Red and I have been visiting Connie for several weeks now, she and I have never really spoken, Red goes right to her and she touches him and holds him and talks to him, there is nothing for me to say. But I have learned in this work to take my time and look deeper, the people I meet reveal themselves over time, and there is always much more than I have seen or recognized.

Connie is mostly confined to her room, she is on oxygen and bends over. I have never really seen her face. Bit by bit, I have begun to talk to her, I tripped on a large can and saw that she is a knitter, she loves to knit. She would love some yarn, she said, when I asked  her.

Then I saw on her table a large stack of mysteries from mostly women mystery writers. I told her I once wrote mysteries myself and she and I talked about the mysteries we both love. Two things I learned about her that I did not know and might not have guessed – it is always wrong to make assumptions about people.

Working with the aged, it is easy to guess what they are about, what they might or might not do. I am often surprised and have learned not to take the time to talk and ask and listen. There are now three ways I can help Connie and connect to her, I can bring Red, bring yarn, bring mysteries.

The dog is a gateway, a path to connection and meaning.

We have the medicines and technology to keep people alive longer than ever, but we have failed to consider how they ought to live, even as they live longer than ever. We push them out of sight and mind and every acknowledgement of their life from the outside is a connection to their souls and hearts, both very much alive and feeling.

In this way, relationships deepen, and I grow even as I see. If you wish to write to Connie, you can do so care of Connie, The Mansion, 11 S. Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.