Dear soft heart,
On another day I’m going to talk about the ‘how to’ of hosting a book club in memory care, from what little I know of it. Because I recommend it as possibly a cure for every loneliness. But today I must get to Leo.
Every Saturday I participate in a book club in my dad’s now former memory care home. My dad and I started this book club and when we did, it was casting an anchor. Shooting a little root into the earth that meant, “I’ll be back, and so will you, and we will keep talking about this.” It worked as a touchpoint for us. Something simple we looked both forward to and back to. It was never too tender to talk about.
We have just one copy of “All Things Bright and Beautiful” by James Herriott, printed in 1974 (the year I was born) and the cover is tattered but not yet to bits. At 9:00 a.m. every Saturday, when many a resident is still in pajamas and bed headed, we sit around a round table in the community space and read this book aloud. I would say round robin style, for those teachers amongst us, but actually only a tiny handful of bookclub participants can read aloud. Many of them just listen. Most of them nod in and out of a morning snooze.
(This week it’s Thanksgiving. My Tucson mornings only just turned crisp. I’m sitting at my counter wearing my dad’s fleece vest. He was skinnier than me but I can zip it up. I imagine you with a shopping list. Is puff pastry on it? I feel grateful you might just take a little break to read this.)
Anyway, Leo. A man with a stocking-capped head in a wheel-chair and massive hands that are no longer dexterous. But those hands do make you wonder about Leo’s life. I watched Leo at least fifty nights try to get his wife to eat. He would slowly cut her meat. Tentatively attempt to spoon bites into her mouth and she would bat the spoon away even though she was staring off into the distance— ninja-like. You could tell she teetered between worlds and then one day, she died. I gave Leo my condolences and I felt such gratitude this gentle man was here, in memory care, surrounded by kind beings, when this happened. His hearing is very poor and he doesn’t wear a hearing aide so communicating with Leo is tricky in the moment. Right now, writing this, it occurs to me to write him a short note.
Some days Leo comes to book club. I think he enjoys the soft energy of sitting in a circle with a shared intention, even if he can’t hear. He often closes his eyes. I have always wanted to squeeze his hand but it’s not appropriate for me since I don’t really know Leo. Often, the group shares laughter. This book is excellent and funny. Leo doesn’t laugh along with us but he smiles when he notices.
This past Saturday at the chapter close the book was passed from the reader to me. Except for that Leo was in between us, so it was passed to Leo first. This was the first time the book was laid in Leo’s hands and I now feel regret that it was only the first time. I realize he never before thought he had an opportunity to read the book aloud. Leo looked to me inquiringly about where he should begin and I pointed out the starting point on the page. And Leo began to read.
Every word was a tiny hill to climb for Leo. I imagine he is a brilliant man. I can just tell by the gleam in his eyes and his quiet eagerness to be included. The collective members of the book club opened their eyes and watched, and listened, to Leo struggle over the words. The activities director noticed and came over and took a seat. We watched Leo like we were watching a baby bird peck it’s way out of a formidable egg. We couldn’t take our eyes away. And after every word, there was a palpable energy of celebration amongst the group. Leo read for an entire twelve minutes. Leo read aloud, stumbled, struggled, and succeeded. We were all awed. For ten months I had not known that Leo could still read.
That is all, hungry reader.
Sometimes in memory care I think of a setting sun. Leo reminded me of this. Like a quiet sun, just glowing over the horizon mountains, and then, my perspective shifts—there’s a dip in the hills and suddenly I see how bright the sun still blazes.
If you celebrate, may your Thanksgiving be joyful.
If you don’t celebrate, may your heart feel full.
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