as i walked along the sidewalk, they stood as soldiers bright and cheerful guards of the state hospital entrance. a benign sense of comfort for me, but not attainable for those who resided on my daughter's ward. the place is so large it has it's own zip code. it has a history that dates itself above the brass-handled door as the year my Mother was born. each time i took a deep breath as i opened that door and rode the elevator to her ward. she was there for 3 weeks. it's 3 weeks that i can write about for months. i will start here, with a comment I just left on my own blog.
"One day, when I met a man at the institution, he told me about his love of gardening. It was March of 2006. The windows on the ward floor were even with the trees in full pink bloom. The sun came streaming in a window, and he remarked how beautiful it was. I sat with him as he told me his life story. He told me he wished he could feel soil, and plant flowers, how he longed for gardening. The next day, I brought in a planter of blooming petite daffodils, soil in the pot--all of it. I walked in, and motioned with my hand to come over and look. I set the planter on the counter. He leaned down, and smelled the flowers, and he touched them. He looked at me and said, "They are perfect."It was a day I will never forget, in my entire life. When my daughter and I went into the underground tunnels and up the cold cement steps to the outdoor area, we played basketball. The first thing she did, was hug a tree. Seriously.I do not know why,our society does not take this more seriously. Dignity and humane treatment for those who are fragile is so simple isn't it? If only, if only."
"One day, when I met a man at the institution, he told me about his love of gardening. It was March of 2006. The windows on the ward floor were even with the trees in full pink bloom. The sun came streaming in a window, and he remarked how beautiful it was. I sat with him as he told me his life story. He told me he wished he could feel soil, and plant flowers, how he longed for gardening. The next day, I brought in a planter of blooming petite daffodils, soil in the pot--all of it. I walked in, and motioned with my hand to come over and look. I set the planter on the counter. He leaned down, and smelled the flowers, and he touched them. He looked at me and said, "They are perfect."It was a day I will never forget, in my entire life. When my daughter and I went into the underground tunnels and up the cold cement steps to the outdoor area, we played basketball. The first thing she did, was hug a tree. Seriously.I do not know why,our society does not take this more seriously. Dignity and humane treatment for those who are fragile is so simple isn't it? If only, if only."
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