It was a dark, cold and rainy day today when Red and I went to the Mansion. We stopped at the Activity Room to say hello, then visited with Barb and Dottie, then we went to see Connie. Her door was open, her air conditioner was running, it was cool and dry and Connie was knitting a cap to go to kidney patients on dialysis at the Albany Medical Center an hour or so away.

It was quiet in the room, and I sensed right away that Connie seemed a bit down. I asked her if she had gotten any letters lately, and she said, no, not for a few days. I think Red sensed her mood too, as he often does and pressed his head close and looked into her eyes. These two are connected.

A staff member told me she was glad we were there, she thought Connie had been down lately.

Connie doesn’t usually talk a lot to me, I like to sit and just let her be with Red, she gets so much pleasure out of it, and so does he. Connie is healing for Red, I can see it. When we do talk, it seems to count. I find that many women, especially older women, are not used to talking openly with men. Makes me sad sometimes, but it is very true.

Today, Connie wanted to talk. She asked how Maria was and I said she was in her studio preparing for the Open House. I told Connie I hope she comes, but I also know that traveling is very difficult for her with her oxygen tanks and tubes and compressors.

For the first time, I asked about her family, and for the first time, she invited me to go and collect the photographs of her family that sat on the room’s radiator cover. I brought three or four over. She talked about her granddaughter and great-granddaughter, about her son and his girlfriends, about her late husband and her much-loved dog Tanner, who she had adopted with a friend “when I was up and about.”

Connie almost never speaks of the past and I was touched and moved by her stories, I hope she comes to my story-telling workshop on Tuesday afternoon. I picked up a stuffed dog with the name “Tanner” inscribed, and Connie said it looked just like the dog she had adopted and loved so much. She kept the stuffed Tanner by her bedside.

I think the gloomy weather brought Connie down, and she explained some of the other reasons to me, although I’m not free to share them. She did speak openly with me, and I was grateful for that, trust takes awhile to build.

She is also having some eye trouble – Styes, she’s been to an eye doctor twice. I think Connie would appreciate getting some letters, you can write her at The Mansion, 11 S. Union Street, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

I left, and then remembered I forgot to hug Connie, so Red and I went back to her room. Somehow, I know the hugs are important to her, and I remembered that a number of the residents had told me they miss being touched. Letters are the equivalent of hugs for them, they are a powerful way for them to be touched by others.

A Mansion staffer said she thought Maria and I and Red had been adopted by Connie, we were family now. I was startled by the idea, but I feel the same way. See you soon, I said, offering a long hug around all of the tubes and tanks. This is a family I wish to be a part of.