Dear Diary,

It’s the week before Thanksgiving and I visit the nursing home where I do volunteer work in hopes of cheering those who have no family or friends visiting them. Thanksgiving has always been a sad holiday for me because it makes me reflect on the year and at times the sad memories consume me to the point where I dread the holiday celebration.  Today there were many happy faces as I sat and chatted with a few of the residents. There was Mrs. M, happy to be spending the day with her daughter at her house and looking forward to being out of the nursing home even though it would be for only one day. Then there was Mrs. E, her family was visiting her after they had their dinner and they were spending most of the evening with her now that she couldn’t be there with them. She had fallen and with a badly bruised leg had to stay and recover before she would be able to go home.  Poor Mrs. E was just released the week before last after healing from a previous fall but this time she needed to stay put.

The saddest part of this day was visiting with the relatives of those residents with Alzheimer’s. They faithfully visit their wives, mothers or sisters and never do I get the impression their visits are an inconvenience. No, these family members visit with a heart full of love and smiles and they will sit with their loved ones, feed them, clean them and have normal conversations with them. This is sad for me because even though they are there, their loved ones are not alert, some are not responsive and others are just sitting there staring into space.  It shouldn’t sadden me but it does for the family members and for me since I’m sure some day I will be like them either visiting a family member with Alzheimer’s or being visited myself by my loved ones.  There is love in their eyes and actions, there is love in their visits and that eases my sadness at times.

After visiting several of my new friends and making their day by sharing my stories or touching their hand or even by listening to their stories makes me feel good about my work.  Then there was Mr. R, who just as I’m signing myself out I spot him near the door in his wheelchair going out for his cigarette.  I sign out and follow him and he is angry as he usually is, but although I signed out and should head over to my car and drive home, I follow him outside to the usual corner where he smokes his cigarettes.  He is sad because he has no one. No family, no friends, no one to come and visit him. He tells me he hates the holidays and it depresses him where he wishes he were dead, because no one would miss him.