I am writing about an event and a population of people that are forgotten and left to die by their families, when we think of the forgotten population we think of the homeless, and those who live on the fringe of society. We see the homeless all the time so they are ever present on our minds, but there is another forgotten population safely tucked away in buildings we pass every day and barely notice. These buildings haves names, some a large and offer many services, and some are small, but none the less many forgotten people live here, safely hid away and many placed by families that are too busy to care.
Who is forgotten population, the answer is simple they be someone’s mother, grandmother, sister or wife. It may be someone, placed by the state, because they can no longer live in our busy world. They are the elderly, dome put away, as if growing old was a crime, then for other , it may temporary for some, who like me are just passing through, because they need to time to heal and learn once again the things we do every day. The building, it may be brick, it may be wood, its inside contains many rooms. It is known by different names such as long term care and rehabilitation facility, skilled nursing facility, rest home; but these names, all have one common name, a nursing home.
The people within some have families, who come to visit; others no one seems to care. I meet Molly one day while on my way to therapy, she was slowly in her wheelchair, I was not in a good mood with many problems on my mind. I will never forget Molly looking at me, breaking into a toothless smile, and saying “Good Morning, I want to the hospital and they stuck a needle my arm. “ Now, normally I would have sort of blown her off, but there was just something about Molly, the sparkle, in her eyes, and her toothless cockeyed grin, that made me smile and forget my cares, at least for a little while. I found out later from one of the nurses who took care of Molly, the she has been a resident for a number of years her family brought her in an abandoned her. I always made it a point to at some point in my day, to speak to Molly, and it was funny, if for some reason I didn’t leave my room; I could always count on Molly showing up at my door, with that toothless cockeyed grin, and those sparkling eyes, and saying “Good Morning you didn’t come see me this morning.” Molly was my inspiration when therapy got painful, and I felt like giving up, I would think of Mollies smile and suddenly the pain was not to bad to bare.
Another inspiration was Joyce, Joyce was childlike though I don’t know why, I would see her in the hall holding her dolls or stuffed animals, and to Joyce they were her children. Joyce would always have to have a chair to sit her babies, but whet both influenced me the most was Joyce’s enthusiasm,. One therapy Joyce was doing was learning balance and coordination, to they do this would toss her a ball to kick with her feet. Every time Joyce would kick the ball she would get excited, clap her hands, and excitedly yell “I did it!”
When I first started this article I had a different story line in mind. Form my personal experiences I have seen many things that are wrong, but that is another blog.