Being
in the moment can bring great awareness. As a hospice volunteer, I learned a
lot from quietly listening, observing and analyzing. Because many of my
patients had dementia, I grew to respect their thought-provoking
interpretations of reality and unique forms of expression. I wrote
Mealtime Party after
participating in many mealtimes and parties with nursing home residents. This
carefree poem includes combinations of actual scenarios that took place. What
do I know for sure? I know I visited their Oz weekly and became a better
person.
Mealtime Party
“Come to
your party, Lurania! Have some tacos!
We’re
singing in Spanish!” Lurania exclaims.
Her
two-part conversations go back
and forth
like a tennis match with one player.
Today, Lurania gives someone else her name
and hosts an imaginary party for herself.
Next to
Lurania sits sleeping Mary.
A purring
snore drifts from her open mouth,
a canon
too tired to fire. She searched
all morning for her slippers
until she
found them on her feet.
Now, she
salsas in her dreams.
“10, 9,
8, 7, 6, 5...!”
yells John, who thinks
Lurania's
party is on New Year’s Eve.
He holds
up his milk carton and shouts,
“Happy
New Year!” John knows
the wish
everyone wants to hear
as 12:00
noon begins another year.
Grace
still wears the glow of a woman
who’s
been in love. Her so-called boyfriend,
a nurse
aide sixty years her junior,
blushed
when told of her romantic fantasy.
Even
though she “dumped” him,
their
friendship will be a lasting flower.
“You
know, Olga has been my sister
all my
life,” Miller announces. I remind him
that
yesterday Olga brought him
a
chocolate chip cookie. Miller flaunts
a grin,
satisfied that the streetcar
of his
life looks great, rides just fine.
“Everybody
can come! Lurania's parties
are
wonderful!” Lurania hollers, intoxicated
with
laughter resonating like a trumpet.
Everyone
should come and marvel
at the
magnificence of minds that dance,
turn
somersaults to create happy realities.
Frances
Shani Parker, Author
