Almost 3 year old Kaitlyn and I run down the long hall at Overlake Terrace Assisted Living Center where my parents, Kaitlyn's Great Grand parents have lived all her life. We are running, and getting the energy out before her family takes to the road for the 3 hour drive home.
I remember as we run the long hallway, that Sharon lives in this section of the facility. Sharon is one of the first residents I met when Mom and Dad first moved here 3 1/2 years ago. Sharon arranged the real flowers on the dining tables. Sharon is spry and cheerful, she loves to talk about our hometown, Portland. She loves to hear about my life and share her own. We are both teachers and have many things in common.
Sharon disappeared from the regular dining room a few months ago. My Mom said it was her memory. Sharon now has to live in the 'transition' Section. I internally grieved when I realized she would not be around to chat with. She made my visits positive and interesting. I thought of her as a friend.
As Kaitlyn and I run I realize we may find the kitchen area where Sharon sits in the transition area. There she is, and I call her name. Kaitlyn is wearing a pink ballet dress with roses and a full tulle skirt. All the residents turn to look. We go to Sharon and give her a hug. I look into her eyes and ask how she is doing.
"Hanging in there..." she says with her signature smile. Her eyes light as she watches Kaitlyn bounce around the room. The residents in the room are happy, even as the happiness is tinged with the strange realization that youth is a reminder of age. Yet the residents all light up when they see my little grand daughters. It is as though time stands still, or does not exist. We love what we love, we love life in every form, we savor what this means, to have lived at all, and then to be aware enough to watch the next generations rush ready into the world.
Before Kaitlyn and I return back down the hall, she gives Sharon a hug, and Sharon makes a sound like a person being massaged, a resonant "Oh" sweet with content. My little ballerina and I wave to the room, and walk back through the disguised doors, painted to look like one is entering a garden. We have to find a staff member to put in to code to open them. We return to watch Nama gazing upon Kaitlyn's little almost 1 year old sister Adelyn. My mom, remembering babies, the nine she had. The precious first year when they are vulnerable and rapidly growing, small and adorable.
Our Christmas visit is at and end. We hug the kids and say goodbye. Their Dad, hugs his Nama who held him when he was just born, and then on the first night when he was wakeful. We have our chain, chain of life, time and love. We remember the wonderful times. We remember to look for lost friends wherever they have landed in the world.
