I’m sitting here looking out the window. It has taken me nearly sixty-five years but now I understand.
I was only twenty-five when I met Irene. It was my first job out of college. I had just finished my RN program at Regina Nursing School. It took me three years going to school days and working part-time evenings to complete my degree. After finishing school, I applied at several nursing homes since I wanted to work with the elderly. In three weeks, I was hired by the River Birch nursing home in New Prague Minnesota.
My first day on the job was the high point and perhaps also the low point of my life. It was the day I met Irene. My supervisor Michelle started my job orientation by introducing me to the staff I would be working with. She then gave me a brief summary of my work duties. She explained that I would be assigned a wing of the nursing home and within that wing, I would be in charge of a specific number of residents. We were not to call them patients. Each day, my job would be to take care of the residents that I was assigned and to ensure that they received food, care and compassion.
Michele then took me around to the twenty or so residents that I would be responsible for. One by one, she gave me a brief bio and medical review for each person. The last one of my charges was Irene. Michele said that she had saved Irene for last because she would be my most difficult resident.
Irene had been taken into the home about two months prior to my arrival. She appeared to have an advanced case of Alzheimers disease (which sixty-five years ago was not identified as such.) She had been living with her only daughter for the past five years but her daughter had died in a car accident and Irene had no other surviving relatives. Her mother, father and two sisters had died many years before her and no other family members could be located. Social Services selected the River Birch nursing home due to its proximity to her previous home.
Michele cautioned me that I should not spend too much time with Irene. She did not speak much except to demand being taken in her wheel chair to the same window each day. She would sit and look out the window and was not interested in eating, talking or socializing in any form. Several of the other nurses had tried to form some type of communication with Irene, but all she would ever say was “window, window.” Most thought she was simply unfriendly and had stopped spending any time with her.
I was young and naïve. I thought I could surely reach out to Irene and form some type of bridge which would unite us as human beings. Irene would be my project. We would become friends.
Each day, I made a special point of taking Irene to her window and stopping by a few times of the day to simply chat. I would bring her a cookie in the morning during the coffee break time and one after lunch during mid-afternoon coffee break. Irene would never take the cookie or even bother to look at me. She simply stared out the window.
Over time, I began to wonder what she was looking at. After looking out the window myself, all I could see was a large grassy field surrounded by numerous oak, maple and birch trees. On any given day, there might some grackles or robins out in the field but very little else to view. It was a pleasant enough scene but nothing that I thought could keep anyone’s attention for more than a few minutes never mind several hours of staring out the window
On the other side of the large sitting room, there was another picture window. I noticed that it had a pretty view of a large lake and periodically several sail boats with brightly covered jibs and mains blowing in the wind would be traversing the lake. I thought that perhaps Irene might like this view better. I walked over to where her sit was sitting in her wheel chair and told her that I was going to show her 
a very pretty view that she could look out at. I thought she would enjoy the variety and the change of scenery. As I started to push Irene’s wheel chair away from her chosen window, she became very agitated and started pointing wildly and in a raised voice saying “window, window.” I moved her back to the old window and left her for the day.
Weeks went by and there was never any change in Irene. Then one day, I went over to see how Irene was doing and I brought her a cookie just in case she had changed her mind. I never gave up on somehow connecting with Irene and I thought surely the cookie would be my entre. Much to my surprise, she took the cookie from my hand and replied, “Thank you, they’re coming, they’re coming.” I looked out the window but I did not see anyone. I asked, “Irene dear, who is coming?” Irene answered, “Why mom and dad and my sisters.” Poor thing I thought, she is delusional.
Next morning, I came to work and started my rounds. I did not see Irene and I wondered where she was. I checked her room but the bed was made up and there was no sign of Irene. I went into see my supervisor and ask about her. “I am sorry” Michele said “She passed away last night and was taken to the funeral home. There will be no services for her as she had no surviving relatives.” I went home and cried for her passing. I had never understood her or made a connection with her that I thought was the least bit meaningful.
It is sixty-five years later and I finally understand Irene. I am sitting here looking out a window from the nursing home where I am now a resident. Each day I look out the same window and I see a different event from my life. I have been amazed at the events that I have witnessed. I have seen my mother giving birth to me. I have seen the birth of each of my sisters and brothers. I witnessed my first communion and my first day in school. I watched my wedding and the birth of each of my children. I was at my husband’s funeral again. During the past few months, I have seen all the major events of my life one after the other in perfect chronological order. I am almost at the end of my journey. There is only one final event. The last event will be when they come for me. They are getting close. My mom and dad are coming for me. They are coming to take me home. I must keep looking out the window or I will miss them.
Time for Questions:
How do we deal with the loss of a loved one when they are still alive? What connections can we possibly make to bridge the sometimes-unbridgeable gaps that age has a way of creating? What if our loved ones are still with us even when we may think they are not? How do we have compassion for people who no longer seem to know or care about us?
Life is just beginning.
“What would I have wanted to say if I had had the opportunity to see him one more time? I would like to think that I would have kept it simple and said, “I love you,” then just held his hand in silence, letting that thought linger in the space of the time we had left together.”
― Lisa J. Shultz, A Chance to Say Goodbye: Reflections on Losing a Parent
Post Script: June 17th 2025
I wrote the above story eight years ago when I had just turned 70. I am now 78 and with each passing day the story seems more relevant to me. Many of my friends and relatives have either passed away or succumbed to some form of dementia. I had never realized how many types of dementia there was until I went to a caregivers conference a few years ago. A friend posted the following on Facebook and it really moved me. We spend years living with someone and perhaps someday we will say that, “they are gone.” That the person we once loved is no longer there. I have heard this comment many times. I hope that I never have to deal with this but if I do, I want to remember the following suggestions:
20 Things I Would Want If I Got Dementia – by Rachel Wonderlin
If I get dementia, I’d like my family to hang this wish list up on the wall where I live. I want them to remember these things. The original list was also published in my book, “When Someone You Know is Living in a Dementia Care Community.”
If I get dementia, I want my friends and family to embrace my reality. If I think my spouse is still alive, or if I think we’re visiting my parents for dinner, let me believe those things. I’ll be much happier for it.
If I get dementia, don’t argue with me about what is true for me versus what is true for you.
If I get dementia, and I am not sure who you are, do not take it personally. My timeline is confusing to me.
If I get dementia, and can no longer use utensils, do not start feeding me. Instead, switch me to a finger-food diet, and see if I can still feed myself.
If I get dementia, and I am sad or anxious, hold my hand and listen. Do not tell me that my feelings are unfounded.
If I get dementia, I don’t want to be treated like a child. Talk to me like the adult that I am.
If I get dementia, I still want to enjoy the things that I’ve always enjoyed. Help me find a way to exercise, read, and visit with friends.
If I get dementia, ask me to tell you a story from my past.
If I get dementia, and I become agitated, take the time to figure out what is bothering me.
If I get dementia, treat me the way that you would want to be treated.
If I get dementia, make sure that there are plenty of snacks for me in the house. Even now if I don’t eat I get angry, and if I have dementia, I may have trouble explaining what I need.
If I get dementia, don’t talk about me as if I’m not in the room.
If I get dementia, don’t feel guilty if you cannot care for me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s not your fault, and you’ve done your best. Find someone who can help you, or choose a great new place for me to live.
If I get dementia, and I live in a dementia care community, please visit me often.
If I get dementia, don’t act frustrated if I mix up names, events, or places. Take a deep breath. It’s not my fault.
If I get dementia, make sure I always have my favorite music playing within earshot.
If I get dementia, and I like to pick up items and carry them around, help me return those items to their original places.
If I get dementia, don’t exclude me from parties and family gatherings.
If I get dementia, know that I still like receiving hugs or handshakes.
If I get dementia, remember that I am still the person you know and love.
The idea of sex in our minds easily overrode any caution or concern about getting caught by her father. We arrived at her house. She lived out of town somewhat in Scituate which was a more rural area of R.I. in the sixties. When we arrived, Bob said “I will go in first and check things out. If it is okay, you guys can come in. Bob went inside the small average looking New England Colonial house with two upper dormer windows and came out a few minutes later. “OK guys” Bob said, “She is willing.” We all trotted inside the house to the first room which was a kitchen with a small table and four chairs. Dave, Tommy and I sat on the chairs and Bob headed up a small staircase. “I will go first” said Bob “and Dave is next. You and Tommy can decide who goes after Dave.” “Oh”, said Bob, “her name is Barbara and she likes to be called Barb.” No one challenged this order of affairs as it was taken for granted that since Bob had set this up, he had first dibs.
Emily and Robert had been married for nearly 65 years. They were both in their early twenties when they met in college. It was love at first sight. Their parents wanted them to wait to finish college but after a brief whirlwind romance, they simply eloped. They surprised everyone when they came back to school and finished their college degrees. Robert became an engineer and Emily was a school teacher for many years. The careers they chose suited their personalities. They were known as hard faithful workers. Not once in over forty years did any employer ever have a complaint or problem with either Robert or Emily. After forty-five years, they both chose to retire so they could spend more time together after Robert’s first stroke.
were loved by all their foster children who often returned home to visit or to simply stop by with a bit of news or something to eat. Robert and Emily could not have loved any children of their own more than they loved their foster children.
Emily finished brushing her teeth and then took her nightly pills. She shut off the bathroom light and started out to the bedroom. The light by Robert’s side of the bed was on and Emily started to say something to Robert when abruptly she stopped. Her eyes fell upon an empty bed that was undisturbed. The sheets and bed covers had not been moved. Emily was surprised and shocked. Where was 
Robert? Suddenly, Emily remembered. Robert had died the previous week and had been buried two days before on Saturday. Tears came to her eyes. What would she do without her Robert? She was all alone now. No one to go to bed with. No one to talk to at night. No one who would regularly listen to her complaints and problems about the world.
Those who say that I am not important or who ignore me are part of a new generation that values image over substance. The word “frugal” is now associated with cheap and the word “thrifty” is associated with the idea of miserliness. It seems the world of finance is dominated by short-sighted individuals who have forgotten the old values that made this country great. Hard work and prudence were values that resonated among the early pioneers like so many notes in a great symphonic piece.
With hard work, you earned a penny. With prudence, you saved your pennies until they became dollars. In the old days, no one would ever have thrown me away or ignored me when laying in the street. Too many people have forgotten the value that I represent. From early times, there have been people who really understood my value. Even before I was an official U.S. coin, the value of a penny was recognized by some. I regard these people as paragons who really understood the meaning of money. Let me tell you a few of their stories.
Hattie had faith in money. Money requires faith but it is a faith that rests on the good that money can do and not simply how much money one can acquire. Hattie had this kind of faith and it persisted beyond her death.
Samson was the strongest most well-built man on the block. He had muscles chiseled in stone. His muscles had muscles. He stood 6 feet 4 inches tall and did not have an ounce of fat on him. Samson worked out seven days a week, twice each day at the Philistine Gym on Gibeon Street. He worked out before he went to work each morning and after work for two hours each evening.
wanting something more because you can’t have it. Delilah had only one other person she admired, herself. Much like Sampson, she could not pass by a mirror without staring at her reflection and thinking “how beautiful I am.”
Delilah grew more and more desperate in her attempts to get Samson to notice her. Finally, she hit on the idea to simply approach Samson and remark on his wonderful hair. So, one day while he was practicing his dead lifts, she sauntered by and casually remarked on how beautiful his hair was. She proceeded to compliment him on his marvelous muscle definition. She followed up these compliments with the suggestion that they go back to her place after working out and she would cook him a nice microwave dinner and brush his hair. This idea delighted Samson and after working out, they both went to Delilah’s house.
Delilah waited until the night before the World Weightlifting championship. At around midnight, she used the key that Samson hid near his door to let herself into Samson’s apartment. Moving as stealthily as a cat, she entered Samson’s bedroom. Samson was a sound sleeper and he had no inclination of what awaited him. Delilah took the surgical scalpel that she had borrowed from a medical admirer and in one quick slash, she lopped off Samson’s braid. Samson was totally unaware and did not move a muscle. Delilah slipped back out the way she had come and placed Samson’s key back where he hid it.
Once upon a time there was an…
I need to back up a bit as you must understand some mitigating factors. Most people of my generation today have no idea about why mutual sex was abolished. With hind sight, it may seem a little like throwing the baby out with the bath water. However, around the year 2090, war, terrorism and violence had become so common that everyone agreed something must be done about it. A group of the leading thinkers in the world formed a committee to see whether aggression could be stopped. They accepted the fact that most savage and brutal actions were committed by males of the species. Throughout history, men have fought wars over territory, money, power, fame and women. Men were responsible for most murders, robberies, rapes and crimes against women. The committee noted that the underlying drive behind male aggression was a preponderance of the hormone testosterone. A theory was proposed that if something could be done to reduce the amount of male testosterone, a corresponding drop in world violence would take place.
The solution was political rather than biological. The “Birth Act of 2107” decreed that any physical conjoining of men and women was illegal and immoral. The Supreme High Committee decided that since ancient methods of reproduction were now unreliable, the only way that women could have a baby was by artificial insemination. First, a prospective mother would need to file a permit for a license. Once having a license approved (the present birth rate was a critical factor in licensing decisions) a woman could then go to a birth clinic where she would be impregnated using a glass syringe. Male sperm was collected by harvesting willing males who were paid a fee for their production. Collected specimens were then sent to a national sperm bank to be cataloged and eventually matched with appropriate recipients.
Now as you know, life will always produce mutations. Genetic anomalies that defy the common strain of biology. And so, several years ago, a male baby was born with the genes to develop testosterone. His parents were not aware of this fact until he reached his pre-teens at which point his unique physical abilities were more than obvious. Unsure what the repercussions would be, his mother advised him not to tell anyone. His parents assumed that he could quite easily hide his sometimes-awkward condition from his peers and society at large. This strategy worked for many years. During this time, Adam tried to exercise his abilities as discreetly as possible.
