(every) day

(Every) Day at ‘The Home’

I have wondered for many years what event prompts decay of people as they age; it’s as if their soul departs, leaving only a withered body and fading shadow of what was once a vibrant spirit. Favourite relatives can no longer remember your name, and do not even lift their eyes from the floor as they brood inwardly over some unknown subject. Although once eager to seep in each detail of interest, they now fall into troubled sleep. A sharp memory no longer recalls words communicated the previous minute.
And I have found that the truth lies not in the loss of memory, but in a sense of detachment from the present time, the loss of inseparable companions and ultimately the will to live. And one event above all others summons this change: their removal to a nursing home, or some other ‘care’ centre. I find those very adjectives faintly ironic, as the very atmosphere is one that banishes all energy and resolve from the patient’s heart. Existence in ...