Barbara...

“Can I get you something, dear? Tea, something to eat?”

I’m sitting across from her at the kitchen bar, a gentle smile on my face as I shake my head. “No, Barbara. I’m okay. I’m actually here to take care of you, you don’t have to worry about me. I appreciate it though.”

She nods as if she doesn’t quite understand, but she gives a nervous smile anyways and folds her hands in her lap. “...I’m sorry I just…I don’t know where my head has gone today. I feel like…I’m forgetting something terribly important. Something has happened, hasn’t it? To my husband?”

I nod, ready to answer everything again.

“Yes, he passed away this weekend.”

There’s a look of shock on her face, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “Oh dear…I…I need to get in touch with his brother, he’s in-...”

“It’s okay, Barbara. Don’t worry. Your family has taken care of everything. They’ve called his brother and he knows, and everything is being set in place for the funeral.”

She nods faintly, still a little shell shocked. “Oh, good. Very good. Can…are you staying here with me today?”

“I am. I’ll be here with you all day.”

“That’s good. Thank you so much, dear. I…I truly feel safe with you around.”

It hurts my heart to hear but I’m glad. I’m five hours in on a twelve hour shift and every minute or two, the same conversation plays over again. There are little variations of course. Little changes. Sometimes she remembers more, sometimes I tell her everything right away. I try not to come across as belittling. I try to be kind.

I’ve had similar days before. Where a client asks again and again and again, conversations playing on a maddening loop, but today is different. Never once have I felt irritation. Just quiet patience.

She looks at me and I see the tape rewind. “...Please, tell me. I think…something terrible has happened, hasn’t it? To my husband? He’s passed away, hasn’t he?”

I give a nod. “He has…but you don’t need to worry about anything, Barbara. Your family has taken care of all the arrangements and made sure his brother knows. I’ll be here with you all day so if you need anything, you just ask, alright? Can I get you some water, maybe a little pizza?”

This repeats, as it has for hours, and my patience never wanes.

They’re planning on sticking her into a nursing home. Taking her money for themselves. I tell her none of this. It would do no good and I can change nothing. I simply try to give her the kindness she deserves.

She was a model once. Beautiful. Lively. She still carries that elegance now. I see it in the way she moves, in her long, flowing hair, in the gentle, posh way she talks as she offers me something to eat yet again.

I accept this time, and I talk her into eating with me. I hate eating alone. It feels so rude. Would you share a bite with me?

Friends come to visit. They sit in the living room and talk, and for very brief moments, the loop halts. She has different thoughts. But it always comes back to him.

“...I think…my husband has passed away, hasn’t he? Oh dear, I need to get in touch with his brother. He’s not from here, you know.”

I know, Barbara. I know.

Friends leave and the house gets quiet, aside from the loop. It’s just past seven when she tells me, “I’m tired, I think I’d like to go to bed.”

I follow her. I help her change.

“Will you lay with me?” She asks. “I don’t want to be alone.”

I oblige. We lay atop the covers and stare at the ceiling above. For the first time all day, the loop truly goes away.

“...It’s frightening, you know? I can…I can feel something is wrong. I know I’m forgetting things. But I have no control over my own mind. I feel lost. Alone. I’ve never felt this way before.”

There are no right words, but I try anyway. “I know, Barbara. I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how frightening that has to be. I’ve seen other people who struggle the way you do and…I know I can’t do anything to help, but I try to make the day as easy as I can for them. For you.”

She tells me thank you. She felt safe with me. Like she can trust me, even if she couldn’t remember me.

I tell her thank you. That I’m glad.

An hour flies by before I know it and I hear the front door. Shift change is here. A woman comes barging in and comes to greet us.

I wish Barbara good night and I go to gather my things. She thanks me again. As I’m gathering my bag, I hear the loop begin again.

“...I’m sorry, I feel I’m forgetting something…Did…Did something happen with my husband?”

“Yes, Barbara. He’s dead. I’m the one who found him, remember? It was two nights ago. We’ve been through this.” An irritated voice retorts. My heart breaks. Not for her, but for Barbara. That quiet patience is gone.

One day. That’s all I could give. Tomorrow someone else would work with her, and I would never see her again.

I walk out the door and get into my car. I sit behind the wheel. I should cry, shouldn’t I? I want to cry. I really want to cry.

But instead I put my car in reverse and I drive. I make it home in silence, pulling into a dark driveway.

Inside my dog greets me. My Gramma as well. I look her in the eye, and fuck, I want to cry.

We sit down and I tell her about the loop. About eleven straight hours of the same routine. Same questions. About the one hour at the end that hurt the most. Her fear. Her anxiety. That feeling of being lost.

She tells me sometimes, that’s just how it goes. I did the best I could. She gives me a hug and I go to my room. And I cry.

And as I go through life, I hold that story deep inside. I don’t breathe a word. One of four stories that just can’t be heard. Who could I burden? Make feel that hurt? No one close to me, that’s for sure.

So I keep the story to myself until one day I decide to sit down and write.