Silent conversations.

Today my clinical assignment was to spend some time at a skilled nursing facility that specializes in dementia care. It was strange, because my role was not "nurse" nor "student nurse." I was sent there to visit. Interesting, considering most of the residents have long lost their memories...

What I found, however, was that memory wasn't necessary for a conversation. Nor was language ability, for that matter. It didn't matter what we discussed, or that we talked about anything at all. I had several "discussions" with a woman who speaks mostly in word salads, but we still had a lovely chat. I also talked with a little old lady who speaks quite well, but uses no proper nouns or good descriptors, so I had no idea what she was getting at. We had fun nonetheless.

I think - no, I know - that the important messages in these conversations were still conveyed. Someone sat and listened to what they had to say. Someone sought the pleasure of their company. Someone cared. It's so easy, and yet so few people in our world bother to take the time out of their busy day to spend even five minutes with an older adult. It's not something that I've done much of (hell, I was there because I had to be), but I'm going to. It's amazing, and humbling, and beautiful to sit and be with someone who needs you. I sat and held hands with little old ladies - I looked at my strong fingers interlaced with their crinkled, papery soft ones, and I felt connected to everyone and everything around me. I walked with tiny steps in their world of slow, deliberate movements, and I was grateful for my strength. As they openly admired my youth, I secretly admired their age - the experiences, the insight, the wrinkles hard earned through years of surviving. It makes me grateful to be alive.

(I know I've rambled on about this sort of thing before, but I can't help it...)