Visiting Mum in the nursing home, I witnessed a pathetic but touching scene outside her door. A man was wandering down the hall at a fairly fast pace for one so frail, trying to get away from the caregivers who were trying to corral him to give him a bath. He was refusing to move and they were marshalling more reserves. Parked in the doorway observing this, all in her pink robe (which my mum is sure is hers) was a sweet silver haired lady. They are husband and wife, but must be housed in separate wards. He is mentally impaired, but what he does know is that a wife is more important than a bath.
He insisted on being with his P; and only after much assurance that after his bath he would be with her for dinner, did he agree to a wash. Tough and tender to watch.
Yesterday, as I sat with Mum waiting for the country music band to get set up, I heard an alarm go off. It was hooked to O’s wheelchair. He kept trying to escape and would set off his alarm, detach his wiring, and go off at a senior run.
Finally his wife P, arrived, and he was calm once again in his chair, holding hands with his love, possibly the greatest touchpoint to reality that he has in this fractured piece at the end of his life.