September 6, 2008 – I knew Marion was a bit blue when Izzy and I came into her room, and she was sitting by her bedside, staring down at the floor.  “Izzy,” she said, “I am very glad to see you. I am a bit in the doldrums today.”
  Like many of the people we visit in nursing homes, Marion is well cared for, but understandably thinks of her family and former life. She talks about her late husband Horace, their life together and her children often. Still, Izzy brings her out of herself. She asked him about our trip to New York, and reveled in stories about his adaptability to New York traffic and noise, wanted to know everything about his performance on camera, and beamed with pride when I told her how well he did, how good he was.
  I bring her biscuits now, and she loves to break them up and give them to Izzy one bit at a time. He hops up on the bed, or on a sofa, and stares, waiting for each bit of biscuit. When we come into the nursing home, and down the long hallways, he goes straight to Marion’s room, and if she isn’t there, he runs down the hallway to find her. He always does.
  Marion loves hearing the Bible read to her, and I read her Psalms 52 and 53, about David. She likes to hear one or two at a time, and the Bible always makes her smile, and grounds her. She talked today about Jesus, and what a plain man he was. Her faith is deep and comforting.
  She talked about her one visit to New York City, years ago, and how she didn’t like. “Too much going on,” she said. And she talked about the day Horace put her daughter Halys’s dog Trooper down, because he went lame. “I followed them halfway to the barn, but I couldn’t go any farther.” She said she couldn’t talk about it.
  Today, for the first time, she offered me a hug when we left, and I was happy to hug her. “I was a bit blue today,” she explained. “I hear from my children every day, but I do miss them, of course, and I miss Horace, my husband. I loved him dearly and I always will.” In  hospice work, I have come to understand better how difficult it must for children of people like Marion.
 I think Marion needs some lilies.