A patient at my nursing home recently went missing. We found this note tucked under the arm of an unknown woman left in his bed: ____________________
I recall with a vivid clarity the first day I laid eyes upon Carolin. She entered my room with the youthful confidence of fresh blood. Two weeks out of nursing school, the first of her family to earn a college degree, and she had already landed a position in Summit Ridge. Her radiant blonde hair glistened even under the humming fluorescent lights. The brilliant sheen was eclipsed only by the natural warmth of her smile. The grace and finesse of her movements mirrored a seasoned dancer. Every inch of her exuded pure compassion.
As she greeted me and introduced herself I beckoned her closer. Without my glasses I could not see in perfect clarity. My trembling hands could muster no more than a fragile grasp around the thick metal rims. I leaned forward and asked in my most humble of voices for some assistance. She bent and reached forward, securing them over my ears. I rested my fingers upon hers and took a deep breath. How I longed for sturdy hands again. Such a shame it would be to see her tremble.
Hours melded and warped the day’s passage as they do when little more than daytime TV and worn bingo boards occupy one’s time. Before the setting sun departed, Carolin came to fetch me for dinner. Youthful divinity guiding meticulous navigation around unseen obstacles, she wheeled me into the dining hall. Further escort was essential. My legs would not carry me beyond the door lest they fall from under me. Gone for now were the days of roaming on a whim.
“Carolin, my dear,” I said as we arrived, “would you be so kind as to help me from my chair?”
“Of course,” she replied with a grin.
She placed her arms underneath my own, bent her knees and hoisted me. Such perfect form, fresh from years of training and preparation. As I stood, I rested my hands upon the tops of her legs feigning the need for greater support. I drew a deep breath and righted myself. How I longed to stand on my own again. Such a shame it would be to see her perfect posture flawed by degenerative weakness.
Through the evening I embarked on the most pleasant of dreams. Days of my youths both recent and long past, lovers lost to the tests of time, the simple joys of days started and ended with the rise and fall of the sun. Fond dreams were a rare but welcomed deviation from nights of shallow darkness and broken replays of the former afternoon’s non-events. Those memories were a scarce gift, a gift well deserved. As was Carolin. Her smile was no less flawless than the day before. The morning glow danced across her golden hair but the waltz stopped two steps short of the crescendo, interrupted by an attack of occasional gray strands.
“Time for the morning cocktail,” she said with a chuckle.
A rainbow of tablets and capsules rattled around a small plastic cup as her quaking hands reached across my bedside table. She watched her own movements wielding an uncertain concern. With a stable reach and firm grasp, I took the cup from her and offered a sheepish yellow stained grin. And though my hands no longer shook, I could never refuse her caring invitation to aid with menial tasks. She helped me wash my face, pick my clothes, and brush my teeth. To someone so young, so eager to provide a relentless kindness, I could not muster the courage to tell her the mangled protrusions I excused as teeth need not draw her worry. But in her exuberant persistence, I tilted my head back and allowed her to ward off my morning stink. As the bristles made contact, I took a deep breath. How I longed for perfect teeth yet again. Such a shame it would be to tarnish her flawless smile.
She positioned me in my favorite chair then departed with a subtle limp. When the door was closed I stood and stretched. Such a lovely feeling it was to reach down and touch my own toes with the groundedness of a rugged tree.
By the time lunch had finished I was again due to partake in the culinary experience of pharmacology. My sweet Carolin escorted me from the dining hall with an unsteady gait. Darkened rings encircled her eyes. Her illustrious golden hair parted with grays as if hiding a message written in morse code.
Members of the community gathered outside for a menial display of elder exercise. I had little room to speak in jest. Though I could stand, marching from the door to the grand oak on the lawn was the same to my body as the days I sprinted atop great mountain peaks. With renewed confidence in my step I maintained a steady stride to the tree, and to no surprise gasped for air as I arrived. But my sweet Carolin galloped to my aid without so much as a hastened breath. She put her arm on my shoulder and I my hand on her chest. Her pulse bounded off my fingertips, her chest rising and falling with each supple inspiration. I drew a deep breath and calmed my racing heart. How I longed to move without debilitating exhaustion. Such a shame it would be to have her worn from the slightest exertion.
As I retired to my room for the night I felt it an apt time for some minor rearrangements. I glided across the room using only the dim gleam of the moon to light my way. The furniture could do with a new home. The paintings on the wall looked best in a new position. I would far prefer to face the door in my favorite chair to watch as my sweet Carolin entered.
And such joy it brought me the next morning as she shuffled inside. The morning sun retreated behind thick clouds failing to illuminate her tainted smile or the streaks of gray running from her scalp. Thick indented crow’s feet webbed from tired eyes. My poor sweet Carolin. Those wrinkles are unbecoming of your kindness. Your hunched posture and strained breathing pained me so. But no matter the wrinkles you have gained or those that have smoothed from my skin, you will always receive the respect you deserve. I bid you good morning. Downcast sorrow overtook me as you shared you were not feeling well today.
“Come,” I implored. “Sit beside me and tell me a story. Perhaps your favorite place to visit as a child.”
Such a favored life she had lived exploring the Italian countryside of her grandfather’s villa. I could all but taste the fine wines as she painted the evocative melody of waving vineyards. The rich garlic fragrance wafting from her grandmother’s kitchen invited the surest sensation that I too could share. The eloquent completeness and unimpeded continuity of her recall left me lost in wonder and envy. I placed my hands beside the temples of her precious mind and took a deep breath. How I longed to recall at will days of my youthful adventures. Such a shame it would be to have her fade away. I do hope my sweet Caroline remembers me as I will her.
In the following days Caroline sat by my bedside as I regaled her with tales of my youth in the Italian countryside of my grandfather’s villa. Each day she listened with a wide eyed splendor, soaking in the crisp depictions of a memory she longed to claim as her own. The once beautiful head of blonde hair faded into a weary gray. Her once glamorous smile little more now than a lifeless array of cast aside youth. Yet in her endless supply of true compassion, she showed every day to care for me, or I for her.
Until one day she grew somnolent and needed to rest. I offered her my bed to lay her head. Her dreams will be fond and bring comfort, I hope. For when she wakes, if she opens her eyes, her days will be short. There is little to fill one’s time save for daytime TV and worn bingo boards, my sweet Carolin. But I believe you will enjoy your remaining moons. Perhaps a time, seasons from now, if you remain, I will visit you with tales of my youth and journey across this great world of ours.
Your presence was a gift I won’t soon forget. For I have lived one thousand years, and I will live one thousand more. By any means necessary.