I remember a woman named Nancy who entered the residential care facility where I worked. She was tall, timid, and affectionate, much like many others who arrive in such settings. She was hesitant, anxious, and apprehensive about life away from the familiar comforts of home and family.
When we first met, her eyes fixed on mine as she asked for a hug. Her plea for reassurance reflected the anticipation and anxiety she was feeling in that moment. I immediately hugged Nancy back, offering warmth and a welcome, and expressing how happy I was that she would be in our care.
I guided Nancy through the expansive hallways of the building, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. Our tour culminated in the room she would call her own, a bright space adorned with large windows that opened to a stunning view of the river below. I told Nancy that the sunsets would shine through her window with breathtaking colours, transforming the landscape into a canvas of natural beauty.
Nancy’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the ample space that awaited her cherished belongings. However, I noticed a hint of concern etching itself onto her features, her brow furrowing as she contemplated how to arrange her treasured items. Sensing her unease, I quickly reassured her that I would be more than happy to help her create a layout that reflected her unique style and personality, ensuring her possessions would find their perfect place in this new sanctuary.
“My son Robert, who lives in Canada, has one request for me: to be tucked in at bedtime.” It was a sentimental tradition that brought him a sense of calm and reassurance before sleep. As a small boy, it made him feel safe and secure, fostering a strong sense of belonging. That is why he wanted the same for me: to provide that same level of warmth and security.
Nancy smiled and eased into another hug, arms around me. I felt her trembling and quietly shedding a tear, conveying her happiness at my response to her concerns.
Her nephew dropped off four large boxes, saying goodbye with a promise to visit soon. As he left, Nancy quipped that he had never visited before, so she wasn’t holding her breath for a visit to her new place.
Nancy stood motionless, her breath shallow as she glanced down at the weathered cardboard boxes that loomed before her like ancient guardians of time gone by. Each box bore the scars of the past — frayed edges, faded labels, and creases that hinted at the countless hands that had touched them over the years. A profound heaviness showed on her face, a bittersweet ache as she confronted the reality that a lifetime of memories, laughter, and cherished moments had condensed into just four unassuming containers.
Inside, the boxes brimmed with fragments of her history: black and white photographs capturing sunlit family gatherings, love letters penned by her beloved husband that still held the scent of nostalgia, and small trinkets — a delicate silver locket, a colourful seashell — each one a tiny portal to moments long past. It was overwhelming to consider that all these irreplaceable pieces of her life were now within the confines of cardboard boxes. They shone with the stories of her journey, waiting to be revisited and remembered.
With delicate care, she lifted the lid from the second box, revealing its contents: a small, exquisite carriage clock. This clock, adorned with intricate brass decorations and a glass face that shimmered softly in the light, had belonged to her beloved grandmother. Its rhythmic ticking seemed to echo the countless moments they had shared, making it perhaps her most treasured possession.
As Nancy carefully peeled away the layers of pristine white tissue paper, the nostalgic scent of aged wood and lavender enveloped her, instantly transporting her back to her grandmother’s cosy lounge room. Each item had been lovingly cared for as if frozen in time, about to be placed in the same cherished spots they once held in the home that had been her sanctuary for over four decades.
The gentle whisper of the tissue paper guided her through a journey of nostalgia, conjuring vivid memories of family gatherings, laughter, and the warmth of a life well lived. In a matter of hours, her room became a sanctuary of cherished memories and comfort.
Nancy displayed great pleasure in her treasured possessions, arranged in positions similar to those they once occupied in her beloved home.
On her first evening at dinner, I introduced her to several ladies at the dining table whom I thought she would connect with. All four sat together and conversed over an enjoyable meal before Nancy retired to her room.
I asked Nancy to use her call bell for anything she needed, and let her know that when she was ready to go to bed, I would come and tuck her in. Just after nine o’clock, Nancy rang her bell. I walked down the corridor and gently knocked before entering. She was already in her nightgown, sitting up in bed reading a book. I asked if she had everything she wanted. Smiling, she beckoned me over for a nighttime hug as she settled under the covers.
“Robert would be so glad I had someone to tuck me in at bedtime.” With a contented look on her face, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Robert would call his mother every Sunday evening from Canada. I spoke to him many times, assuring him that his wishes for his mother were being carried out, especially the bedtime routine, which gave him confidence that his mother was in safe, loving hands.
Nancy’s care plan documented her preference for “tucking in at bedtime”, demonstrating a commitment to choice, dignity, and respect as she embarked on a new chapter in her life.
