Storytime

Just Being There

She sat across from me, arms and legs crossed, head slightly raised and turned away.

I, an 80-year-old woman with limited mobility, had come to speak to her about something that had been bothering me. Her task was simple: figure out where the pain truly lay.

She was uncomfortable. She knew she didn’t have much time and just wanted to get through what needed to be done. And that all within the limited time she had as a caregiver. She spoke nearly the entire time. She kept talking, offering solutions, working hard. She was doing her best to fix everything. She didn't ask a lot of questions. 

After a while, we stopped the exercise. We talked about how it had gone. "Not great!" was her honest response. I suggested she try something different: to sit back more relaxed, to stay silent, and simply listen. To ask questions only when necessary. She didn’t seem convinced that it would work.

Close By

It was after the case discussion. We had talked through the role, what the person sitting across from me wanted to learn, and then we were ready to begin.

I stood up and walked towards the participant. I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, close. Almost too close. The air in the room seemed to shift before a word was even spoken. The tension was thick, palpable. The irritation, the discomfort, and the effect of my mere presence in that space were all overwhelming.

Then, a sharp voice broke the silence.

"Time-out," the participant said, her voice tight. "I want this to stop. I don’t want you standing so close!"

I took a step back, but we didn’t just leave it there...

The bigger picture

It was a quiet afternoon at the library. An older man sat hunched over, absorbed in a magazine. The librarian, a woman in her forties, noticed him but found it odd that he hadn’t responded when she called out. She raised her voice a bit, but still, no reaction. Her brow furrowed slightly, perhaps in frustration, and she walked over to him, giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder. The man startled awake, his eyes wide with surprise. He had dozed off, clearly unaware of the passing time. She smiled faintly, relieved but a bit concerned, and said she just wanted to make sure he was okay. “Don’t worry about me,” he replied calmly, brushing off her concern with a soft laugh. “I’m fine.” Behind me, another librarian stood watching the interaction. We both saw it unfold, and I couldn’t help but smile, relieved to see that the man was just sleeping. I whispered to the other librarian, “I’m glad he was just napping.” But her expression changed as she shared something with me that caught me off guard...