Search Results for: Madeline

Towards the end of March 2020, just after we raised enough money for an industrial-grade disinfectant fogger for the Mansion (and for Bishop Maginn), the Mansion went into quarantine and stayed there until last week.

It was a hard year for everyone and especially challenging for vulnerable people on the edge of life, dependent on others for their most basic care and survival.

According to the government, Covid-19 had claimed the lives of 100,000 long-term care residents and staff as of November 24, 2020. The disease our President claimed was not nearly as bad as the flu was devastating one nursing home and assisted care facility after another.

It was an absolute nightmare.

I was told I couldn’t go inside any longer and that the residents would have to be isolated from one another. The resident’s families couldn’t visit; they could no longer go outside or on outings.

They had to spend hours and hours alone in their rooms for days at a time.

Therapy dogs were no longer permitted, with or without their handlers.

The staff and management were almost instantly swamped and terrified by the horrific stories of elder care facilities.

The steady stream of communications I was used to stopping almost immediately. I understood. Things were bad, terrible.

Life turned upside for the residents, and for me, a volunteer used to visiting frequently. I knew all the residents, laughed and joked with them, knew their needs and wants, got shoes, bras, soap, deodorant, crafts, and arts, got them on boat rides.

I knew the aides. Also, we knew one another and worked together.

Much of that stopped.

The Mansion staff was almost instantly on a kind of emergency/war footing.

Everything inside changed – where people sat, ate, how they interacted and communicated, how every surface needed to be scrubbed several times a day. Masks had to be worn, staffers and residents tasted; nothing was permitted into the building that couldn’t be tested.

Week after week, the aides grew weary, worked long hours, felt helpless. The residents got depressed, sluggish, some lost focus, and cognitive sharpness.

The staff exhausted itself, and many worked round the clock to keep the residents safe. I got frantic messages from the residents wondering where I was, why I didn’t come any longer.

I couldn’t see it, but I heard about it and asked about it.

We could still help – catered meals for a chance of a place, ice cream sundaes, books, music, light shows, Christmas lights all kinds of arts and crafts, and games and music.

Today, I was eager to see what had changed. Almost everything had changed.

I saw trauma victims, weary and battered but very committed people. Some people looked dazed, some pleading.

The aides tell me we in the Army of Good made a difference, but I could sense from their fatigue and worry that the pandemic had taken an enormous toll on everyone, aides and residents and families. There is nothing worse for a caretaker than to be helpless in the face of suffering.

The fates rewarded their hard work. Some people got sick; a few people got the virus early this year,  others died of natural causes. A year is a long time in the Mansion. But the staff should be proud of themselves; They held off the demons.

Everyone is vaccinated now; people are beginning to breathe and settle.

I knew the staff was anxious about the emotional and cognitive tolls the residents’ isolation was taking on them; some talked to me about it.

The residents ate alone for months, spent most of the day alone, and the games and activities had to be radically reduced or canceled. There was no choice.

Only a few masked and distanced people could go anywhere together, be with each other at any time.

Meditation class today

This week I was allowed back in with Zinnia, and I was much touched by the joy and excitement our visit caused.  I was tested, sprayed, and had my temperature taken.

The aides warned me that this year was a serious setback for some residents; they became depressed, sluggish, and experienced dementia. Some died. They ached to see their families, their sons, daughters, and grandchildren. It felt, said one, as if their whole lives had been taken away.

Today, I felt the impact of that year.

I saw it in the aides’ worn faces, in the confusion and anxiety of the residents. I had five residents at my story reading Tuesday – I used to have 15 and five today for my meditation class.

That’s how it needs to be.

Zinnia brought a lot of smiles. Some things felt normal.  Peggy needs sports bras. Claudia wants some sneakers. Nancy wanted cigarettes (sorry, can’t do), Bill got his belt, but needs shoes.

Those who could come – only a few were permitted –  were eager and grateful for my meditation lesson. After breathing and talking, we sat in silence for 10 minutes, interrupted only by aides coming into offer medicine.

Madeline, the most spirited and talkative of the residents I knew, sat silently; I’m not sure she remembered me at all. She loved the puppy Zinnia but didn’t seem to notice her today.

“How are you?” I said. “Did you come to bring me ice cream?” she asked.

We all used to sit in a tight circle in meditation class, holding hands and talking softly to one another, we were all distanced today, it will take some getting used to.

I gave everyone some meditation necklaces; they seemed to love them.

Most of the residents remembered Zinnia and me, and we laughed and talked and told stories about 2021. Some asked for Maria, who they love.

At the end of the session, all of the residents were asleep.

At the end of the meditation, almost everyone but one had drifted into a soft kind of sleep, just what I like to see. Frightened people don’t fall asleep. The one thought I had come to bring food or medicine.

I felt a good measure of guilt. I did what I could during that hard year; we did what we could; I wish I could have done more. It’s a mistake to look back. Guilt is pointless.

There is a lot I can do now.

I’m back reading once a week, meditating once a week. Maria has been asked to resume her art classes, we’re visiting the Mansion together next Tuesday.

Zinnia will visit the residents who want to see her. Almost all of them do.

It’s a different place in many ways. I think it will take some time to get back to normal.

It feels different; it looks different. To get in, The dining room has been moved into the big room, and the residents all eat distanced from one another.

I can see, hear and sense the pain and fear and the meaning of losing a year.

One of the residents told me, “losing a year for us feels like a lifetime.”

I’m thinking of things I can do to help break the spell – meals, outings, boat rides, things to lift their spirits, bring them back to life, and pull their hearts and souls out of this awful year.

There are a number of new people to meet, and some of my friends are gone. I’ll find out more over the next few days and weeks.

My heart goes out to the aides. “It was awful watching them deteriorate week after week,” she said, “we couldn’t do anything about it. It was awful.”

I’m happy to be back. A lot of my own soul lives in that place. I have people to know, trust to earn. Right now, many of them are wary of the world.

The Mansion residents paid a heavy price for being old.

I hope I never again hear anyone say that the virus was a hoax and there is no need for vaccines.

There is also hope. The days are longer and warmer, and the residents can sit on the porch and take walks again. They are getting ready to plan the garden with the strong summer tools we bought them.

I hope to raise some money for them to go on outings again (Mansion Fund via Paypal, [email protected], via Venmo, [email protected], by check, Mansion Fund, PO. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816).

I’m bringing food gift cards to some of the aides this weekend. I’m going to think about how we can lift some spirits.  Thanks for hanging in there with me, with them, with humanity in a cold world.

Yesterday, I received copies of some beautiful Pen Pal letters that the students at Bishop Maginn High School have been sending to their Pen Pals from around the country.

I cherish hearing the stories from the refugee children at Bishop Maginn, they are so uplifting and hopeful, so full of joy and appreciation.

I wanted to share some of them with you.

If you wish to be a Pen Pal to the students at Bishop Maginn High School, please send a letter to Bishop Maginn Pen Pals, 75 Park Avenue, Albany, N.Y., 12202, or e-mail  Sue Silverstein, [email protected].

“Hi, John. My name is Ploe, I’m in 10 grade. I want to tell you a little about me when I was a kid. Before I came to America, I lived in Thailand. My family was poor and we don’t have a lot of free stuff to do. We just have to work and we have to take care of ourselves.

We have a hard time when I live in Thailand. It was one day I saw other people go to church. I asked my family if I could go to church and learn about God.  God told us what we should do and told us how everyone can change their life and be a good person. When I start going to church I learn more about God every day.

One time I saw other people go to America and I pray and ask God to help my family, maybe we can go to America to live new life there, maybe go to America it can change Chang’s life and I pray and ask God to help every day throughout, and now I pray for God’s help….I want to say one more thing: be strong and don’t be sad one day something will come and help you and help us too. Be strong always and help other people. Love all of you guys..Don’t think that only you have a bad day,  everyone has a bad life and everyone has stuff happen to you. A lot of bad things happen to me. One day you can be better than other people and me and you can be famous and help other people too.

From Pan Young:

Hello, how are you, Madeline? How’s your day going? First off I want to introduce myself and tell you a little about myself if that’s okay. My name s Pan Young, I am a senior at Bishop Maginn High School. I am 17th years old. I came to America six years ago. I came here as a refugee from Malaysia but was born in Myanmar (Burma). I came here with my bigger sister and my mother. My sister and I are 5 years apart, she is 22 years old. Yup, I am the younger one. Do you have any siblings? How old are they? What is your favorite color? Mine is pink, and let me tell you a fun fact, my whole name means the color pink in my language. I know right it’s weird, you might be thinking “who names their child based on a color?” So today let me tell you how I got my name. When I was younger, my mother said that I cried a lot, okay, I lied, I cried almost every and every time my mother was thinking of giving me name the color pink by looking at my face and saw how my puffy cheeks were pinkish from crying all day. So that’s how I got my name. Now, how did you get your name? Who named you? I really like your name, Madeline, it’s a beautiful name and it sounds classy. Alright, I hope you like my little story about my name and a little about myself.

From Jasani:

Dear Cladia. Hi, my name is Jasani. I am seventeen years old, I live with my mom and three little brothers. I am a senior at Bishop Maginn High School. My favorite subject is  science because I would like to be a marine biologist when I graduate. A marine biologist is someone who wants to study the oceans and the animals that live in it and much more. What is your favorite subject? In my spare time, I enjoy spending time listening to music.

What do you like to do in your spare time?

I’ve got a pet Chihuahua. His name is Snowball. he loves to chew up my shoes sadly, lol! Did you have any pets growing up? Things have been very different this year due to Covid-19 so I try to make the best of my time at home by drawing or writing to family members or virtually seeing them. What are some things you do to keep your mind off of Covid? I hope you make the best of your Covid free holidays even though it may be hard with not seeing the ones we love dearly.

You are not alone. I dislike Covid-19 and can’t wait for it to go away so we can all spend time with our families again.

Last night, Julie, the Mansion Activities Director send me a new and current list of Mansion residents who would love to have Pen Pals write to them, including the residents in the Memory Care unit.

” We have had some new ones,” she wrote: Clara, Ellen, Matt, Gerry, Dale, Madeline, Br. Peter, Helen, Georgianna, Georgiann, Nancy, Peggie, Becky, Jean, Gary, Ben, John, Julie T., Ruth, Claudia, Sharon R., Sharon D., Russell, Lorry, Charlie, Joyce, Helen, Tom B., Tom R., Joann, Ron, Carol, Beverly.

All of these residents have asked to join the Pen Pal program. They’ve been in lockdown since March.

Pen pals can e-mail their messages – [email protected] – or mail them to The Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

The residents love stories about your towns and lives, photos of your animals or gardens, or personal notes on any subject. It is a joy to see them read their messages aloud to one another.

Please understand that many of the residents are not able to write back or respond or acknowledge their letters. Some have tremors in their hands, others have sight or heading issues, few of them have stationery and stamps.

I was supplying those when I could come into the Mansion, but I can’t right now. Julie has special procedures for processing paper messages so that they are safe for the residents.

I still haven’t met some of the new residents. I can tell you that they love to get mail. If you have any questions about the program, please e-mail Julie – [email protected].

And thank you, these are hard and lonely days at the Mansion, messages from the outside world are precious.

(Note: This photo was taken before the outbreak of the pandemic and before social distancing.)

For those in the Army Of Good Mansion Pen Pal program or who wish to join, I have a new resident list – residents who wish to get your digital or paper letters and messages.

This is a very successful program, especially during the Covid-19 crisis when the residents are allowed few or no visitors. The residents appreciate it.

You can send messages via Julie, the Activities Director – she’s [email protected] – or by mail to the Mansion, 11 S. Union Avenue, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816.

Postcards, letters, pictures are very welcome. So are Christmas cards.

I should say that some of the residents can and will respond, but many cannot. Please don’t expect instant replies or replies at all.

I can’t tell you whether your messages have been received or not.

I’m not permitted in the Mansion right now, and it isn’t possible to keep track of each message.

Here is the new and updated residents list, these are the residents who hope to get your letters: Clara, Charlie, Lorry, Matt, Gerry, Dale, Madeline, Brother Peter, Helen, Georgianna, Nancy, Peggie, Becky, Jean, Gary, Ben, John, Georgiann Julie Ruth, Claudia, Russell, Charon.

Several of the residents have asked me if it’s possible to get Christmas Cards.

They would love that.

The residents love to know where you live, to see your pets, and to exchange stories. Your messages mean a lot.

The Bishop Maginn graduating class was unlike any other, said Principal Mike Tolan in a very warm and moving speech at his school’s graduating ceremony.

The graduating students got their diplomas in the stately Albany Cathedral, re-constituted to meet every one of the most rigorous CDC coronavirus regulations.

“Many of you came to the school in the ashes of 911,” Tolan said, “and leave with Covid-19. “It is your turn to make a better world.”

The Bishop Maginn senior class was a beautiful thing to see, it touched me deeply.

I have heard the stories of these children, young adults now, who together made up the tapestry that makes America so special.

There were graduates from years of refugee camps, genocides, civil wars, some orphaned, from poor neighborhoods, brown and black and yellow children,  students from white middle-class homes, broken homes, abusive homes, foreign countries.

It was the great American melting pot, proof that diversity works in the most beautiful ways, and why it is our greatness, not our shame.

Almost all of the children were born into crisis, lived through crises, and graduated in a time of turmoil and crisis.

Mike Tolan is a true child of Jesus, not a pretender. Hardly any of these children could pay their tuition or gone to any other private school for the special attention they need.

When they needed a place to go, Bishop Maginn was a refuge they all say they will never forget.

Not one of them was turned away.  I am proud to say we – the AOG –  paid the tuition for more than a dozen, many of them new.

“Go have a beautiful life,” he said at the end of his speech.

Tolan’s school is a place of love. In more than a year of working with these children, none of them experienced a cruel or bigoted or excluded moment at this school.

So many of these children have suffered terror, chaos, death, sickness, even brutal harassment in the public schools they first attended. One of the graduates was hospitalized after a beating in a middle school.

Another had his hair set on fire. Every one of them told me how safe they felt at Bishop Maginn, how much the teachers cared, how free and supported they felt to learn.

I won’t forget a young refugee female from Thailand asking me “why so many people in America hate us now.” You haven’t met the real America yet, I said.

Sue Silverstein loves them all, and she and her classroom are open to them every single day of their lives.

And the true America, the Army of Good,  sent these children food, school supplies, graduation supplies, laptops, microscopes, and a hundred other things.

They got the message, all of you were there with me in that cathedral today, I felt all of you are blessed for what you have done.

The seniors will be fine, they know how to endure and move forward. They just might change our world and bail out the earth.

Principal Tolan talked about how hard this class worked, inside and out. He said it was a common thing for one of them to ask permission to leave school early on some days.

You are, he told the graduates, “a model for the world. If the world could be like our school, it would be a wonderful place.”

Why?, he would ask them. Because we have to get to our jobs, they said.

They are, to me, the heart of America.

Valedictorian Gabe Silverstein-Gilligan gave a beautiful and honest speech about real life in America today, and their very difficult year. He talked about the challenges all of them faced leaving this supportive cocoon.

He talked about Spring this was a rough time, and how an “Army Of Strangers” came to help them.

The names of the graduates were a song of the new America:  Gabriel, Tamia, Anastasia, Olivia, Than, CarolJulia, CarolMaria, Dajenae, Cecelia, Tajenae, Maya, O’Zariah, Blue, Hassani, Christer H, Christer S, Michael, Madeline,  Joshua, June, Eh Thaw, Anthony.

Nobody can stop it or crush it. They are on their way. What a privilege to know and work at this school, a place unlike any other I have seen or known.

The ceremony was really a mirror of the pandemic realities facing them as they graduate. Sue Silverstein followed every CDC guideline to the letter. She spent days making sure every regulation was understood and followed to the letter.

I couldn’t look in any direction without seeing tapes and restrictions and ribbons and guidelines. The huge and beautiful cathedral was a sea of masks.

Maria and I sat in our own pew at the rear of the vast and beautiful Albany Cathedral. We couldn’t come near the students and they couldn’t come near us.

Every senior marched up alone to the front of the building to pick up their awards and diplomas. There were at least six feet of distance from everyone sitting in the pews.

They cheered each other loudly as, one by one, they walked smiling down to the front to get their diplomas, and returned to clapping friends and siblings, and flashing cellphones.

Everyone had to wear masks. Still, the graduates were festive, the cell phones were out in force. Outside, the students posed for their families and friends.

When I got home, there was a message from Mike, a good man I greatly admire, a warrior for love and compassion.

“Jon,” he wrote, “there is never enough ways to say thanks. Let’s resume our Wednesday’s as soon as we can.” Wednesdays are my regular day for visiting Bishop Maginn.

I can’t wait to get back and talk to the new seniors and resume my work. Thanks to you all for helping make this happen.