The Patio Revisited

He once told me that he didn’t understand why everyone was so frightened of death.

“Obviously it can’t be that bad because no one ever comes back. It must be better than this life we’re living.”

He was the first resident I wrote about, first in my journal and then on this blog. I’ve always wanted to revisit him, write more, but it’s hard for me to think of him in that way, dying of AIDS. Whenever I see him, he tells me jokes and bums cigarettes from me. A couple of weeks ago, he told me that he loved me. I think he meant it too.

I love the fact that he will never do anything you ask him to do until a couple of hours later, his way of claiming his independence. Even during meal times, He is always the last one to eat. You always have to set aside a plate for him and re-heat it when he’s ready. He’s the only one that can get away with that. We all love him and know that he’s a rare gem. He rarely complains, never about pain or his condition. If he’s feeling awful, he’ll never say it. You’ll only know because he’s spent more time in bed than usual. Most days you’ll find him on the patio smoking, and telling stories. He’s got some great stories to tell. Doesn’t matter if they’re peppered here and there with fiction, it’s his voice and intonation; it grabs you and holds on. He could have been an amazing actor, and he has a sharp sense of humor, somewhat dark, but always funny. He’s one of the few residents I’ve come across who has always been open and honest about having AIDS. Most residents still hang on to the negative view of their disease perpetuated by the ignorance of where they came from. Not him, he talks openly about having AIDS and how life brought him to this point.

He always tells me he’d rather be dead than ever get to a point where he has to wear a diaper or be bathed and dressed by someone. I know the day I have to change his diaper and bathe him will be a heartbreaking day. I can barely think about it, which is probably why I haven’t written about him since my first blog entry. He’s a huge part of my day when I go to the hospice. I treasure the time I get to spend with him, I love that he smiles and says “Hi Baby!” Along with a hug when I walk in, and whenever I leave he always ask when I’m coming back. I know that he knows the days I volunteer, I’ve heard him tell other residents my schedule, but I know he needs me to reassure him that I’ll be there. He has no one that comes to visit him, no family, no friends, mainly by his choice, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s alone. So every week, I tell him again, when I’m coming, I reassure him that I’ll be there.

He was my very first connection, and continues to be a large part of why I volunteer and why I write.

The other day after a brutal moment with a very sick resident, I stood in the laundry room shaking and asked myself “what am I doing here?”

The next second He comes strolling down the hall looks at me, smiles, and winks……Question answered.