6 December 2012
I can't explain it, But when you enter the home you can feel it.
Death doesn't hide there, Something my young mortal mind can't seem to fathom, but the elderly understand it.
In there it's like a theatre, and each character is waiting for their final call. Whilst more join the plot as it goes on.
Depression and hopelessness hang heavy there, penetrating and burying deep inside of you.
It brings past or recent pain up front pulling at your mind, screwing with your heart, and leaving your soul crying, weeping for more.
At first I thought it was me, something I couldn't comprehend, but then I realised it was the echoes of pain I felt from them, the care home residents.
The residents can see the scenes of the past play out before their eyes picture perfectly like a hidden screen in their mind, something only they can see, but the rest of us just hear/see it in writing or speech. And though they try not to show it, you can see the sadness in their eyes as they realise those days have gone by.
I work at an old people's home on Thursday nights, And because of the season winter the whole home know and feel some of them might not make it to see spring next year.
At The Care Home • Opuss № I