My friend has a cat who makes a huge difference with many residents of a nearby care home.  Yesterday I was invited to tag along.

A delightful occupational therapist toured us around.  Her touch showed great love for the residents.  She honoured them.

I’ll make up names here.  The first room we entered was the home of Marina.  She spoke some English so we could make meaning together.  On her bedside table stood a portrait of a blonde 18-year-old woman wearing no doubt the latest hairstyle.  In the chair nearby sat the same human being, now 79.  The twinkle in the eye remained.

Marina was a stenographer, skilled in shorthand dictation for her boss.  Sometimes she had six letters on the go at once.  I could see her pride in the skill within a “secret language”.  I told her that I also had a code that hardly anyone knew – braille.  Marina and I met.

Down the hall, Dominique sat up in bed, enthralled with the kitty cat.  She and I got talking – in French.  My high school version couldn’t keep up with her rapid-fire enthusiasm, and most of her words floated away from my knowing.  We smiled a lot.  Dominique and I met.

Both of these women seemed cognitively intact, unlike the folks I met next.

In the hallway, the eyes of a woman met mine.  I’ll call her Marie.  She cooed over our cat, and her smile never wavered.  We shared no language but there was a 90-year-old pixie in front of me.

At the end of my stay in the care home, Marie and I once more exchanged our grins.  We met.

The lounge at the end of the hall was a meeting place for residents with dementia.  There were maybe ten of them sitting on chairs and couches, really not meeting each other at all.

I sat down.  Despite the apparent isolation, there was a sweet energy hanging in the air.  I let it waft over me, not trying to figure it out.

Halfway across the room, a very thin man turned his head toward me.  To me, he’s Jérome.  Our eyes lingered.  He stood there for a few more seconds and then started a slow walk … towards me.  I pulled out a chair from the table and gestured for him to sit.  He did.  For maybe a minute, his head was facing away from me as we sat close.  And then he turned my way.

His eyes on mine were soft and sad.  His right hand came forward.  I responded with mine.  We shook … a steady pressure for at least ten seconds.

Jérome sat with me for a few minutes more, his eyes again looking the other way.  And then he stood and walked out of the room.

Later, as I was leaving the care home floor, Jérome was walking near the elevator.  Eyes, long handshake.  Jérome and I met.

The kitty was the star of the show in the lounge.  What a powerful little being.  I saw a visiting man adjust the dress of a female resident whose dress had slipped a bit.  There was love.

The rest of the folks sat in their aloneness, perhaps yearning for the next arrival of a loved one.  I yearned too … to sit silently beside each of them.

And then it was time to leave …

***

I shall return