he was an elderly gentleman in his early eighties, slouched just slightly in his chair with his hands folded and pressed into his lap. softspoken with a warm, scratchy voice that came out just above a whisper, but still deliberate in the formation and pronunciation of his carefully chosen words. eyes focused with lips almost imperceptibly pursed in concentration- a far off voice from somewhere in the corner persisted in asking him such silly things as the year and the season, but if so silly why is it so hard to form a reply? why indeed... but still a smile! oh what gentle, good humor and understanding, whose dementia thankfully forgot or chose not to reflect remembrance that i walked in on him yesterday as he sat on his commode, bare and staring at me questioningly, head tilted to the right, as i stumbled over awkward words and right on out.
one body of quiet, unnatural calm; dignity; and overwhelming loss in an ocean of smells and glares and noises and jostling elbows.
today i left him sitting in the blue shadows of his room, chanced half a glance back and thought i wouldn't make it. paused for a moment outside his door, just a moment, to lean against the wall with my head down, neatly filing away my OBJECTIVE and PROFESSIONAL and COST EFFECTIVE judgment of this wonderful man, while also biting down, hard, on everything else. just a moment.
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