Saturday afternoons

Entering Waterford, I saw Peggy, someone I had not seen since my mom’s passing. It was a joyful reunion as we reconnected and I updated her on my father. “New people moved in their room,” she told me. My eyes scanned the patient list on the wall, and I found their names. “Their situation is just like your parents,” she informed me. Since I am a volunteer at Waterford, it is permissible to share this information.

I entered the SAIDO area to begin therapy. Saturday volunteers need to check the white board for make-up sessions. The director asked me to complete a 1-2 which means two people work at different paces while I observe and take notes. Another surprise awaited. One patient is the sister to my deceased kindergarten teacher and aunt to the fourth grade teacher at a school where I sub! It was another example of Dutch Bingo as the people here term it.

After completion of the session, I found myself walking down the hall where my parents lived- Room 105. New names replaced the blank spot. A welcome sign hung near the door. Without hesitation, I knocked on the door. After a second attempt, I heard a faint, “Come in”. Opening the door, I walked to the adjoining room where four people sat, looking at me with curiosity. They included the husband and wife and other family members. I quickly explained my volunteer status and how my parents lived in these same rooms in August. The husband asked me some questions about the placement of beds. Swallowing the rising emotion, I answered easily and described the two twin beds. ” My father wanted to be near my mother,” I explained. Somehow, the description of God’s faithfulness rolled off my tongue. “He orchestrated everything that happened in this room,” I told the husband. He nodded his head, slowly. Remembering that I needed to see other patients, I ended by saying I might see them on other Saturdays.

I have no idea how I entered the room or left without completely breaking down. As I walked past the piano, the same one I played for my mother back in August, the emotions came bubbling over. Thankfully, I was able to escape to the SAIDO room, telling myself that it was okay. My mother is in a better spot. She could not have continued her life in the frail state. She needed to leave her starved body and enter into eternal rest. Somehow, I managed to keep it together and complete another session.

I left Waterford to visit my father at Royal Park. Upon entering his room, I greeted him. “What have you been doing?” I inquired. His usual response,”Nothing much”, generated a response from within me. “Come on, Dad!” I encouraged. “Let’s get out of your room”. The policy of Waterford, getting patients out of their rooms as much as possible, reminded me that he needed to get out of that recliner. “You need to use your walker today”, I told him. With much reluctance and some grumbling, he managed to rise from his recliner and grab his walker. We slowly ambled to a seating area to observe the fish, swimming in the colorful tank. “I’m so tired, ” he kept saying. ” I just want to sleep,”. Ignoring him, I pointed out the fish. “How many are in there?” I persisted. He muttered a reply.

Just as I was contemplating motivational ideas, Ray, another resident, joined us. He described a concert he recently attended. The conversation revolved around the joy of music and blessing of a piano. “But there isn’t a piano here, Ray!” I responded. ” We need to do something about this!” Let’s tell, Jeff, the director, ” I replied. “Dad, that’s your job this week!” I enthusiastically encouraged. Ray chuckled and remarked that I knew how to give a challenge. A nurse passed by us, smiling. “Hey!” I called to her. “What do you think about asking for a piano?” She agreed and wrote it in her notes. We ended our visit, agreeing that a piano would help the residents.

Another memory hit hard as I exited Royal Park. An ambulance, parked outside the door, indicated that someone in Royal Park probably fell and needed medical care. Memories of July 22, the date of Mom’s fall, flooded my mind.

Driving back on M-6, I mused on the afternoon events. I never quite know what will happen at Waterford or Royal Park. The memories of my mother, the frailty of my father, and other residents’ conversations continually point back to God and his abundant goodness. He orchestrates. He conducts. He prompts. After all, He IS the King of the World.