We Are Their Dreamers

I was in a care conference last week. The woman we were discussing is 92, soft spoken, with a sadness that moves with her like a blanket. She used to be a musician, in a band. When I saw her last, she was sitting on her bed in her little room in the nursing home where she lives. There is not much on the walls; when I see that I wonderif it is areflection of her life. There is a picture , and on her shelf a photo of her self with her husband, and one of her son. Everything is all right she told me. She doesn't go to the activities--they don't interest her. What would you really like to do? I asked her.

Play some more in a band.

I brought it up in the conference. I said I don't know how we could do it--maybe we can find her a band, or some musicians who would play, some people who just like to get together and who would find a place for her.

No, I was told. Do you know how hard it is to find people? To find a band? To find gigs. It wasn't possible.

I didn't know what to say to them. Somehow, I let it go. I think now that I deserted her.

I thought of her on her bed, waiting, wanting to play, and I thought, that is how she feels, that it isn't possible. And I know why she has her sadness. It is the loss of hope, the loss of purpose, the loss of dreams.

Today, several days later, I realized what those of us who work in Eldercare, in Nursing Homes are.

We are more than advocates, more than providers of quality of care. We are more than caring people.

Whenever and wherever possible, we need to go beyond what we think at first isn't possible, because so often, that is where the people we are caring for are too.

We are their dreamers.