Visiting a retirement home, a modern euphemism, is a very mixed experience. We go in once a week to play bridge with a couple of residents, which is fine and enjoyable for us as well as them. Jim is 85 and Monica much the same age, though it is not polite to ask. They have led interesting lives but now they are left by their families, for good reason no doubt, to wait for the inevitable.
Looking around, our bridge played are remarkable in that for the most time they have full possession of their faculties. Many of the other residents are not as fortunate, although that is a subjective viewpoint.
The home is beautiful, it is warm, well appointed with lots of space. Residents rooms are comfortable and roomy and the staff are wonderful. I am sure that it is not cheap, and has the feel of a hotel. However, the stereotype is still there; a number of residents sit around looking, unknowingly at each other or sleeping the day away. Conversation is rare, and there is an inescapable feeling that they are just waiting to die. They do have activities laid on and even trips out, but even so it is so sad that people have to endure this in their final days. Most are placid and isolated in their minds, while a few are vocal and never seem to stop moaning or complaining and others barely know where they are or why, let alone what day it is.
Mealtimes are a highlight for many, and they seem to drift from one meal to the next in the silent company of others.
Jim yearns to be taken to the pub, something that doesn't happen at all, so we have agreed to take him out for lunch on friday. I hope that it goes well.
Looking around, our bridge played are remarkable in that for the most time they have full possession of their faculties. Many of the other residents are not as fortunate, although that is a subjective viewpoint.
The home is beautiful, it is warm, well appointed with lots of space. Residents rooms are comfortable and roomy and the staff are wonderful. I am sure that it is not cheap, and has the feel of a hotel. However, the stereotype is still there; a number of residents sit around looking, unknowingly at each other or sleeping the day away. Conversation is rare, and there is an inescapable feeling that they are just waiting to die. They do have activities laid on and even trips out, but even so it is so sad that people have to endure this in their final days. Most are placid and isolated in their minds, while a few are vocal and never seem to stop moaning or complaining and others barely know where they are or why, let alone what day it is.
Mealtimes are a highlight for many, and they seem to drift from one meal to the next in the silent company of others.
Jim yearns to be taken to the pub, something that doesn't happen at all, so we have agreed to take him out for lunch on friday. I hope that it goes well.
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