To our surprise he seemed to be enjoying life there immensely. He participated in all of the group activities and had countless visitors come in to see him. His peaceful and seemingly content outlook was a stark contrast to his lonely depression when he lived at home after my Grandma passed. When we ask how he likes it at The Home he replied "Oh, it's ok." When I ask what activities he did today he says "Oh, nothin'. Us old people don't do much." But his ho-hummness was contradicted by his dramatic change in attitude about life as well as the nurses' raving reviews of his enthusiasm for events.
Selfishly, I'm rather glad that he's there. I can literally see The Home across the river from my apartment. It is very close by and easy for me to visit him. I am comforted knowing he's near-by. I visit him every coulple days. It's also a more central location for the rest of the family. My dad brings our chocolate lab puppy, Zipper, in to visit. My uncle stops by every day after work. Some evenings I go over and watch Wheel and Jeopardy with him. Now that the weather is warming up we go on walks down the road to a church where we can sit on the steps and rest before heading back. He huffs and puffs in the humid air saying "Getting old isn't for sissies, you know." But I know that he will be fine once he catches his breath.
I also ask Grandpa if he has made any friends at The Home. He replies that "they're all old farts," although my dad says that 90% of them are younger than him. Regardless of age, it's true that Grandpa seems more agile and younger-at-heart than many of the residents. He walked daily and helped me load firewood into his garage before moving there. He is lucky to still be so physically capable.
Not all of the residents there are so fit. I have meals with Grandpa once in a while and visit with the group of men with whom he sits every day. They are either wheelchair-bound or use a walker. One table-mate of Grandpa's is particularly feeble. He isn't very old at all, maybe in his 60's, but he has a disease that has caused him to slow down significantly. He actually used to live right down the road from Grandpa, so they knew eachother previously. I'll call him "Hal." Every motion and word of Hal's is painstakenly slow and deliberate. He eats at a snail's pace. When he speaks his reaction time is delayed and his words escape his mouth one at a time or in pairs with a deep breath punctuating the spaces. One has to enter a different mindset when interacting with Hal. A state of loving patience.
I periodically talk about my day of work on the water when Grandpa asks how my day was. I bring relics of my work in to show Grandpa, such as the pictures I've been taking on the boat. This winter I even brought him his favorite fish: smelts. Grandpa can only take so much information, but when Hal is present he becomes alert, appearing thirsty to hear more about fishing. Hal asks many questions. They come slowly and by the time he's finished I struggle to piece together a whole sentence. But once I repeat his words as a question in my head, I am often blown away by how thoughtful and insightful they are. He has asked me the best questions about lobstering that I can recall. I answer to the best of my ability and then he begins another great question. I don't believe he's ever been lobstering, but he has very sharp inquiries about it. He is incredibly mentally acute.
Hal was especially intrigued by the idea of shrimp trapping. He asked many questions about shrimping and professed his deep love for shrimp. He suggested that I bring some in and they could have a shrimp-picking competition. I couldn't help but smile at the thought of how slow their race would be.
I never did bring shrimp in to Hal. Shrimping was so strenuous that I didn't have the energy by the day's end. The other factor is that I couldn't imagine how to do it logistically so that it made sense for the elderly residents. I thought about bringing a bucket of live shrimp to The Home and having them cook it there in the kitchen, but that seemed to be asking too much of the kitchen staff. Then I considered cooking the shrimp for them and letting them pick them out, but the shrimp are prickery and hard on the hands. I wondered if the sharp bills would puncture the old folks' fragile skin. Picking the shrimp for them was beyond my energy capacity.
Lately I've been regretting not fulfilling Hal's simple request. I still have quite a bit of frozen shrimp in my freezer. I think the best way to do it is to make a dish with the frozen shrimp and bring it in for Grandpa and Hal to nibble on. I might even make the lobster-shrimp cakes that seem to top everyone's favorite food list when I cook it for them. Anyhow, don't give up on me, Hal! I have a surprise brewing for you.
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