The New Year (which is now 9% behind us) is typically an opportunity to look ahead and plan for the future.  But it can also be a reflective time when people and events in the past bubble up to the surface, revisiting memories, and, perhaps, some "I wonder what ever happened to..." musings.

During 2013, Still Waters provided care for 54 individuals.  A handful passed through our doors quickly, but most were with us long enough to make a lasting impression on staff and volunteers.  During that same 12 month time span, we also said good-bye to 29 guests.  Invariably, those good byes ranged from sweet and happy - Colleen and her daughter moved to Florida to be close to family - to abrupt and sad - Fred went into a sudden decline from which he wasn't expect to recover; Mary passed away just hours after going home for the weekend.  But, in many cases, family members and our staff decided that the guest was in need of a higher level of care.

Each good-bye takes a toll on our staff and volunteers.  They are a caring, devoted bunch and truly see their work as ministry.  Often, I will be asked, "Do you ever hear from ___?"  Or, "Do you know what ever happened to ___?"  In most cases, I have to answer, "Sorry, I don't know." 

In reality, once a guest no longer attends the Center, no matter how much we connected with their family, once it's over, well, it's over.  In this business, people move on.  I get it.  I always remind myself that the families we serve are working very hard and struggling every day to care for their loved ones.  Once a decision has been made (through planning or by a sudden turn of events), there is no room for sentimental attachment to the people or places that are now in the past. 

I often think about my own experience as a caregiver more than 20 years ago.  My mother lived in what was one of the very earliest Assisted Living facilities back in my Illinois hometown.  I was the only child, living 200 miles away, with two young children, and a full-time job.  As her dementia and health problems progressed, I often used the facility administrator, Alan, as my confidant.  He was always ready to offer support, validation, and listen to me express the frustration, guilt, and resentment that my mom's situation generated.  He was a wonderful resource and friend.  But once my mother moved to a nursing home here in Indianapolis, I never talked to Alan again.  I moved on. 

Alan and his staff loved my mom.  They cared for her and about her, enjoying all the quirks of her personality that drove me crazy.  At the time, I thought Alan and his staff were super-heroes.  Now I realize that they were simply caring, competent professionals.  It's much easier to have that calm demeanor when you are trained to care for older adults with dementia and chronic health conditions, and when it's not YOUR mother.  But, as "outsiders" we need to understand our role and be able to let go when our guests and their families move on.  I like to think that I honor Alan best by being a competent, caring professional here at Still Waters.