Alone In Her Room

By Gloria Palazzo

All these people at the convalescent home, probably 15 at

any given time, living in a state that in no way resembles

the life I had been living, and yet they need us who are not

them, who are socked away, where for the most part they

are not seen or heard, and yet they eat and drink, even

speak in ways that no one understands, although alone in

my room, I hear some of their cries and can feel the

waste of all their efforts to stay alive, in spite of the futility

that age and illness has set in, and still they survive to

face the new day, even though most of them will not see

the light of day, and while a few have visitors, sometimes

whole families come from far away, like Nevada and

Australia, and I know and feel the love they bring with

them, along with the boxes of chocolates for the nurses,

is so real that I have a difficult time swallowing the hard lump of emotion stuck in my throat, like it’s just too much

for me to swallow, and I tear up and I cry a few tears, not

of sadness, but of love, and feel as though seeing this

so unfamiliar ending to these lives, and more than

anything, what I want to know is if these old and mostly ill

people have a clue about where they are, and how well

cared for they are, by the aids and nurses who treat them,

even though this job, and it is a job, gives them no real

material gain, and still I see joy and dedication and love on

their faces, in their postures, and the unending changing of diapers, cleansing of feeding tubes and the handling of

turning those who cannot turn themselves, as I hear them

speak with love to every one, including me, as I remain alone in my room, where I too am feeling cared for and about, and I just know that soon a dear friend will come by with a cinnamon biscuit and a cup of coffee, and we will talk and they will tell me all that they have been up to, even though tomorrow I will not remember anything we

talked about, only the cinnamon cake, and sometimes

there are two in the package, which means I have some

to share with the sweet person who will be here soon to take my temperature and test my blood pressure and wish me a good night’s sleep.