They Don't Remember

Noreen

I met Noreen in January of 2002. I had just begun my role as an activity assistant in a skilled nursing home in Wisconsin.

A mere four months earlier I was in my New York apartment on the morning of September 11^th, 2001. The world changed forever that day.  My professional career path changed forever that day as well.

By then, I’d been in New York just over five years and had been working as a radio sports reporter and producer. My lifestyle was fast and filled with amazing moments of pro-athlete interviews, fine dining and New-York City stories.

However, by January 2002 my days were filled with calling Bingo, pushing wheelchairs and learning about Alzheimer’s disease.

I was walking down the long hallway that led to the small office area I shared with the other activity assistant. Noreen stood in the doorway of her room. Her smile was large, her posture slightly hunched, her winter white cardigan sweater hung loosely on her small frame. “Good morning dear,” she chirped.

“Hey there Noreen” I replied. “How’d you sleep?”

“Oh, just fine honey.”

It didn’t take me long to learn that Noreen was ‘everyone’s favorite’. And, it was easy to see why. She knew a little information about everyone at the nursing home. Both staff and residents alike, made it into Noreen’s mental rolodex. She was quick witted and sassy. A tough lady, with rugged skin and a head of thick white hair, always impeccably in place.

She shared a room with another woman. Their worldly possessions separated by a thin white curtain. Noreen’s mementos told her nursing home life story. She had a bowl filled with candy she’d won playing bingo on the dresser and a handmade cross from art-class on the nightstand next to some costume jewelry. She had a blanket on her single bed that looked 100 years old. Photo albums with cracked pages and a few stuffed animals, littered the small space.

Noreen was a social butterfly and a fixture in many activities I led. She was good at trivia and loved current events. By the time I met her, she’d been living in the nursing home for several years.  

Although I was new to the industry, I quickly bonded with Noreen.  My reporting skills came in handy as I asked her questions about her life and she shared vivid details. I was fascinated by her stories.

Often, I would visit Noreen’s room and chat with her like giddy girlfriends. She offered me candy from her bingo-bowl and I’d brush her hair as she would tell me tales from the travels she took with her husband.

In those early days, I wasn’t always welcomed by other professionals in the healthcare industry. I was shunned and dismissed by those who weren’t impressed with my radio industry credentials. I didn’t have any advanced degrees in geriatrics or fancy initials behind my name. And, therefore many times industry insiders showed little respect for my contributions.

Amazingly, none of that seemed to matter to Noreen. She had no remaining family and I enjoyed spending time with her. Luckily for me, Noreen and the other residents I served weren’t concerned with the credentials behind my name. Instead, we bonded over stories, sharing life experiences and friendship.

I asked Noreen questions about her life and she willingly shared the details as we both travelled back in time together. Noreen was more than a woman in a nursing home to me, she became a trusted confidant. In fact, my friendship with Noreen was the first of many many more to come over the next decade of my professional journey.

Each month at the nursing home, I hosted a ‘breakfast bunch’ in the activity room for a group of residents. On this day, Noreen was on the guest list however, the bacon and eggs were being served to the others and she still hadn’t arrived. It wasn’t like Noreen to miss one of my activities and just as I prepared to go check on her, she appeared in the doorway of the activity room.

Her smile was broad and slightly forced that day. She wore a navy blue cardigan sweater. She apologized for being late. I touched her shoulder, “Are you alright Noreen?”

“Well, I’m not feeling that great today honey, but I knew I had to be here this morning for you,” she smiled as her blue eyes sparkled.

My heart swelled as I pulled out a chair for Noreen to sit and join the others. She was a special friend, regardless of the multiple decades of difference in our age. I watched Noreen that morning and later would remember that she appeared to be a bit ‘off-her-game.’ Her sassy wit was a bit slow that day and her movements appeared labored.

Just over a week later, Noreen was called to eternal life. The ‘breakfast bunch’ was the last activity she participated in. Back in 2002, Noreen was the first friend I lost. Unfortunately, she hasn’t been the last.

I have spent the last years wisely, getting more credentials and advanced education in Alzheimer’s, dementia and activity programming. However, the most important lesson I’ve learned didn’t come in the classroom. The first and most valuable lesson I learned came directly from Noreen so many years ago.

Friendship, communication and understanding are amazingly healing in a non-medicinal way. Noreen accepted me. And I accepted her. We had a mutual respect for one another that transcended age and living arrangement.

Unwittingly, Noreen taught me many things that have helped to shape my professional career. Those lessons are truly an Advanced Degree.

The Walking Club

“You may want to wear a jacket, it’s pretty chilly outside Dorothy,” I coaxed as I stood in the doorway of her apartment.

She reached for the furry pink one. “How about this?” she asked.

“I love that coat,” I cooed.

Dorothy buttoned up her furry pink coat, locked the door to her apartment and we walked towards the elevator. It was nearly 1:30pm on Friday December 8^th. The Walking Club had been meeting every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 1:30 for over a year. The others were waiting for us by the front door and greeted us as we approached.

“Okay ladies, here we go!” I cheered.

The sky was Carolina Blue that day and the sun shone brightly yet there was a crisp briskness to the air.

Millie, Ila, Dorothy, Helen, Joyce and I were the core walkers in the Walking Club. Occasionally others would join us but I could always count on my steady group of five. I looked forward to our walks. And, on this day – I was nearly bursting to tell them my secret. We were barely 50 yards into our walk that day when I blurted it out; “My boyfriend Dan asked me to marry him last night! We are engaged!”

The ladies squealed simultaneously.

Ila was the first to recover; “well let’s see the ring,” she said.

Millie, Ila, Dorothy, Helen and Joyce were all resident’s in the secured memory care building where I was the Director of Life Enrichment. However, if I learned anything while holding that position, it was that the resident’s I served enriched my life far more than I did theirs.

Our weekly walks served so many purposes. It was a fantastic boost of fresh air that we all enjoyed. Sure, the exercise was the main objective but the conversations were nearly as fascinating. Each of the ladies was so unique and although each of them were in varying stages of their cognitive decline, the Walking Club was a wonderful outlet.

Ila, a silver-haired beauty was always impeccably dressed as she frequently shared her recollections of flying airplanes. She captivated me with her stories of adventure of being the youngest gal in her small-town of Ohio to fly solo at the tender age of 16.

Millie was quick witted with a charming personality. She too, shared frequent musings of her days as an executive assistant at a research laboratory.

Helen was the quiet one. Always listening and briskly following a step or two behind the group. She carried a notebook and consistently jotted down ‘notes’ as we walked. None of the other ladies seemed to notice her unusual quirk or if they did, they never commented. I never asked her what she wrote I only knew it was very important for her peace of mind to document her detailed observations.

Dorothy was thin and wiry and would often cajole the group to walk faster.

Joyce was the youngest of the bunch. She was quick to laugh and had the loveliest southern drawl.

Some days we walked around the small lake that was nestled amongst the trees on the 36 acres of land the memory care building rested on. We would stand on the foot bridge and admire the myriad of fish and turtles swimming in the water below. Other days we would walk to the outdoor pool area at the main building on campus and take a break on the patio furniture and sip lemonade.

On chilly days, we’d head directly to the main building and I’d serve the others coffee while Ila would take her seat at the baby-grand piano in the lobby and play beautiful music, from memory. She needed no sheet music and often took requests and would blush with pride as passers-by would stop, listen and applaud her talent.

Indeed, our Walking Club excursions were typically the highpoint of my work week. I frequently shared stories of my life, giving them updates about my family, friends and details from the ‘outside’ world. Joyce especially loved to ask me questions about what was happening in the news. I spared them the sordid details from the news-of-the-day but, would certainly share information that they would understand and appreciate. This often led to deeper conversations about morality and how “life was in their day.” I found their insights and comments to be remarkably charming.

That’s why, when Dan proposed to me, unexpectedly on that Thursday evening, I was completely thrilled that I’d be able to share my  news with my special circle of gal pals the next day during our Friday stroll.

We stopped in our tracks as the ladies surrounded me and I extended my left hand for them to see the ring. It was a genuine piece of custom-made craftsmanship and each of them gushed over me, like any true gal-pal would.

Joyce was the first to comment on my “glowing smile” as she proceeded to hug me tightly. Helen’s pen was moving feverishly over her paper while Dorothy asked me to tell them more about Dan.

We began walking again and I shared my story with them. How I’d met this southern gentleman and how he’d courted me. Ila and Joyce each shared their own stories of meeting their husbands and we all giggled like school girls as we discussed wedding details.

From that day forward, even though all five ladies had a true diagnosis of cognitive impairment, it was remarkable how many times they would ask me about Dan or ask for more details about the approaching wedding day. It was almost as if my news and happiness had triggered something inside their slowly fading memory banks because somehow they found a way to retain my engagement news. Their blissfulness lasted the whole five months until my actual wedding day.

The Walking Club had begun as an exercise activity however somewhere along our journey turned into a circle of friendship I’ll cherish forever.

Keep em’ Busy

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Jim

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