An Afternoon at the Nursing Home

A few days ago, I was a guest at two retirement homes in my city, where my colleagues organised a reading for…what’s the word, patients? It’s not a hospital. Inmates? It’s not a prison either. Patrons? It’s not a bar. Ah yes, residents. A remarkably touching experience and a stark reminder of a different kind of reality. People who greeted us were kind, warm-hearted and occasionally absent-minded. Their faces revealed a spark of joy that never quite goes away, their wrinkled skin revealed their age and their battles. Inside, you could feel a smell of adult diapers in the air and the room in which we were was an improvised chapel with all the usual things you expect to find in a church: an altar, pulpit, paintings, statues etc. For an afternoon, their pulpit was mine. It was almost heartbreaking to see framed paintings on the walls depicting the passion of the Christ. Looking at the people seated underneath them: in pajamas, slippers, holding on to their canes and walkers. It reminded me of an elderly neighbor who walks around town with a wheeled walker of her own, adorned by flowers.

I don’t particularly enjoy these experiences because you’re forced to face the cruel reality of old age, loneliness and fragility. Before we left, one of their residents took my hand and said “remember that this is a house of lonely people”. On the other hand, experiences like these are priceless due to the…