Today was hard on me. I went up to Mary again, who told me about the night my granda died. It's been almost four years, but I'm still not over it. I don't think I ever will be.
I sound like such a fool, but I keep getting reminders of him. I should expect that, but today I was assigned to rooms 23 - 25. He was in 25.
I miss him a lot more than many people would realise. An awful lot more. Despite the fact he didn't remember us that much, he was still my granda, and he was always there for me.
Enough melancholy. Yesterday I was assigned to a woman, Rita. She's been in the home for two weeks, but is depressed. I spent a few minutes with her, and she ended up coming out of her room and spending time with everyone else.
It's been a long day, with some pleasant and unpleasant memories.
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I hope it gets better for you. I think you're right about never getting over the ones we love; my Dad died over (OMG) 23 years ago and there isn't a day that goes by I wish he wasn't here. Strangely the absence eventually becomes a presence...
Poor Rita. The first week or so was probably easier, for adjusting to all the new things, and now that it's all settled down, there's time to be sad over the change? I'm glad you could do her some good!
Good luck with the coming week; I hope it's an easy one for you.
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