I stood outside the door and paced like a lion in a cage. I knew what 1 had to do. She was my friend, and she needed me. Fearful or not. I had to go inside. Opening the door. I was greeted by the smell of death. I made good on my word. I walked inside to visit my friend at her new living quarters. The place was called a nursing home.
Standing barely 5 feet tall. she was the epitome of courage. Her husband died at an early age, leaving her to raise her sons and run their ranch alone. Years of riding horses and working cattle riddled her body with aches and pains. In her 70s. she could no longer live alone. With her health falling. she knew what lay ahead - the nursing home. She hated the idea in the worst way. I asked her once, why? She said, because. nursing homes are where old people go to die.'
Before she left her home. I made a promise to her that I would come to visit her every week. She smiled and found comfort in my words. After she left. a week came and went, and I never made it up to see her. I was too busy. 1 told myself. I will next week. Three weeks came and went before I finally found the courage to keep my word. I stood outside the nursing home pacing trying to find a good excuse to tell her why I never made it up to see her.
With no excuse in mind, I walked into the nursing home. I had to be honest with her. The halls were lined with people in wheelchairs, heads hung low. some sleeping. some crying. A few looked up as I walked past and reached out to touch me. The smell was overwhelming. I had a hard time picturing my friend In a place like this, I found her room and knocked on her door. I walked Inside and found her sitting on her bed: She started smiling when she saw me. The smile quickly turned to a scowl. She asked in a sharp tone. "Where have you been?"
It was then the truth was revealed.. I told her I was hiding. "I hate this place as much as you do, I said.
A smile came back across her face. She told me to sit. and I did. She then began to tell me about life in the nursing home. The food. she said, is not like home cooking. They brought her bed from home. Still It didn't feel the same.
"I feel so out of place here,- she said.. "I Just want to go back home. People act funny when they come up here to visit me. They treat me like 1 am helpless because I am in here. and I am not."
After an hour of chatting, she got out her Scrabble board. We played three games that afternoon. It was almost like old times back at her home, minus the chocolate cake with cherries she always made for us. It was getting late, and I had to get going. I walked over and gave her a hug. I then stood back and told her I would see her next week and to keep the Scrabble board handy. I made it to the door and stopped and looked back at her sitting on her bed. She was crying I asked her what was wrong. She wiped her eyes and told me she was scared. I said. "Of what?- She whispered of becoming lonely and forgotten. I walked back over and hugged her once again. I grabbed her hand and squeezed It tight. I sat by her side on the bed holding her hand and letting her know someone cared while she had a good cry. She walked me out to the front door of the home. As I walked outside, I was greeted by fresh air once again. The birds were singing. and life was good. I then turned back toward the nursing home. My friend stood by the door. She was waving goodbye. I turned and waved back.
In the year to follow, my friend developed Alzheimer's disease and soon forgot who I was. I kept my promise and continued to visit. Whether she could remember me or not made no difference. I remembered her, and I always will. I remembered her as my friend, a great scrabble player and a cowgirl. I also remembered her as one of the thousands of elderly who live in nursing homes across the nation, scared of becoming lonely and forgotten.
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