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Author Topic: Take a moment next time in a convalescent home.  (Read 1727 times)
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johnneilson
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« on: April 12, 2011, 04:16:48 PM »

For the last two months I have been visiting one of my good friends in a home. With some encouragement and therapy, he is now at home and happy again. This is no place to celebrate your 89th birthday he stated!! His wonderful wife, beside him every day, is relieved and happy again also. Herb is an original Hot rodder in California, with his '27 Miller-Scofeld "A" before going to war.

Sent from My Mother a month ago;

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in  GRASS VALLEY, CA. it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to  Missouri.

The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.


Crabby Old Manů
What do you see nurses? . . .. . . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man .. . . . . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice .. . . . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not . . . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . . . . .. with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . with wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . .. . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . .. . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons . . .. . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . . .. to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, . . . . . babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . my wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . . . young of their own.
And I think of the years .. . . . . and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . . . . . a young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . . . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . . Look closer . .. . see ME!!


Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within.

We will all, one day, be there, too!

 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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dr j
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« Reply #1 on: April 12, 2011, 04:26:26 PM »

Thanks for that contribution, John.  It truly touched me and I will remember it tomorrow in my practice.  It just reaffirms what we know but often forget in daily life. 
Thanks again.
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« Reply #2 on: April 12, 2011, 04:37:53 PM »

Thanks John, brought tears to my eyes.
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SaltRat
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« Reply #3 on: April 12, 2011, 06:48:31 PM »

I visit my Mom three times a week, her biggest fear was going to a "home" but I couldn't care for her.

when I walk in, everyone knows my name - am i famous or good looking? Do I have gifts for everyone?

I am afraid I am the only regular visitor for the 100 or so incarcerated there.  I watch the lumps sitting and waiting to move on, listen to the folks that jabber and drool, say hi to anyone that will look me in the eye.

My Mom isn't aware of much, but mostly knows my name and NEVER fails to hollar "LET'S GO!" when she sees me. (and loves to chant "zoomzoom" as we accelerate onto the highway!)

The day the hot rods come, or the scooters  is a big day of excitement for most of the residents.

Do what you can for your loved ones - keep them home as long as you can.

If you can, visit once in a while.  Take them magazines or movies.

The are serving a life sentence.
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SaltRat
When (if?) this baby hits 88mph, you'll see some serious poo.
johnneilson
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« Reply #4 on: April 13, 2011, 11:06:07 AM »

Salt,

Your Mother is very fortunate to have you visit, good on you.

I watched my young one talk to some of the others there, they lit up like christmas trees to have someone to just say hello and ask their names.

Latest news on Herb, after being home for 4 days he got up on his walker and made his way into up the ramp and into the house on his own. Being a retired firefighter, he really likes the new "firetruck" diamond plate ramps on the porch and front door. If it gets warm enough at the May Elmo meet, I will put his golfcart into the truck so he can drive around while I do patrol duty. Though I suspect he will opt to listen to the radio to hear the action.


Thanks, John
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doug odom
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« Reply #5 on: April 13, 2011, 01:48:18 PM »

5 or 6 years ago I loaded up my large collection of old racing and hot rod magazines ( 2 hundred or so ) and took them to the Veterans hospital. I asked someone there if I could leave them. He said sure and he would help me bring them in. It took more than one trip out to the truck and by the time I got back inside half of the first load was gone and guys were standing waiting to see what else I was going to leave.
 A week or so later I got a letter from the hospital thanking me for the gift.
My friend told me I should have sold them on EBAY and made money. The look on the faces of those guys in the hospital was worth more than any amount of money.
It didn't cost me anything but a little gas money.
Doug Odom in big ditch
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« Reply #6 on: April 13, 2011, 04:09:32 PM »

That was a good move, Doug.

Regards, Neil   Tucson, AZ
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Regards, Neil  Tucson, AZ
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« Reply #7 on: April 13, 2011, 06:24:12 PM »

Attaboy, Doug.

One can take almost anything - National Geographics, puzzles - anything to stimulate the mind.

Sometimes a little conversation past "good morning" can do wonders.

thanks to all that take a moment . . . .
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SaltRat
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Seldom Seen Slim
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« Reply #8 on: April 13, 2011, 06:58:38 PM »

I've taken my old racing magazines to the local Veteran's facility/home, and also taken magazines to the local alcohol & drug rehab unit.  The people in the "alky bin" are (for the most part) trying to get well, and having something besides years-old People magazines gives them some good reason to get straight again.  As for the Vet's home -- I've taken stuff there -- and many times have gone up to one of the day rooms and read out loud to whomever was hanging around.  I did that once or twice a week for a few years - and even when they didn't care much about the story -- they appreciated having someone care enough about them to visit regularly.  I once or twice really did read field manuals - but mostly read westerns and stuff.

It didn't cost me but a few minutes of my time -- but sure made them - and me - feel good.
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