We are still heading out to the nursing home on Monday nights. I find that most Mondays I am feeling somewhat under the weather; tired, achy, generally blah and wanting to stay home. Most nights I go in spite of myself, find that I am actually feeling fine, and blessed for it besides. We have come to love the little band of people that come out to hear us sing and shake our hands.
This was my father's passion. When he was sick his biggest concern was for Mom and his nursing home services. He id four. Dad was a much better musician than any of us, a more accomplished speaker than James (he did it for 30 years...), and had developed a deep love for the people he served that we are only just beginning to understand.
We were missing a few of our regulars this week. Betty, whose hand I held as I talked with her last week, had a mini stroke and was in her room. Millie, Betty's best friend, was not feeling herself either. These folks don't always remember our names, but they are always glad to see a smiling face, be given a hug, and asked about their lives. They are thrilled and often surprised when we remember who they are.
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