the hospital library so I thought this time I’d venture over to the residence side of things.
It’s a sprawling facility nestled into the surrounding residential community but as soon as you step through the front gate, it feels different somehow. Cloistered.
Today, however, the unseasonably warm weather brought residents and staff outdoors for the some fresh air.
As I approached the main entrance, I passed a sun-worshipping lady in a wheelchair hooked up to oxygen tubes and a man, an amputee, who wheeled himself outside as I was going in. I said hello to both of them but they looked surprised (or maybe I just startled them).
The staff person on duty at reception seemed pleased that I was there with my tiny offering and directed me to the lounge/library behind her area. Bookshelves stocked with all manner of reading material lined one wall.
I found an empty space on a lower shelf between a stack of National Geographics and some bodice-ripper paperbacks. (Guess they’re old … not dead!)
As I was leaving, an ambulance pulled up to the hospital wing. Never a good sign.
I was struck by the vulnerability of these seniors … of all of us, really. They have so much life experience to share but, as always, so little time. And so few to listen….