themselves, others clutching their canes in silence and staring out over the lawn, contemplating. All eyes move to me as I approach. I return several nods of greeting and small smiles. My gaze sweeps the length of the porch, but I don't see my aunt out here. Ava did mention to me that the part of the building she lives in has its own outdoor space, contained and safe, not open to the road like this.
Once inside, I hesitate by the doors, not having expected to walk into what resembles a vast living room, adorned in an antique style that lends the perception of both comfort and opulence to its furniture, curtains, and carpeting. I wonder how much Ava has to pay for her mother's care here.
It takes me a few seconds to spot the front desk, which is straight ahead but set off to the side, most likely to avoid immediately disrupting the sensation that this building is someone's home. It's home to many, many people.
The fresh-faced receptionist eyes me with interest as I sign in to receive a visitor's badge. "You're a new face. First time here?" she asks.
Her innocent question trips my guilt valve. "Yes, it is."
When I tell her my aunt's name, she smiles warmly and says, "Oh, she's a sweetheart," then directs me down the hall to the right.
I'm surprised she used the word sweetheart in such a genuine way. I'd expect my aunt to be difficult in general, but especially in her condition. Then again, I've yet to really see her since it got bad, I only have Ava's anecdotes to go on and those have painted my aunt in a disturbing light. That's one of the reasons it took me months to come out to visit her. I've been afraid of what it will be like.
Past a heavy set of double doors, which require me to ring a bell and wait to be buzzed in, I reach a section of the building with its own sitting area and yet another desk. Once there, I am directed to my aunt's room.
From the outside, it looks like a hotel room. But when I step inside, the decorative style of the facility falls away to my aunt's own, personal style of decor. The room is reminiscent of what I remember her room to look like in her own home. Frilly bed covers, pictures hanging all over the walls, an assortment of products on her dresser.
My aunt sits in an armchair, facing a wide window, which looks out onto back gardens. She's reading a book and when I tap my knuckles on the doorframe to catch her attention, her gaze swings to me. At first, her brows furrow in confusion, but a slow smile builds on her face and she sets her book down.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, blinking a few times. "I haven't seen you in forever."
I just stare at her. First, I'm struck with the realization my aunt could likely be the youngest resident here. In my trip to her room, I didn't pass a single person, aside from employees, who looked under the age of seventy. My aunt, on the other hand, is in her early fifties, and takes really good care of her appearance. Her face is smoothed out with makeup and her hair is a vibrant strawberry blonde that doesn't show any signs of graying.
Seeing how healthy she looks surprises me. I didn't expect her to appear so put together. Something loosens over my chest, a pressure I didn't realize was there until this very moment. She waves me over and I sit on the edge of her bed, facing her.
"I only have a few minutes," she says, "but I'm so glad you came by. How are you?"
The beginning of her statement strikes me as strange, but I assume there's some scheduled activity for the residents coming up soon.
"I've been really busy with school," I say. "But I wanted to come and check in on you."
Her eyes remain glued to my face as I speak, taking in the details of it in a curious way. The longer I look at her the more I wonder if she even knows who I am.
"I'm glad you did. Tell me, what's new?" she asks, sitting up with interest.
"Well, I'm about to start summer session soon and I've landed an internship at the university,
Once inside, I hesitate by the doors, not having expected to walk into what resembles a vast living room, adorned in an antique style that lends the perception of both comfort and opulence to its furniture, curtains, and carpeting. I wonder how much Ava has to pay for her mother's care here.
It takes me a few seconds to spot the front desk, which is straight ahead but set off to the side, most likely to avoid immediately disrupting the sensation that this building is someone's home. It's home to many, many people.
The fresh-faced receptionist eyes me with interest as I sign in to receive a visitor's badge. "You're a new face. First time here?" she asks.
Her innocent question trips my guilt valve. "Yes, it is."
When I tell her my aunt's name, she smiles warmly and says, "Oh, she's a sweetheart," then directs me down the hall to the right.
I'm surprised she used the word sweetheart in such a genuine way. I'd expect my aunt to be difficult in general, but especially in her condition. Then again, I've yet to really see her since it got bad, I only have Ava's anecdotes to go on and those have painted my aunt in a disturbing light. That's one of the reasons it took me months to come out to visit her. I've been afraid of what it will be like.
Past a heavy set of double doors, which require me to ring a bell and wait to be buzzed in, I reach a section of the building with its own sitting area and yet another desk. Once there, I am directed to my aunt's room.
From the outside, it looks like a hotel room. But when I step inside, the decorative style of the facility falls away to my aunt's own, personal style of decor. The room is reminiscent of what I remember her room to look like in her own home. Frilly bed covers, pictures hanging all over the walls, an assortment of products on her dresser.
My aunt sits in an armchair, facing a wide window, which looks out onto back gardens. She's reading a book and when I tap my knuckles on the doorframe to catch her attention, her gaze swings to me. At first, her brows furrow in confusion, but a slow smile builds on her face and she sets her book down.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, blinking a few times. "I haven't seen you in forever."
I just stare at her. First, I'm struck with the realization my aunt could likely be the youngest resident here. In my trip to her room, I didn't pass a single person, aside from employees, who looked under the age of seventy. My aunt, on the other hand, is in her early fifties, and takes really good care of her appearance. Her face is smoothed out with makeup and her hair is a vibrant strawberry blonde that doesn't show any signs of graying.
Seeing how healthy she looks surprises me. I didn't expect her to appear so put together. Something loosens over my chest, a pressure I didn't realize was there until this very moment. She waves me over and I sit on the edge of her bed, facing her.
"I only have a few minutes," she says, "but I'm so glad you came by. How are you?"
The beginning of her statement strikes me as strange, but I assume there's some scheduled activity for the residents coming up soon.
"I've been really busy with school," I say. "But I wanted to come and check in on you."
Her eyes remain glued to my face as I speak, taking in the details of it in a curious way. The longer I look at her the more I wonder if she even knows who I am.
"I'm glad you did. Tell me, what's new?" she asks, sitting up with interest.
"Well, I'm about to start summer session soon and I've landed an internship at the university,
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