The Way You Play It

Life is like a game of cards.  The hand that is dealt you represents determinism; the way you play it is free will.

Jawaharal Nehru,

Former Prime Minister of India

Casually tossing the stack of mail on the seat beside me, I continued on with my day unaware of the personal letter lumped in with the invoices, sales pitches and bank statements which usually await me at the post office.  Later that evening, getting back to business after dinner was served, the table cleared and the dishwasher loaded, I returned to my desk to review my next day’s agenda and sort through the mail I picked up earlier. 

It was only then that I noticed the hand-addressed envelope.  The words it contained were simple and sweet, but powerful enough to settle the unsettled feeling I had been dragging around with me for weeks. 

She teaches me and I really enjoy her company were among the written words, but it was what was written between the lines that made me feel so much better.  Written there, in invisible ink, but large bold-face type, was a message reconfirming there is always meaning and purpose to human life no matter what a causal observer may think. Thank you, Ashley.  I knew it was there, I just needed a short, straight-forward example to wrap my mind around …  She teaches me and I really enjoy her company.

About a month earlier, while making idle chitchat with another visitor at the memory care unit, the woman with whom I was conversing  unexpectedly blurted out, “I would rather take a bullet to the head, than land up like this.” Given that we were in the company of a half dozen dementia patients, her comment was inappropriate and insensitive.  Most would agree, her comment would be inappropriate and insensitive no matter what the setting.  As I gathered my belongings and prepared to quickly move Maggie down the hall, I suggested to Chatty Cathy that nobody wishes to suffer from dementia, and perhaps she should choose her words more carefully.

I confess I don’t have much of a poker face, and although I tried to hide my irritation brought on by the insensitive comment, Maggie picked up on it.  She suffers from advanced dementia and usually doesn’t seem to comprehend most conversations.  Sometimes though, she surprises me with a spot-on interpretation of what is going on around her.  A few minutes passed and as we settled into a quiet corner to watch the birds feed outside the window, she said, “Well, my dad always told me, we’ve got to make the best of it.”  She is fond of common sayings, and I have heard her repeat this one many times before.  Never in such an appropriate situation though.  I wasn’t certain whether she was directing her comment at my mood, or addressing the careless words of the other visitor.    Maybe neither.  I couldn’t be sure.  Just as I did the other times she said this, I replied, “Sometimes, that’s all we can do.”

Copyright 2012 Carol M.W. Bagazinski.  All rights reserved.