Waiting

 There is beauty and sadness in the waiting.  She sits all alone when I come into the dining room. She's finished with lunch.  It hasn't been cleaned up yet. She's waiting to take her medicine sitting there in front of her. She just waits. She nods off to sleep. Her head down. Her hands gripping her arms in an attempt to keep the warmth from leaving her.  I take this photo because the light is beautiful. And because this is what life with dementia often looks like.  Sitting. Waiting. Alone. 

She's not really alone. I look around the dining room. There are several other patients doing the same thing.  It rips my heart wide open.  What are they thinking about? Are they just waiting for a kind word, a gentle touch, a friendly smile?  Are they waiting for a visit from family? From a familiar face? Or are they just waiting for the escape of sleep to come?  And then their next meal. And their medicines. And pjs. And bedtime. Only to just do it all over again.