I love talking to Joan and listening to her, we are learning how to communicate with one another. We have talked long enough and often enough that I can sort out memory and feeling clearly and reliably. In most conversations, if they go bac a bit in time, Joan will re-create the death of her husband.

It is always the same image. He was sick, claimed to be well, but was not. That is as far as she can do. In most conversations, Joan sees her stay at the Mansion as temporary. She believes she is going home one  day, and packs up all of her things most nights.

Today, she talked about her husband’s death. It seemed the were outside, near water. He fell down.

“He told me that he was all right,” she said. “But he was not all right.” And she shows a motion of dropping to the ground and she shakes her head and is silent for a bit, and sad. I think she has the idea that she might have done more in some way, but she drops it there and goes no farther, and I would not be comfortable pushing her.

She has told me a number of times that her daughter died, but never that she was murdered by a boy friend. One day, that story may come out. I won’t push to hear that either. I’ve seen a newspaper story about it.

Joan tells me what she wants me to know, the rest is not my business. It is interesting to me, though, how much memory can come up if you listen for it, and how well I understand her if I listen long enough. I wonder if she will ever know my name. I doubt it.

Yet there is genuine love and connection there. And sometimes, better communication than with people of full memory. Joan is sweet and loving and generous.

I am grateful for my work in the Mansion, it teaches me so much about how to love and how to feel. You can write Joan c/o the Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. Please do not expect a reply.