Yesterday’s rain is now covered by a delicate sheet of glistening ice. The surface as smooth as glass could give at any moment, it would only take a tap. The unfinished quilt of snow carefully laid out on the ground is comforting, added to every minute by snowflakes that float down to the earth. The gentle brush of sun peeking through the hovering mist prompts crystalline reflections to flood in through the window. It is winter and the whole world knows it. Inside it’s toasty; the steam rising off the cup of tea, the electric blanket that is always so difficult to leave, the pictures of loved ones, old friends. In the main room, life is vibrant, encompassing all but a few who choose to ignore it, waiting. Waiting for the end.
Listen. Kettle whistles its whining pitch. Porridge bubbles. Gas turns on; tik tik tik whoosh. People chat, some with others and others with themselves. Breakfast comes and all is silent.
The teeth grinder is at it again. The pitter-patter of rain on the roof starts, then builds before turning to ice, hitting the corrugated iron with a ‘clang’. The nurses are rushing around frantically, their foot-shuffling adding to the cacophony as they try to finish the tedious medicine round. The rest home is a percussion group, currently without an audience. That is until the ominous beeps start to ring out: Beep beep beep beeeeeep. Breakfast is quickly cleared.
Look. Outside the floating snowflakes have vanished, they are now rocks of ice poking holes in the once beautiful quilt of snow. Dark, thick mist rolls down the mountains, moving with astonishing speed as the sun coming through the window is replaced by the buffeting wind, howling in time with the beeps. The beautiful picture has been drowned out by the painful song, bouncing around within the stark white walls. The beeps stop, quickly replaced by the ‘click’ of the door unlatching and then silence. Time stands still.
The door is forced open by the flood of people. Down they sit, next to everyone else. The looks of pity, sympathy lacking empathy, condolences and token smiles are not welcome. Feel the bitter ‘whoosh’ of air as a child rushes by before halting abruptly to stare. Hear the whispered questions to their mother, all the while looking; scorching holes in the back of the chair. See the two of them turn away. Even a child is ashamed.
Look. Noses wrinkle as the signature elderly scent reaches their nostrils; Eyebrows are pushed close to each other; Lips pressed together to form a pained line; Prejudiced eyes focus on the activities board that reads: ‘Visit to the swimming pool’, before looking over, sadness written all over their faces. Those same eyes stare briefly as if to say “sorry mate, wish I could help” before darting away. Feet move in awkward lines, working tirelessly to avoid the lady confined to her chair.
Think. You are lucky. You can still hear the gas turn on, hear the kettle whine. You can still see the glistening snowflakes, see the sun peeking through the blinds. You can still remember the feeling of fresh snow, remember the way it felt to slide on the ice. But it has been an eternity. You will never understand why people stare the way they do, why people feel so sorry for you. Now, you sit. All. Day. Long. Years ago, the patterned beige recliner whispered your name. Down you sat. And you haven’t stood up since….