One world in control

Next was Mrs Contre who is maybe the one resident who is most closed up in her own world where she is in control. Compensating on the one thing she has no control of,  her memory. Her room as opposed to most is empty and all traces of cosiness have been removed. She also emphasized this by saying “I have kept my room empty”. But the walls were bare and white so I suggested that “a painting or pictures would not take much room and would be nice”. She stared at me with puzzled eyes as if I wasn’t supposed to suggest this and kept silent.

Her life seemed to be full of fixed patterns. As I entered the room she would repeat maybe 3 times or more again the chores I should do. With a smile I would answer “yes Mrs Contre of course I will”. And she would look back at me with amazement as if she didn’t expect me to be kind to her.

The second thing she was not in control of was her sight at least that is what I concluded when she said “don’t move anything”. But the way she said it was as if each millimeter made a difference. And yes she could sense the difference. I did as I was told of course except in the bathroom where I had to remove some things. But I would make sure I put them in the same order as they originally were so she wouldn’t grab the wrong one. One day when I used to work for her she started to tell everybody in the house except me, that I moved her things and that she didn’t want me to work for her. My colleague came to warn me about this. So I went to talk to her and told her that somethings had to be moved in order to clean the room but that I would do my best to place them right back. I guess we never change, no matter how old we get we keep on making big issues out of truly small ones.

But today was different since I had been away for a while she didn’t really know who I was but I could see she recognized my face. So much so, she did something she never had done. Start a conversation. She asked me “where do you live?” I answered “in the center of Haarlem” she looked disappointed and asked me where I was born. I answered in New York, USA. Now I thought I was entitled to ask a question  ” where were you born?” I inquired. She answered right away “in Jakarta back then called Batavia”. “What a coincidence, I have just been there on holiday” I answered. Now the conversation had been longer then a few minutes and I thought she would find a way to end it. But no she asked me “and did you go there with your man?”. To avoid any misjudgments I said “yes” even though we are not married.

This conversation showed some softness to her I had not seen. Even thou she tries to keep it well hidden. This conversation made it clear to me she has had an unusual life, a part of Dutch history I’m not sure I understand.

Same door, other resident

Today I opened a door to find something totally different inside. The lady who lived here before Mrs Droft was moved to the second floor. Her care was intense as she went back to being a child it seemed. I remember she only ate sweets. There were bowls full of them on the table next to her. I would spend quite a time cleaning the sticky tables and door knobs. Meanwhile she would watch in amazement with her gaze focused on my hand. Once one of the nurses asked me if I wasn’t afraid of her,  explaining that there were a few nurses who were. I was surprised to hear that because some one who acts like a child didn’t seem scary to me.

Now a talkative woman opened the door Mrs Shoe and revealed to me a nice and tidy room. She began at once telling me a story of her grand daughters horse. But she started by telling me her grand daughter had had a burn out. So I deduced she was in her mid thirties. Then bursting with emotion told me it was so terrible “the dog started barking…” she said. I looked at her with a question mark face while trying to come up with all kinds of possible relations between a burn out, a dog barking and a horse but came up with only what seemed a wild movie. While I started to do my work in the living room/bedroom I asked; “So what did the dog barking have to do with it?”. She told me “the dog started barking and the young horse got scared, she only had had him for two days” she emphasized.” The horse went against a fence and died from the injuries”. In any case it was very tragic and I didn’t dare to ask why her grand daughter had had a burn out? All I could see is she was sitting there thinking about all this.

Back in Summer

Not many changes in this place after half a year of being away. You learn quickly enough that the residents in elderly homes would rather not have changes. But irrevocable changes do occur now and then. My First day of being back I passed by Mrs. Roel, now a widow. She was happily surprised to see me. Back then she most enjoyed talking to me while I was working if her head didn’t hurt. Once, when I was making her bed, she mentioned how much she hated making beds. She told me that it was her chore in the house to make all the beds as a little child and her mother was very strict and wouldn’t let her out to play if she hadn’t finished. I told her I didn’t dislike it not mentioning I never make my bed. But now her husband had passed away while I was away. And somehow there was a peaceful look on her face. Maybe she was now at peace with her situation; aware of things that were of more importance at this stage of life.

The first week I had to take care of the same rooms before I left. And it was nice to see happy faces pop out the hallway when they saw me. Mr. Hill who had difficulties talking, did his best to spit out some coherent words I caught as : “see they wanted to keep you”. I didn’t know what to say felt a bit awkward because there were more things on my head then wanting to stay. But I took it as he was glad to see me back, and carried on with my work.

The strange thing I noticed the first week of being back. Was that some doors opened suddenly to a totally different world then I had in my memory. I find it most unique to see how each time the exact same room is altered by its latest inhabitant filling the room with it’s most distinctive atmosphere. Maybe as we get older we carry more history creating a greater ambiance around us.

After this first anecdote more yet to come each week.