This is just a short, sad story, about a long, sad situation. It moved me to the point that I felt the need to share it. It’s good to remember to be thankful for what we have, each day.
My mother is in a nursing home, and in visiting her, I often have interactions with some of the other residents there. Lots of times it’s when I go to the dining room to heat my lunch up in the microwave. Usually there are a few people sitting at the tables, but the other day there was just one man at the table near the microwave.
I made a comment to him that he must be early, just making conversation with him.
He asked me: Do you know how old I am? I thought he was going to tell me it was his birthday, or that he had reached some round year milestone or tell some interesting story about his life or age. So I asked him: No I don’t, how old are you?
He said he doesn’t know. You don’t know…?
He went on to say that his doctor says he has dementia, and he can remember what year he was born, but can never remember how old he is. He asked me if I could figure it out for him.
So he told me what year he was born and I figured out, not knowing what month his birthday is, that he must be 90.
I told him: I think you are 90 then, from your birth year. He thanked me and said he’d try to remember that now, and as I left, we each told each other to have a nice day.
Each day is a nice day in some way, and we need to find the nice stuff of each day and hold on to it tight.