Semper Fi
I do volunteer work around town. This weekend found me at the local Veteran's Home. It is a big, modern-looking complex. There used to be a huge old federal-style building on the site, overlooking the river, probably quite majestic. That building, like its residents, outlived its usefulness and was replaced by a brick and glass monstrosity with little character. While still filled with characters.
A friend of mine and I went with some animals. People go every couple of weekends, letting the vets touch the animals to get a little variety in their day. There's only so much Discovery Channel and PBS one can watch. Particularly someone who has probably seen Iwo Jima up close, rather than only on television.
This weekend we went to the Alzheimer's Unit. I'd never been in there before. I probably shouldn't have worn the miniskirt. Another lesson learned.
Most of the men, and they were almost all men, were very quiet. Some were catatonic. Some were just not responsive. But others were talkative. There was the black man who only looked about 65 but who had been a mechanic in WWII, working with the Army Air Corp. He had told the nurse that they were loading planes with enough food and supplies to keep people alive for a month. And enough bombs to kill everyone in the world. It was hard to decide whether the dementia was kicking in or if he was telling the truth--that the world could have ended in 1945 and none of us would be here.
There was a very angry man there. He was slight, not very tall, with whispy ghost trails of white hair. Crisp blue eyes that belied the confusion within. He was not happy to be there.
"Judas Priest," he'd mutter, slapping at his thighs. "Judas Priest, when are we getting out of here?" He kept looking at the guy next to him, who simply rolled his eyes.
He came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "I need to get out of here. But I'm not sure how," he whispered to me. I didn't know what to say.
The nurse came to my rescue. "We're going to go outside soon, hon," she said, taking his hand.
"What am I? Some kind of criminal? Why can't I leave?! Where's my wife!"
I've never been around someone with Alzheimer's before. I mean, my grandmother would forget my name and my grandfather had some pretty severe dementia right before he died but they weren't walking around, looking normal, while swearing and asking where the cookies were. I honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
But when the tall guy in the big Naugahyde chair ripped a fart, I admit it. I laughed.
The last room we went to was filled, again, with old men. Watching television. We went around to each of them, talking to them, letting them touch the animals. Some of them smiled. Some even asked questions that had to do with the animals. Most of them simply looked at us.
Before we left, the nurse went to the VCR to put in another video for them to watch, to fill those empty hours. One of the men, one who had been a little bit talkative, began to sing.
"From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli..."
He trailed off. I was standing by the door. I took up the next line.
"We will fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea"
We sang the rest together. He was looking out the window and never looked at me. No one else sang with us. I was afraid we might start some kind of sing-off between the Marines and the Navy but everyone else was quiet. We finished and I turned to go.
"Where'd you learn that?" my friend asked.
"My dad made me watch a lot of John Wayne movies."
A friend of mine and I went with some animals. People go every couple of weekends, letting the vets touch the animals to get a little variety in their day. There's only so much Discovery Channel and PBS one can watch. Particularly someone who has probably seen Iwo Jima up close, rather than only on television.
This weekend we went to the Alzheimer's Unit. I'd never been in there before. I probably shouldn't have worn the miniskirt. Another lesson learned.
Most of the men, and they were almost all men, were very quiet. Some were catatonic. Some were just not responsive. But others were talkative. There was the black man who only looked about 65 but who had been a mechanic in WWII, working with the Army Air Corp. He had told the nurse that they were loading planes with enough food and supplies to keep people alive for a month. And enough bombs to kill everyone in the world. It was hard to decide whether the dementia was kicking in or if he was telling the truth--that the world could have ended in 1945 and none of us would be here.
There was a very angry man there. He was slight, not very tall, with whispy ghost trails of white hair. Crisp blue eyes that belied the confusion within. He was not happy to be there.
"Judas Priest," he'd mutter, slapping at his thighs. "Judas Priest, when are we getting out of here?" He kept looking at the guy next to him, who simply rolled his eyes.
He came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "I need to get out of here. But I'm not sure how," he whispered to me. I didn't know what to say.
The nurse came to my rescue. "We're going to go outside soon, hon," she said, taking his hand.
"What am I? Some kind of criminal? Why can't I leave?! Where's my wife!"
I've never been around someone with Alzheimer's before. I mean, my grandmother would forget my name and my grandfather had some pretty severe dementia right before he died but they weren't walking around, looking normal, while swearing and asking where the cookies were. I honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
But when the tall guy in the big Naugahyde chair ripped a fart, I admit it. I laughed.
The last room we went to was filled, again, with old men. Watching television. We went around to each of them, talking to them, letting them touch the animals. Some of them smiled. Some even asked questions that had to do with the animals. Most of them simply looked at us.
Before we left, the nurse went to the VCR to put in another video for them to watch, to fill those empty hours. One of the men, one who had been a little bit talkative, began to sing.
"From the Halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli..."
He trailed off. I was standing by the door. I took up the next line.
"We will fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea"
We sang the rest together. He was looking out the window and never looked at me. No one else sang with us. I was afraid we might start some kind of sing-off between the Marines and the Navy but everyone else was quiet. We finished and I turned to go.
"Where'd you learn that?" my friend asked.
"My dad made me watch a lot of John Wayne movies."
posted by Miss Head at
4:48 AM
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