For the last ten months I’ve been a resident in an Independent Living Facility in Bethesda, MD.
Last week in the dining room, one of the residents, Sue Ann, dressed elegantly in a black-and-white checked Chanel summer jacket, rolls up to our table on her hospital-issued walker.
“May I join you?”
“Sorry, this table only seats four. The staff won’t allow us to add another chair.”
“Right on!” she says as she turns her walker around and rolls away. A few minutes later she’s back.
“Can you make room for me?”
“No, sorry.”
She shows no sign of any frustration or rancor.
My tablemates look back and forth at each other in mutual sympathy.
“We complain when we have to wait a little while for our food. We could learn from Sue Ann,” I say.
All the while Sue Ann stands, leaning on her walker. Doesn’t move.
“Try over there, by the window. Virginia is sitting alone at that table for two.”
I instinctively point to the place, forgetting that Sue Ann can only see a few feet away.
After being prodded by a waitress, Sue Ann looks toward that general area, and then—taking the longest possible route—goes to the end of the dining room, and circles around to Virginia’s table.
I watch as Sue Ann and Virginia talk. Virginia shakes her head No. Sue Ann begins to park her walker. Virginia shakes her head “No” vehemently.
Obviously, Virginia is expecting a guest.
Sue Ann nods, and I lip read, “Right on!”
She heads toward the area at the other end of the room where eight men sit discussing politics with vigor. She stands patiently until an arm thrown out in excitement hits her walker.
I hear one of the men say, “Sorry. No room.”
At this point, I lose track of Sue Ann as I turn my attention to my dinner.
One of my companions asks, “Do you think Sue Ann has found a place?”
Looking around, I answer, “I don’t see her; my view is fully blocked now.”
The four of us are silent for a few moments.
“You know,” I say, “Sue’s wandering could be an analogy for our days here. Each day we circle from our apartment to the dining room, then to the activity room, then to our apartment and back to the dining room, on and on we circle until we retire for the night.”
We remain silent as our plates are cleared.
As I leave the dining room, I pass Sue Ann sitting comfortably at a banquette enjoying a dish of her favorite strawberry ice cream.
“I’m glad you found a nice spot,” I tell her.
“Enjoy your evening!” I add.
“Right on!” she answers.
Later that afternoon, Sue Ann is sitting on the bench by the eighth-floor elevator waiting to go down to her apartment.
Luigi, one of the staff members, approaches.
“How are you today my beautiful lady?”
“Not lady. I’m no lady.”
“Ok, my beautiful Maryland gal.”
“Not Maryland. I don’t live here!”
“What would make you happy on this lovely afternoon?”
“I want to go home!”
“This is your home now, your family brought you here to live near them. Oh, I remember, it’s one of those M states.”
“Montana? No, Missouri?”
“Not Missouri!! Mississippi!!”
“Should we go on a road trip? I’ll drive because you’ll be too slow. Take too long!!” Luigi teases her.
“No, you won’t! I’ll do the driving!!”
The elevator door opens. Luigi escorts Sue Ann in.
“I’ll escort you to your apartment now, while you’re resting you can think about what you’ll need to pack.”
“Right on!” Sue Ann responds.