Accomodating

 THE WIFE AND HUSBAND, both in their nineties and both dear friends of mine, live in separate assisted living facilities, across town from each other. He is too healthy to live in her place, she is insufficiently healthy to live in his. Bureaucratic compassion. If I time it right, I can visit with both of them together by showing up when they are visiting each other. She has early stage Alzheimer's , but does, in my opinion, rather well with it. Conversation is no problem, as long as you are willing to listen to the same comments more than once. She often mentions that she forgets things; I always respond by saying that I do too, and that I think most people do. She seems to think that someday she and her husband will go home, will return to their house. I show support for the idea, then mention that her current living arrangement seems very pleasant to me, and that I would be happy living in a room like hers, which I think I would. I missed seeing them both for over a year, during the pandemic, when nobody was allowed to visit assisted living facilities. Finally, when we all had our vaccinations, I could return. It was good to see them after fourteen months; they hadn't changed. They are blessed to have three loving children and a bevy of grand and great grand children; even the ones who live far away come to visit them fairly often. On my most recent visit, their son, himself recently retired, was there as well. A well organized, disciplined military type, he spent much of the time sorting through and rearranging her possessions, which, I got the impression, she has a tendency to misplace and lose track of. For tomorrow's visit to the dentist, he made sure that he took charge of the crown; keeping it in his pocket to make sure it gets back to the dentist. I talked to the old couple in close quarters while the son puttered around her room, and suddenly I noticed that he had taped a hand printed sign to her chest of drawers, which said: PLEASE DO NOT SAVE PACKETS OF SALT, SUGAR, PEPPER, PLASTIC SILVERWARE OR STYROFOAM CUPS FOR US. WE DO NOT WANT THEM OR NEED THEM. YOUR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN. Of course I instantly knew what was gong on. many is the time I had left her room after a nice visit, loaded down with packets of salt and pepper and jelly, and a few forks and spoons to boot. The family's plan, presumably, was to fight her encroaching Alzheimer's tooth and nail, by forcing her to remain in the world of coherent thought. They required her, at doctor's advice, to keep a daily diary, and to write down the name of everyone who visited her. Fair enough. But what, I thought, and think, about her feelings? for all they or anybody knows collecting salt and pepper and sugar packets from her dinner table and giving them out to friends and family means the world to her, is her primary source of joy, is the one thing she looks forward to, her one and only opportunity to still be of use and service to others, to remain valuable and relevant by bestowing small gifts upon those she loves. Tough call, I guess. This is a family which has been together for decades, and quite likely they all know they all love each other, and can speak, even at this late stage, frankly, and practically. But one thing I know for sure; the next time I visit her, if I am the only visitor, and no member of her family is there, and she hands me a bundle of tiny packages, I'm going to accept them with enthusiasm, and on my way out the door, smile, sincerely, gratefully.