I remember the first time I held someone’s hand as they died. I had only been working as a nursing assistant at Edgewood Memory Care for a little over a month, and in that time had spent quite a bit of time with Eleanor. Eleanor had late-stage dementia and had a very low tolerance for activities of daily living. Including fighting staff during all care, including eating, bathing, dressing, etc. Despite her normal fight, somehow she tolerated me, and most evenings I was assigned to her hallway so I could be the one to get her ready for bed and tuck her in. Eleanor was a devout Catholic and, despite her dementia, would recite the Rosary every night. Even after she no longer had the words, she still had the repetitive motions of going bead over bead.

One week, we noticed that Eleanor had become more and more somnolent, and our head nurse called in her son to come visit. While Eleanor’s son and daughter-in-law sat at her bedside, I came in to get her ready for bed, and they told me all about the faithful life that Eleanor had lived for 96 years. Her son described her as a tough woman who had a hard life but loved God in everything she did. After I chatted with them for a little more, I left to get my other residents ready for bed. A while later, Eleanor’s daughter-in-law came out to get me. In tears, she said, “Eleanor told us she loved us; I think that’s the first time she’s ever said that to Tom.” In her last breaths, Eleanor repeated “I love you” over and over, something her family rarely heard but always knew to be true in her actions. May we all love as deeply, devoutly, and imperfectly as Eleanor with our thoughts, words, deeds, actions, and bodies.