Our boys are quite comfortable visiting the nursing home.
When I was pregnant with the youngest I was visiting regularly, even when the smells were overwhelming to my expectant nose.
Over the years we spent many Christmases there with the great (great) grandmother and my grandmother.
Our oldest ministers at the nursing home every other Sunday, singing and playing the piano. I'm grateful that our church considers this to be a high priority.
Generally, the children don't feel nervous, even inside the memory ward where they see the residents carrying dolls like babies and they hear screams from behind closed doors. Last night, however, J (almost 8) had to be pulled, kicking and screaming, out of the minivan. He didn't want to go inside the nursing home.
Perhaps it was because he was dressed in his Batman costume. We were on our way to the community costume parade/Beggar's Night. I tried to convince him that the residents would be thrilled to see a Super Hero. Finally, he conceded.
Indeed. The Memory Ward was filled with laughter and smiles when he entered the dining hall. One dear old woman pulled a homemade cookie out of the bag on her walker and handed it to him. The desk attendant found a Reeses's and a Butterfinger inside her desk drawer and dropped it into his trick-or-treating pumpkin.
I took a photo of J sticking his little tongue out at our friend (the reason for our visits there). I treasure the scene.
The twinkle in her eyes had surfaced and she asked the same question she asks every time we see her (if she is feeling well), "How old do you think I am?" (I always find this difficult to answer. She is 92. What is a polite answer, "I think you don't look a day over 70?!")
Recently, I've left my responsibility to visit the nursing home "on a back burner" behind all of the other pressing demands on my time. Now it's time to step it up.
