Ch.225 Pat and Judy’s Radiant Smiles
Nov. 2023
Most Wednesdays at noon I eat lunch with my friends Richard and Jerry. Jerry, like me, is a widower; Richard’s wife, Judy, is a resident at Azura, the same memory care place where Pat lived until she died. During lunch today, Jerry mentioned that he was going to visit Judy right after our meal. I asked if I could meet him at Azura, to see Judy. I hadn’t seen her for a couple weeks because Judy’s room is in a separate building from the one at which I volunteer. Richard agreed and I met him again just as he was about to enter the building.
Richard and I walked in. Judy was sitting with others, watching a tv program. Richard tapped her on the shoulder, she glanced up, and Judy smiled –a radiant, light up the room smile. A “You are here, my love, and everything is perfect” smile, the kind of smile that makes everyone who witnesses it also smile. A smile that makes you agree that life, at this moment, is good.
Sometimes, when I entered Pat’s room, she would smile at me just the way Judy smiled at Richard. She might not be able to say my name or specify our relationship (one time, when asked who I was, she called me her “big squeeze”). But that special smile, the one she reserved for me, was wonderful to receive. Pat’s radiant smile told me she felt safe, comforted, connected, complete, and loved. It didn’t matter at that moment that we now lived apart or that she was close to dying. What mattered was that we were together, forever.
When Pat smiled like that, time stood still, just for a moment, so I could record her smile into my long-term memory. Sitting here as I write, I can close my eyes and see her, laying in bed, glancing up, beaming with joy. I can feel myself smiling back, absorbing her love.
ADDED NOTE. A week after I wrote the essay above, I witnessed a beautiful moment between Richard and Judy. Judy had written an article in 2018 about the Stand in the Light Memory Choir, a memory loss choir of which she was and still is a member. Last night, at Azura Memory Care, Richard helped Judy recite that article, just after a performance by Judy, other Azura memory choir residents, and several guest members of that choir. Judy began in monotone but soon warmed up, finding her speaking cadence and proper inflections. Richard was there to pronounce a difficult word or two, and, even more importantly, to give Judy a boost of confidence.
I love watching how people in love ease each other’s paths through life, just as Richard did tonight, and I loved watching Judy emerge from the shadow of Alzheimer’s, briefly, to show the world the vibrant woman she is.
Nov. 2023
Most Wednesdays at noon I eat lunch with my friends Richard and Jerry. Jerry, like me, is a widower; Richard’s wife, Judy, is a resident at Azura, the same memory care place where Pat lived until she died. During lunch today, Jerry mentioned that he was going to visit Judy right after our meal. I asked if I could meet him at Azura, to see Judy. I hadn’t seen her for a couple weeks because Judy’s room is in a separate building from the one at which I volunteer. Richard agreed and I met him again just as he was about to enter the building.
Richard and I walked in. Judy was sitting with others, watching a tv program. Richard tapped her on the shoulder, she glanced up, and Judy smiled –a radiant, light up the room smile. A “You are here, my love, and everything is perfect” smile, the kind of smile that makes everyone who witnesses it also smile. A smile that makes you agree that life, at this moment, is good.
Sometimes, when I entered Pat’s room, she would smile at me just the way Judy smiled at Richard. She might not be able to say my name or specify our relationship (one time, when asked who I was, she called me her “big squeeze”). But that special smile, the one she reserved for me, was wonderful to receive. Pat’s radiant smile told me she felt safe, comforted, connected, complete, and loved. It didn’t matter at that moment that we now lived apart or that she was close to dying. What mattered was that we were together, forever.
When Pat smiled like that, time stood still, just for a moment, so I could record her smile into my long-term memory. Sitting here as I write, I can close my eyes and see her, laying in bed, glancing up, beaming with joy. I can feel myself smiling back, absorbing her love.
ADDED NOTE. A week after I wrote the essay above, I witnessed a beautiful moment between Richard and Judy. Judy had written an article in 2018 about the Stand in the Light Memory Choir, a memory loss choir of which she was and still is a member. Last night, at Azura Memory Care, Richard helped Judy recite that article, just after a performance by Judy, other Azura memory choir residents, and several guest members of that choir. Judy began in monotone but soon warmed up, finding her speaking cadence and proper inflections. Richard was there to pronounce a difficult word or two, and, even more importantly, to give Judy a boost of confidence.
I love watching how people in love ease each other’s paths through life, just as Richard did tonight, and I loved watching Judy emerge from the shadow of Alzheimer’s, briefly, to show the world the vibrant woman she is.