Bruce, the longest living resident of the Mansion died Tuesday.

At the Mansion, every man and woman is followed by a shadow, his or her own death. For every person, there is a reflection, a face mirrored into ground and memory. What haunts them sometimes follows them and becomes their companion. When Red and I came into the Mansion this afternoon, we both sensed that something had happened.

It was not difficult to see. People were sobbing, there was a deep and pervasive silence as thick as a fog.

Kelly and Logan, two of the most devoted staffers, workers on the night shift, were both in tears hugging one another. It is always a surprise and revelation to me to see every day how attached the Mansion staffers are to the residents, how hard they root for them, how deeply they feel their suffering and pain.

Care givers for the elderly in nursing homes and assisted care facilities  are notoriously underpaid, they work long hours in difficult conditions, yet they seem to be angels, I see them hugging and helping and laughing with the residents all the time, they seem to go up and down with them, empathy is not a concept for them, it is their life and work.

Death goes cast a shadow, and I saw it in their faces. On the way in, a staffer who looked stricken told me that Bruce had died, he had been living there for ten years. He was gentle and kind and courteous, he knew everyone and greeted everyone, and was unfailingly polite. I most often saw him sitting on a bench out on the grounds behind the main building.

We didn’t talk much and he didn’t need much, he was quiet and uncomplaining. “We need Red,” said Kelly, but first, I said, you need Red, and he sat with Logan and Kelly for a while while they hugged him and stroked him. Red is there for the staff as much as anyone, and they need him as much or more than anyone.

I am always touched by the comfort a dog like  Red can give people in pain.

“We need you both, everyone is very upset.”  But they especially needed Red.

One staffer had to go home, she was so affected and everyone had red eyes. The residents were just beginning to get and grasp the news, everyone knew Bruce and loved Bruce. Death has a particular meaning at the Mansion, it is felt by everyone. it is not something you read in the paper or online, it is right next door, the suddenly  empty seat in the dining room.

We went to the Activity Room and saw Jean and Barbara and Madeline, then we went down to see Art and we prayed together for Bruce and then we went to see Peggie who had asked for us, she just got back from the hospital, her back was hurting her. She threw her arms around Red and showed me a new dog stuffed animal someone from the blog had sent her.

“Did you hear about  Bruce?,” she asked, looked crushed. Peggie is the most outgoing person in the Mansion, she never looks crushed. She and I joke about it, she has the best smile in the Mansion. But no smile today.

Sylvie was waiting in the hallway for Red and I, we talked about Bruce. “A nice, nice, man,” she said.  She shook her head. She wanted to go to the memorial service, she said. His death was like a cold wind, it was blowing through the Mansion, everyone seemed quiet, reflective, down. There will be a memorial service for him, and the Mansion is putting a plaque on the bench where he always sat.

It felt especially good to be at the Mansion today, we were needed, and that always feels good. Red did his work with special focus and intensity, it was a wonderful thing to see. I think the Mansion residents would love to get some letters from you, they see you as family now, and they have just lost one of their own family.

I visited with Red and every staff member who wanted to see him, they all said what a tough day it was, and I thought of the roller coaster of emotions their work is, death and suffering is not a stranger to them. They had all been crying. How hard it must be to do hours of caretaking and cheering when your own heart is heavy.

All I could think of to do for them was to order a pizza for them so that they didn’t have to cook their own food. They can, of course, take care of themselves, they do it all the time, they see this all the time. At least they’ll have something to eat.

Bruce had been at the Mansion longer than anyone, and he loved being there. He had a special meaning for the staff, he was the memory of the place in some ways. Ten years is a very long time to be there.

I talked to Bruce a few times, Red and I sometimes sat with him on the bench,  I did not see  him that often or know him that well. I know he was much-loved and was a good and kind man. I am careful not to take in the suffering and loss I see, it would make my work impossible, but the sadness in the Mansion was permeable, it seeped through and into my own consciousness.

I do know he got your letters, I often saw him reading them on the bench.

I was happy to be there, it mattered. A number of the residents asked for Red, or even for me.

All you can really do is talk to people and listen to them. It does matter.

When I left, they were trading stories of Bruce and trying to figure out which of the residents most needed a hug and some company. I told them the people downstairs, where Bruce lived,  were in a bad way, but they already knew. I think we need to go back tomorrow.

I think they would love some letters or messages. The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge. N.Y., 12816. Winnie, Jean, Ellen, Mary, Gerry, Sylvie, Jane, Diane, Alice, Jean, Madeline, Joan, Allan, Bill, John K., Helen, Connie, Robert, Shirley, Alanna, Barbara, Peggie, Dorothy, Tim, Arthur, Guerda, Brenda, John Z.