Musing on the Job

When you work with the elderly as I do on a daily basis, it can be difficult at times not to get mired down in their problems. At this stage of their lives, these people have lots of issues to deal with, not the least of them is facing death in the near future. In a tightly knit community of advanced senior citizens, which is what an assisted living facility boils down to, all the residents are witness to what happens to each other over time. They see falls, strokes, loss of consciousness. They note the overall decline and increased confusion of their neighbors and friends. They see fellow residents wheeled out the front door to an ambulance via a guerney. That resident may return and then again, may not. Time will soon tell and if that resident dies in the next few days or weeks, there remains the telltale empty seat where everyone knows this individual used to sit. I often wonder what these people really make of all this.

The old folks come and go and we, the staff, carry on with pleasantries and a polite, upbeat demeanor day in and day out regardless of what goes on. Do the deaths of people we've come to know through an extended period of time caring for them affect us? Of course they do but we can't psychologically afford to let our sorrow and often, very real grief stand in the way of what we need to do for those residents who remain. In a business such as this which is of a highly personal nature, we are always admonished not to get too close--too involved with the residents. We listen, nod our heads and say okay but it goes against the most basic element of emotion in our human nature not to get somewhat involved with a person you see and cater to on a daily basis. Everyone has their "special" people. We extend the same courtesies and respect to everyone but occasionally a person comes along that you feel a certain affinity for, shall we say a kindred spirit? There are, of course, pros and cons to this. It makes for a more enjoyable workday when you think of some of the people you help as friends. The downside is the increased level of loss and sadness felt when these very special ones fall gravely ill or die simply because it's their time.

In the past 15 years that I've worked with older folks, I've been fortunate to become friends with some extraordinary men and women. I've lost many of these wonderful people to what is merely a natural, inevitable end of their time on Earth. I sometimes think that having experienced and survived the death of my mother and father, my heart has developed a very thin layer of some sort of coating that has somehow" toughened" me up. Generally, I don't exhibit the usual symptoms of sorrow connected with a death when one of our residents dies. I'm probably a little more subdued than usual, not the sparkling happy woman I try to be with my charges most of the time. I turn my grief inward and deal with it as best I can in my own private way. Because of this, I sometimes wonder if I'm perceived as one who seems to have a rime of frost surrounding my heart. I dearly hope this is not so because when one of my people leave our small communal sphere, I am very sad. I truly believe the surviving residents under my care deserve the best atmosphere I can provide for them. I often think the continual parade of death that is an absolute facet of my job is the hardest part of all.