Ethel, so often divorced from the world, was woken from her literal and figurative slumber by Millie’s yelling
Slowly deliberately she made her way to Millie her eyes not straying from this other woman as she continued to yell and call out her mantra of confusion
Y
ou could hear the noise from about 20 feet down the hall. The unmistakable din of repetitive yelling by a dementia patient. As I turned the corner of the local Jewish nursing home — where I worked as a chaplain — to meet the doors of the locked unit it became louder still a mantra of cacophonous chanting agitated and anxious. I dialed in the combination for the door and as it slid open I could not shake the unmistakable feeling I had felt so many times — of going down the rabbit hole.
About ten paces away was the source of the racket Millie. Millie 98 so full of personality and life when she was well now reduced to what seemed to be a shell of herself. I stopped just out of her view to assess what was going on when I noticed another character in the background — 101-year-old Ethel.
Ethel was in her usual pose dozing peacefully in her wheelchair. Slowly however I observed Ethel lift her head and turn toward Millie. Ethel’s face so lined with age more wrinkles and crevices than smooth skin showed concern. Ethel so often divorced from the world was woken from her literal and figurative slumber by Millie’s yelling.
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