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IN YOUR PRIME
Sunshine
(The narrative that follows speaks to: 1) instances of abuse and neglect in longtime care residences 2) and there is news value to the plight of this ‘forgotten’ Ward of the State of Georgia.)
I tell you my life story from inside a locked ward of this here nursing home in Georgia. We’re down in the basement of a place you wouldn’t want to be.
They say I’m locked-up ‘cause I got the Alzheimer’s, only you be my judge.
You call me Roslyn, and you need to know I’m blind and I’m old. I’m not in this wheelchair by choice; I’m 82 years and not going to get any younger.
I wasn’t always sightless. I earned my living taking care of white folks places, and minding children. Later, I washed dishes here and there. I never married, never had children and just outlived all my folks, which you should never do.
That’s how I came to be alone, poor and blind: but that’s enough about hard times. Let me talk about my sunshine: her name is Paula Kay Beville, only she gets cranky if you don’t call her by her initials, P.K.
She found me couple years back; I was alone, all soiled, cold to the bone, and yelling like some blind fool. No one in this sorry place would come near me—and that’s one reason I was screaming.
Well, P.K. sat down beside me; she held my hands, and said, “I’ll bet you sing real pretty.”
Next thing, we were doing a duet: Rock of Ages and Faith of Our Fathers Still. Later, I learned Miss P.K. is a psychologist who knows her way around nursing homes.
After a bunch of visits, Miss P.K. made me her “legal person.” Meaning, she’s my guardian: I no longer belong to the State of Georgia. She brings me Fritos chips, peanut butter, candy bars, cans of sardines and the worst homemade pudding I ever tasted. I spit it out and told her, “Don’t you ever cook or make anything again!” Her old man, John, he cooks fine. I asked him to bake me corn bread.
One more thing: when her visits are over, we together sing “You Are My Sunshine.” Miss P.K. calls me her sunshine, which surely shows you this white woman is plumb crazy.
Now, I’m not the easiest of patients. I tell everyone: no more hospitals, ever; plus I won’t allow no doctors to fuss around me and I don’t want no tubes and things sticking inside me. Miss P.K. is okay with all this, so she signed me up with a Hospice. She’s always talking about either needing or wanting “eyes on me.”
What she means is a hospice nurse comes once a week; a nurse’s aide comes three times, a social worker once, and even a chaplain stops by every week. I got all kinds of “eyes on me” these days.
Truth be to tell, I don't think Miss P.K. trust the folks here to properly look after me, and just like I say before, this woman knows her business. She cares for us old folks. This here is how come she started that Second Wind Dreams group.
You must have heard about them. These ladies, and gentlemen, march into nursing homes and make peoples’ dreams come true. Been doing this eight, nine years and today—like right now--they’re spreading smiles around 450 nursing homes. Places you never even heard of.
Lastly, Miss P.K. and I talk about everything, like “Where you gonna go when you die?” I first told her I wasn’t going to die, and then I said I’m some time going to Heaven. “How you know?” she says, and I say right back: “Just cause.”
Some folks, if they wanted, could say I deserve to be in Heaven because I suffered enough during this life. Being a State Ward, and having most everything stolen from me inside the nursing home. I don’t see it that way, so when Miss P.K. makes ready to leave she always say: “See you next time, Sunshine.”
I always answer, “Okey dokey.” Like a person named Sunshine should say.
(Founder and CEO P.K. Beville, Ph.D., of
Second Wind Dreams of Alpharetta, GA 30004, can be reached at (678) 624-0500. Currently, she is putting money aside in the event her ward does indeed die, Roslyn thereafter will receive a proper funeral service and burial, “one befitting a woman of Roslyn’s dignity and in keeping with her contributions to her fellow man.”)
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Outrageous Associations
