Currently writing for:

Inuyasha (KagSess)

The Wallflower (SunaKyo)

I work at a nursing home, where the occupants can barely remember their names and most of the orderlies couldn't really care less.

My job is simple. Make rounds regularly to make sure everyone is content. Everything was just fine until I reached the last room of my rounds.

He is crying.

I’ve asked him about his wife, what her name was, and he responds in tears.

“Doris!” He is staring into my eyes, he is moved by something I can’t pinpoint.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked about your marriage. It is none of my business.”

” No, no… it’s just…. I haven’t said her name in years.”

My stomach hit the floor. This is profound shit. More profound than I expected, I don’t have experience in responding to this kind of human intensity.
I’m used to, “Yeah, I didn’t get any sleep last night.” or “This coffee is gross” not a 91 year old man breaking down in front of me over the love of his life that he lost four years ago after spending a lifetime with her. Not this.

Dean shimmies over to his closet without his walker, opens it and locates a large box near the top. He returns to the desk I am sitting at.

He lays it before me. A photo album.

We spend the next 2 hours pouring over his life.
From birth, until his wife’s death.

His roommate enters the room. “GO AWAY ANDY!!” Dean shouts.
Andy hobbles away, no questions asked.

My shift ended 3 hours ago. My family is at home wondering where I am. I’m here, listening to this man I barely know recall his life through tears hitting the desk. This man is truly alone. He is talking a mile a minute, memories rushing back to him. I barely understand what he is talking about. Trips, people, children, cars, pets, homes… He is vomiting his past to me as quickly as his tongue can move.

” I haven’t talked about this in years, this hurts.”

My dinner can wait.