(Over a month ago, I wrote a little bit on facebook about Dorothy. Perhaps I am seeming redundant or even pathetic, but this lady meant so much to me that I can't really help myself...)
On one of the fine evenings we had this summer, my dad hooked his team of Belgian draft horses to the wagon, my family piled in, and we set off down the gravel road. Five blissful miles later we were almost home, the sun had set, and the blue of the sky was slowly getting deeper and deeper. I didn't notice the first star begin its nightly shine, but my sister pointed it out: "there's the first star!"
I looked up, glanced over at my other sister, and muttered, "That's the star." As my sister looked at me sympathetically, I let out an "aaaagh!!" a little too loudly, and covered my face with my hand. I sat this way for several minutes, my tears slowly finding their way down my cheeks. In the back of my mind I was thinking, "Erica. Pull yourself together. Your family is wondering what the heck is wrong with you." But even as I willed myself to stop crying, a few more tears would inconveniently swim out my eyes and down my face.
That star. Every time I see that star (or perhaps more correctly - planet?), I will think of Dorothy, one of the residents at the nursing home where I worked. It is the brightest one in the sky, the first one to show itself every evening. It sits off towards the west, which just happens to be the side of Dorothy's room which has a window. One evening, Dorothy put on her call light, and coming into her room, I found that she didn't need anything in particular, but just wanted a little company. I sat down on the edge of her bed, not having much to say, but enjoying a few quiet moments with this lady I had come to love. She asked me to open her curtains, which seemed odd, since most residents ask me to close their curtains at night. I obliged. There was that star, taking all the attention away from all the other stars. As we sat there together in the quiet, Dorothy opened up. "I watch that star rise every night. I pretend it is my husband, Tony." Here she chokes a little. Here I desperately hope none of my coworkers come into her room, as I can feel myself choking up as well. She continues, "I miss him so much. I haven't seen him for so long." I sniffle and say, "Oh, Dorothy, you're making me cry." Of course, her reply is gracious: "I'm sorry honey, I didn't mean to."
Today, Dorothy is with Tony. It was hard to watch her slip away, but at the same time, I was glad for her. Over the past two years, I had watched Dorothy on good days and bad days, happy and sad. She was content, but always read to say goodbye to the full and beautiful life she had lived.
I miss you Dorothy.
