We lost a friend today.  The halls are too quiet without the loud voice of the one who spoke for us all when she’d yell, ”Shut up!”  at the irritating cacophony of beeps and call alarms alerting, that are part of daily life in a nursing home.

Hazel was a ready source of entertainment and expressed love to anyone whom she deemed worthy.  I was a willing recipient.  We spent many an afternoon in the west wing day room, surrounded by family and friends, enjoying the banter between Sheila and Hazel, while listening to the comedic comments of Steve Harvey as he hosted Family Feud.

I would stay in her proximity even to the chagrin on my mother.  Hazel knew me as “a nice girl” that she “loved very much.” She would confide to anyone who would listen as I walked away from her that she loved me and I loved her, too. Not only did I enjoy being around Hazel, but grew to know and love her family as well.  They told me that this Hazel was quite unlike her  “old” self.  Before succumbing to Alzheimer’s disease, she was a quiet person – nothing like the incessant dancer, unpredictable talker and open expresser of love that developed.

As it is with Alzheimer’s disease, time changes things.   Hazel’s contributions began to slow and her interaction waned.  She began to have fewer “good” days and more “bad” days.   We watched her fade before our eyes.  I visited her at her bedside as her granddaughter kept vigil.  “I’ll Fly Away” was the song that flowed from my lips to her ears.  She listened to my voice as she had many times before.  By the next day, her daughter had arrived to see her off.  After considering what kind of music Hazel liked, we broke out in singing “You’re a Grand Old Flag”.  Uncanny, we both knew all the words and moved on to “God Bless America”.  Hazel’s son watched in amusement.  Hazel seemed to enjoy the attention and we enjoyed the camaraderie.

Then she was gone – but only out of sight.  She arrived at her final destination March 13^th 2014, in the morning hours, before her family was able to get there.  She slipped off while no one was looking.  A quiet exit for someone who had been so out spoken while I knew her.

Farewell dear friend.  I will miss your laugh, your smile, and the endless string of words that only you could weave.  You made life better on the west wing.

I love you, Hazel.

 Today was my last afternoon activity with the residents at the Special Care Assisted Living Facility where my mom lives.  We moved there September of last year.  Over the months, I have enjoyed getting to know the residents as they all gather in one big community room throughout the day.

At first, my purpose in knowing everyone was to help my mom feel a part of the group and become acquainted with her new “neighbors”.  As time went on, however, I began to look forward to my visits not only with my mom, but with my new friends as well.  After I spent some one on one time with my mom in her room or outside, we would move into the common area and visit with anyone who was interested.  One day mom and I sat at one of the round dining tables when soon everyone who could squeeze around the table was present.  We began to roll a small rubber ball back and forth between us.  After we got the hang of that, we added spontaneous singing. As elementary as this may seem, we all enjoyed the challenge of keeping the ball on the table and the familiar songs. This became a regular occurrence. It kept the residents engaged until suppertime and boosted everyone’s spirits.

Sometimes we connected a speaker to my smartphone and played music from their era and took any requests that came up.  It was like sitting around the record player and listening to all our favorite music.  To look around the table at the smiles and broken sentences was pure joy. From my favorite singing partner who could harmonize with and follow anything I sang, to my tall friend who could play the harmonica and my dear little friend who could only see shadows and hear when I spoke loudly into her ear, I will always remember you with great fondness.

Some of those folks have already passed to their eternal destiny.  I was privileged to have been at the bedside of several of my new friends as they began their approach to their new life in heaven.  The families also became very precious to me, along with many of the staff members of the facility.

Now we must move to a higher level of care as my mom’s abilities have declined.  As difficult as it is to leave our friends at this place, I know the next place offers new friends and unknown possibilities.

Good-bye, Brookside.   I’ll always cherish the time spent with you and expect one day, “in the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.”