I wrote a couple of days ago about accompanying my friend and her cat to a nearby care home. I made up names for the residents I especially enjoyed, but not for her. So … she becomes Valerie.
I like that name. Three syllables entice me. They flow.
Valerie and I went for coffee yesterday. I needed to talk about my experience, particularly being next to residents with dementia.
After our visit, I woke up the next morning sputtering out the words …
What was that?
What happened?
Yes, the twelve or so residents with dementia each sat in the lounge in apparent separation. But there was some energy flowing in the room.
I was loving people, most of whom had no words to give. I wanted to sit beside each and every one of them. In silence. Not physically touching unless they initiated that. Just being there. Together. Not alone.
The head occupational therapist told me after the visit that I wouldn’t be able to volunteer in the home because I don’t speak Dutch. The other OT, who visited residents with us, suggested I approach the volunteer manager in the sister building across the street, where older people who don’t require nursing care live. (Gosh, I didn’t find a name for her either. She was lovely. So she becomes Daphné.)
The morning after, I was clear: I didn’t want to volunteer with the higher functioning folks. I wanted to be in the dementia lounge.
I asked Valerie if she knew what level of Dutch was needed for people to volunteer at the care home.
“A2”
“I passed A2!”
It was sixteen months ago, but I have the paper that proves the level of competence that’s required.
Back then, I concluded “This is too hard.” And “I don’t want all this homework and exams to learn a skill that I don’t care about.” And “Most adults and teens in Gent speak English so why am I banging my head against the wall?”
Could it be?
That was then and this is now?
Am I about to scare up my notes from A1 and A2 and … study? Plus renew my friendship with the Babble language app?
***
(Shaking my head in amazement)
Wonders never cease
Bruce's Blog 