ENG 273 FD#3- Everybody Else

Kristine Asato

8 November 2010

FD#3

Everybody Else

I had met them at different times, and in different rooms, but all of them lived in the same place.  I had just gotten a job at a Care Home filled with over two hundred residents.  Each resident that I took care of on my first day was very kind.  I went through the preliminary “how are you doing today” and that was it.  I was so scared I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about.  But I adapted fast, to my surprise, and become more sociable with each resident.  [THESIS] Little did I know how each story behind each resident would change my perspective on people forever.

[THESIS]

With over two hundred residents, I thought it was going to be impossible to remember everyone.   During my first few weeks, I met some of these residents, and got to know them.  I didn’t realize it when I first met them, but they would make a lasting impression on the way I look at people.  I won’t judge first and then rule out whether or not I want to get to know them.  I’ll get to know them, and then I’ll be their friend.  These new friends will share their stories, and invite me into a world more limitless then the little one I currently live in.

The first resident I met was Mr. White.  He was more than a little large around the belly.  I learned that he constantly needed help getting up because he couldn’t manage the weight himself.  As I rolled Mr. White out of bed, his stomach followed like a slow avalanche of molasses.  Not wanting to be rude, I tried not to grunt with the effort of getting him up.  Mr. White on the other hand laughed at my efforts.  As if he knew what I was trying to hold back.  His hearty laugh countered with the putrid smell of urine due to his incontinence.  The smell was like a memory smell.  One when, even after you’ve showered with your best Victoria Secrets bath wash, you still smell it, becoming more of a memory than a smell.  Despite his smell, everyone, residents and faculty alike, always said the same thing “Mr. White is such a nice man.”  And they meant it, to its fullest extent.   

A glass case at the foot of Mr. White’s bed displayed medals whose’ colors were altered from age, and so old you couldn’t even read the inscriptions anymore.  I asked Mr. White about it later and he told me that he was in the Army for twenty-five years.  He went on to share with me that he had been around the world five times.  The succeeding questions lead to these answers.  Mr. White lived in Japan for a few years and couldn’t speak a single word.  His favorite place was Hawaii, which explains why Mr. White chose to retire here.  And finally what he wouldn’t give to do it all over again.

I was warned about my next resident, her name was Mrs. Steel.  Before I had even met her, I had an image set in my head.  This snappy old lady, who wanted things to go exactly her way, and would talk your head right off if you didn’t stop her.  Mrs. Steel was exactly as everyone had said she was.  But they left one thing out.  Of all the residents that said thank you and I appreciate what you do, Mrs. Steel was different.  She remembered everything.  Once I had brought Mrs. Steel lemonade from the kitchen and she thanked me for the effort.  The next day when I took her for her walk, she thanked me again, for going out of my way.  It was here I realized Mrs. Steel was not like the other residents.  She seemed completely alert, almost like I was talking to my parents, who were not touched with dementia or senility. 

Our first walk I took her to the library, where we spent the whole time discussing books.  With every step she groaned with the effort, and the simple act of walking seemed like a marathon of breathing for her.  Mrs. Steel loves coffee, so almost every time I smell a freshly brewed pot I think of her.  She would carry a cup in the compartment of her walker, so the smell literally followed us around.  I never drank coffee, but I imagine the relief she felt when she drank it was probably like hot cocoa on a cold night. 

One morning Mrs. Steel asked me to go out of my way and get this man a cup of coffee.  I was exhausted from earlier that day, and I already had to take care of one resident.  Stubbornly she wouldn’t let me walk on unless I did it, so reluctantly I complied.  To my surprise, the man’s reaction to the single cup of coffee was nothing but appreciation.  The sound of his voice was filled with admiration, and I was his super hero for the day.  I learned something from the difficult Mrs. Steel that day.  Behind her rough exterior, was a woman just trying to do some good.

There is a couple that both need our help in being escorted to places, Mr. and Mrs. Beau.  I enjoyed watching them interact with each other.  Mr. Beau would always put his hand out for his wife.  But when I took it to balance him back to his walker, it was cold, as if his hand needed the warmth of Mrs. Beau to make things better.  A little confused Mr. Beau would look at me and tell me “that’s my wife” his voice strong and assured, and almost protective.  One day I asked Mrs. Beau how long they have been married.  She told me, in her high-pitched foreign accented voice that they were high school sweethearts and had been married for seventy years.  “I never really liked him, but he was very persistent” she continued.  Mrs. Beau then took this opportunity to grab my hand and ask me whether or not I was married.  Her hand was warm from the years of comfort given to her by Mr. Beau.  But when I told her I wasn’t married, she pulled away almost as if the cold from my hands surprised her. 

The next evening, Mr. Beau was going on about his early days.  He was part of the Army for three years, and was married to his wife for fifteen.   Mrs. Beau went on to correct her husband, and with an exasperated breath she tells me without taking her eyes off him “Seventy years is a long time to be married to the same person and still love them.”  And I couldn’t tell whether the look on her face was love, or the calm acceptance that the man she was looking at was no longer the man she had fallen in  love with. 

Mrs. Chip loved to sing, and she had a beautiful voice to match such a passion.  When I first met her she was singing a song that gave glory to the Lord.  Resonating through the elevator walls, her voice flaunted years of training and experience.  But something else lied behind Mrs. Chip’s cheery exterior, I soon found out.   “How are you today?” I asked one morning, to which she responded, “I feel Dopey”.  Of course, I responded with the proper counter question as to why she felt that way.  The answer ambushed me and shattered my whole perspective of growing old.  The entire discussion was summed up to a little trill of sorrow that escaped her, and Mrs. Chip felt like she was getting old, and senile.  The only difference was, she consciously knew what was happening to her, and she knew why she couldn’t remember or felt lost.  Mrs. Chip was loosing her mind to old age, and Mrs. Chip knew she was fighting a loosing battle. 

I wasn’t sure if Mrs. Chip just hid from the realization by singing, or if it was her default and singing was the only place she could come back to and feel safe.  But now when Mrs. Chip sings a gospel, or an old tune from the thirties, I join in.  Mrs. Chip showed me a different side to getting old, one that I had never even thought of.  I had never been afraid of getting old. 

When I go home, I tell their amazing stories to my friends and family.  I’ve come to realize that it’s the people with stories that make it into the stories of other people. These aren’t just people.  These are people with pasts, and presents, and a hope for the future.  These are people with stories to tell, feelings to share; I want to be the one with stories.  I want to have medals to show off, and elaborate stories to tell for each.  I want to teach others that doing good things that will reward you greatly, and tell them about love that knows no end.  These people, none of them from Hawaii, made me see that there is more out there.  It isn’t just about me.  It’s me and everyone else in this world.

Log of Completed Activities
L  Oct. 13W- Intro to Paper #3: Personal Essay. (Confirmation reply required.)
X  Oct. 18M- Complete readings: all of chapter 12. (Confirmation reply required.)
L  Oct. 20W- Laulima Discussion 1: “Chimera“
X  Oct. 22F- Laulima Discussion 2: “Notes of a Native Speaker“
X  Oct. 25M- Laulima Discussion 3: “Under the Influence“
X  Oct. 27W- Laulima Discussion 4: “Being Brians“
L  Oct. 29F- Laulima Discussion 5: “Warring Memories“ and “Snakebit“
X  Nov. 1M- RD3 due [50 pts] (Confirmation reply required.)
X  Nov. 5F- RD3 Evaluations due [50 pts] (No confirmation reply required.)
X  Nov. 8M- FD3 due [125 pts] (Confirmation reply required.)