When we first came to the American house, we found most of the people to be cordial. One day, we met a new lady in the dining room. She was going around from table to table talking to people. When she came to our table, she introduced herself and we thought that she seemed like a very kind and generous person.
She told us that she had worked as photographer for much of her life. The next day she brought some of her pictures to the dining room and took them around to all the tables for everyone to see. The pictures were of flowers, gardens, rock structures and trees. We told her that they were beautiful.
One day she asked my wife and I to come to her apartment to look over her picture albums and pick a few for us to keep. We didn't necessarily want any of them, but thought it was a kind gesture!
When we went to her apartment, she greeted us and began to engage us in a long conversation. We were wondering if she was ever going to get to showing us her pictures! After a while, she led us to the room where she stored them. She showed us a few pictures, but continued to talk and talk and talk. At this point, we just wanted to find a couple to take so we could get out of there!
Finally we picked out a few and thought we would be able to go, but then she opened another drawer filled with pictures for us to look at. After another hour of talking and browsing, we had three pictures and it seemed like she was finally ready to let us go.
We started migrating slowly to the exit door to say thank you and goodbye, but as I opened the door, she took the pictures back from my wife! She said that she needed to check first to see if she had duplicates of them before she could give them to us. Can you believe it!?!
Weeks went by, but she didn't mention anything about finding the duplicates. We didn't want to ask her about it, fearing that we would be trapped into another hours-long visit in her apartment. A few months later, she passed away. She was a sweet lady who will be greatly missed, but...
...needless to say. we never saw those pictures again!
Saturday, September 22, 2018
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
Which Apartment is Mine?
This story is about a lady who I will call Lula. The place where we live is an assisted living facility. That means that each of the residents might have a variety of different mental and/or physical ailments. Many people here suffer from dementia at different levels of severity. Lula is one of those people.
Lula lives in apartment #318. My wife and I live in apartment #118. The building has four floors, so there is also a #018 and a #218.
Every day Lula walks through the halls on the way to and from the dining room. Almost every day she gets confused and ends up on the wrong floor because she either forgot to get on the elevator or got off on the wrong floor. Sometimes we will hear her calling out "I don't know where my apartment is...Which apartment is mine?"
Because each of the floors is nearly identical, rooms #018, #118, #218, and #318 are all stacked one on top of the other. If you were to exit the elevator on the wrong floor you would end up at the wrong room. This is what Lula does.
After each meal, Lula will end up at one of the x18 rooms depending on which floor she finds herself on. She will open the door (or knock if it is locked) and call out for Sybil (her afternoon caretaker), but of course Sybil is not there.
One time Lula ended up in our room and accused my wife of stealing all of her furniture. When my wife tried to explain the situation, Lula responded with a slew of curse words.
Last week she ended up in apartment #018. Finding someone inside, Lula began to yell at the poor resident whose apartment it actually was. The lady in that room did not look kindly on Lula barging in (as I'm sure it wasn't the first time!), so she just decided to yell back. This created quite a scene! Sybil appeared and tried to calm Lula down, but but she was not able to control her.
No one knows what she will end up doing tomorrow. As for my wife and I? We will continue to point Lula back to the elevator and instruct her to take it to the third floor.
Here's to you, Lula. I hope you find your way home!
Lula lives in apartment #318. My wife and I live in apartment #118. The building has four floors, so there is also a #018 and a #218.
Every day Lula walks through the halls on the way to and from the dining room. Almost every day she gets confused and ends up on the wrong floor because she either forgot to get on the elevator or got off on the wrong floor. Sometimes we will hear her calling out "I don't know where my apartment is...Which apartment is mine?"
Because each of the floors is nearly identical, rooms #018, #118, #218, and #318 are all stacked one on top of the other. If you were to exit the elevator on the wrong floor you would end up at the wrong room. This is what Lula does.
After each meal, Lula will end up at one of the x18 rooms depending on which floor she finds herself on. She will open the door (or knock if it is locked) and call out for Sybil (her afternoon caretaker), but of course Sybil is not there.
One time Lula ended up in our room and accused my wife of stealing all of her furniture. When my wife tried to explain the situation, Lula responded with a slew of curse words.
Last week she ended up in apartment #018. Finding someone inside, Lula began to yell at the poor resident whose apartment it actually was. The lady in that room did not look kindly on Lula barging in (as I'm sure it wasn't the first time!), so she just decided to yell back. This created quite a scene! Sybil appeared and tried to calm Lula down, but but she was not able to control her.
No one knows what she will end up doing tomorrow. As for my wife and I? We will continue to point Lula back to the elevator and instruct her to take it to the third floor.
Here's to you, Lula. I hope you find your way home!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)