Death Do Us Part

Good evening, my nocturnal blogsters. If you have a better memory than mine, (and I bet my life you do) then you know that I work with seniors- very old seniors- at an assisted living center. Although I'm not supposed to have favorites, I must admit I've gotten quite attached to a selected few. Some of them are real assholes, and don't make the favorite list... SO, I spend the majority of my time with my couples- I like to call them MY couples, because they live in my building and treat me like family. Couples are rare in an assisted living center, because by the age of 80, most of them are widowed and have been for years. The women far out number the men, which leads me to believe that we just live longer. Period. A home full of 80 year old ladies. Joy.

I dedicate this post to my couples tonight, because one of my favorite couples isn't doing so well. Tina, 1/2 of my couple, may die within the next few days. Walter, her husband, is sitting by her side in a hospital, and he'll never leave her, not even for a moment. They have been married for 58 years. They are, and always were, very much in love.

Walter is in pretty good shape for his age. He wears a cell phone on his belt, and knocks 20 years off his life with his "Vanz" slip on shoes. He lives in his house of 36 years, but arrives at the center in the early morning to have breakfast with Tina, and stays until very late at night, making sure she has everything that she needs. They were always quick to participate in my daily activities, even if they were occupied or tired. They like me and don't want to let me down. They are two perfect angels, meant to be, and even burdened with what was, is, and will be, they still possess genuine, kind, caring souls.

I saw them every day, and the last time I saw Tina, she was walking with her physical therapist. They sat down so she could take a short rest, and I told her she had had a busy day and should go take a nap. She looked fine otherwise, and I had no idea it may be the last time I would see her there. I found out today that she went into the hospital, and my heart sank at the thought of Walter, sitting there by her side, alone. So I went to see them. I called first, and Walter answered. He was alone, and said she wasn't doing well. He asked if I would bring the 4th of July picture that I had taken of her. He said it was a good picture. I brought that picture and lots of others he had probably forgotten about or didn't know I had. I put my 3 favorite ones in a frame, 2 in which they were sitting together, smiles on their faces. When I arrived, I sat down next to Walter and as soon as I looked at him, I cried. I think he cried a little too. He said it was ok, several times. But it wasn't. He was trying to be strong, even in the sterile room that his wife may never leave. He thanked me several times for the pictures and for the balloons I brought to brighten the room. In my card to Tina, I wrote that she inspired me to find love and that things wouldn't be the same without her. She couldn't open her eyes and she could barely speak, but she did manage to say my name, and the word "thirsty." Walter held a small cup of tea with a straw to her mouth and helped her to drink. She managed the word "sweet", referring to the tea, so he walked over to a counter where he had saved a few packets of sugar and blended one in. He returned to Tina and by her side, held the cup and straw for her again. Til death do us part. It was the most beautiful moment. I said goodbye to Walter in a way that wasn't final, with just the tiniest bit of hope in my eyes, behind the tears. I always knew I'd get attached to my residents, and it was my only concern going in. If she doesn't pull through, this may be my first death, and I hope if I stay in this field, my last will feel the same.

For Wilmotine.