Harold
This is another character sketch of one of the people at the nursing home where my mother lives. I wrote about Vivian in an earlier post.
Harold
I've seen him many times, but I have only heard him say three words: "hey," "here," and "yes." When he does say them, it is always with a very soft voice, barely audible. He smiles and laughs readily though. He has a sweetness about him, an aura of kindness if you will.
Most days, he is properly dressed with his silver hair neatly combed and in place. This particular day is apparently not going as well for him as usual, though. His hair doesn't look as clean as it might, and it is sticking up in odd places. Although he is wearing pants, he is wearing a pajama top instead of a shirt. It is buttoned up crookedly--the wrong holes with the wrong buttons so that there is an extra button sticking up by his neck with no hole to match it. He looks disheveled and uncomfortable.
He is confined to a wheelchair, but even though sitting down, it is evident that he is a fairly tall man. He wears glasses that are sliding part way down his nose. Bushy silver eyebrows stick out wildly over the wire rims. His eyes hold sadness and uncertainty, but they also still hold a small glint of joy and spirit. I imagine that he has had many days of happiness in his life because he smiles so easily. He often looks puzzled as if he is wondering what has happened, how he got to be where he is, and why.
"Hey," he says softly and points at the man next to him. The man next to him is leaning over to one side in his wheelchair, his arm is resting on the table in front of him, and the sleeve of his shirt is getting in the mashed potatoes on his plate. He is falling asleep.
"Hey," Harold says again as he looks at one of the aides walking by and points once more at the man next to him.
The aide stops and says, "Hey, Dan, you need to wake up and eat. It's lunchtime."
She gently touches Dan's shoulder. He opens his eyes and looks at her with a blank look on his face. She wipes the potatoes from his sleeve and moves his arm back to the armrest of his wheelchair. She helps him sit up a little straighter, and he slowly reaches for a fork from the table.
"Thanks, Harold," the aide says.
"Yes," Harold replies.
The aide pulls up a chair and sits down between the two men.
"How's lunch today, Harold? Is it good?"
"Here," Harold says pointing at his plate.
The aide takes Harold's fork from the table and spears a green bean on his plate for him. She tries to feed it to Harold, but he keeps his mouth closed and pulls back a little as if he doesn't want it.
"Don't you like green beans?" she asks.
"Here," he says again. This time pointing at his mashed potatoes. The aide scoops up a bite of mashed potatoes on the fork. Harold opens his mouth for the bite.
She gets another mouthful onto the fork for him and then hands him the fork. "You try it now, Harold."
He takes the fork from her hand and feeds himself the bite of potatoes. He takes a few more bites on his own, and then scrapes his fork a few times on the plate. There are still potatoes there, but he is scraping a part of the plate that is empty. He sets his fork down and looks aimlessly around the room as if he suddenly forgets why he is there. The aide is helping the sleepy man on the other side and doesn't notice that Harold has stopped eating.
"Don't you want to eat some more potatoes, Harold?" I say.
He looks at me and smiles.
"Here," he says to me and nudges his plate slightly in my direction as if offering his food to me.
I smile back at him and say, "Thanks, Harold, but that's your lunch. That food is for you. I'll eat later."
He looks puzzled again and looks down at his plate as if he hadn't seen it sitting there before.
"Here," he says to the aide next to him and points at his plate.
She pauses in feeding the sleepy man and repeats the process of feeding Harold a bite, putting another bite on the fork, and then handing him the fork.
"You try it now, Harold." she says.
Harold begins to eat again on his own. It is as if he can't focus for more than a minute or two and needs to be constantly reminded to continue eating. The aide jump starts him several more times during the meal by picking up the fork that he has set down and getting him started on eating again.
Harold notices that there is a large brownie on a little plate next to his lunch plate. He points to it and looks at the aide with a question in his eyes.
"Yes, that's yours," she says.
He picks it up, but the brownie breaks, and half of it falls back to the plate. He takes a bite off the part in his hand. There is chocolate frosting on it which he gets all over his fingers as he tries to hold onto the crumbling cake. He doesn't seem to mind and licks his fingers rather noisily. The brownie holds his interest long enough for him to finish the whole thing. Chocolate crumbs are left across the table in front of him and in his lap, but I can tell he really likes the taste of the brownie.
Someone at the next table over starts to cough, choking a little on something she has eaten.
"Hey," Harold says pointing at the lady who is coughing.
"She's OK," the aide tells him.
He watches the woman for a while even after she quits coughing as if to make sure she is going to be all right. It surprises me how much concern he shows for the others around him and how he tries to look out for them. Even though he himself needs much attention and care, he still is very willing to try to help others who are in need.
He has eaten most of his food and once again sets down his fork.
"Are you done eating, Harold? Are you getting full?" the aide asks him.
"Yes," Harold answers softly.
The aide takes the napkin from his lap and wipes a bit of chocolate frosting off his chin. She releases the brakes on his wheelchair and wheels him back away from the table and out of the dining room.
Most days, he is properly dressed with his silver hair neatly combed and in place. This particular day is apparently not going as well for him as usual, though. His hair doesn't look as clean as it might, and it is sticking up in odd places. Although he is wearing pants, he is wearing a pajama top instead of a shirt. It is buttoned up crookedly--the wrong holes with the wrong buttons so that there is an extra button sticking up by his neck with no hole to match it. He looks disheveled and uncomfortable.
He is confined to a wheelchair, but even though sitting down, it is evident that he is a fairly tall man. He wears glasses that are sliding part way down his nose. Bushy silver eyebrows stick out wildly over the wire rims. His eyes hold sadness and uncertainty, but they also still hold a small glint of joy and spirit. I imagine that he has had many days of happiness in his life because he smiles so easily. He often looks puzzled as if he is wondering what has happened, how he got to be where he is, and why.
"Hey," he says softly and points at the man next to him. The man next to him is leaning over to one side in his wheelchair, his arm is resting on the table in front of him, and the sleeve of his shirt is getting in the mashed potatoes on his plate. He is falling asleep.
"Hey," Harold says again as he looks at one of the aides walking by and points once more at the man next to him.
The aide stops and says, "Hey, Dan, you need to wake up and eat. It's lunchtime."
She gently touches Dan's shoulder. He opens his eyes and looks at her with a blank look on his face. She wipes the potatoes from his sleeve and moves his arm back to the armrest of his wheelchair. She helps him sit up a little straighter, and he slowly reaches for a fork from the table.
"Thanks, Harold," the aide says.
"Yes," Harold replies.
The aide pulls up a chair and sits down between the two men.
"How's lunch today, Harold? Is it good?"
"Here," Harold says pointing at his plate.
The aide takes Harold's fork from the table and spears a green bean on his plate for him. She tries to feed it to Harold, but he keeps his mouth closed and pulls back a little as if he doesn't want it.
"Don't you like green beans?" she asks.
"Here," he says again. This time pointing at his mashed potatoes. The aide scoops up a bite of mashed potatoes on the fork. Harold opens his mouth for the bite.
She gets another mouthful onto the fork for him and then hands him the fork. "You try it now, Harold."
He takes the fork from her hand and feeds himself the bite of potatoes. He takes a few more bites on his own, and then scrapes his fork a few times on the plate. There are still potatoes there, but he is scraping a part of the plate that is empty. He sets his fork down and looks aimlessly around the room as if he suddenly forgets why he is there. The aide is helping the sleepy man on the other side and doesn't notice that Harold has stopped eating.
"Don't you want to eat some more potatoes, Harold?" I say.
He looks at me and smiles.
"Here," he says to me and nudges his plate slightly in my direction as if offering his food to me.
I smile back at him and say, "Thanks, Harold, but that's your lunch. That food is for you. I'll eat later."
He looks puzzled again and looks down at his plate as if he hadn't seen it sitting there before.
"Here," he says to the aide next to him and points at his plate.
She pauses in feeding the sleepy man and repeats the process of feeding Harold a bite, putting another bite on the fork, and then handing him the fork.
"You try it now, Harold." she says.
Harold begins to eat again on his own. It is as if he can't focus for more than a minute or two and needs to be constantly reminded to continue eating. The aide jump starts him several more times during the meal by picking up the fork that he has set down and getting him started on eating again.
Harold notices that there is a large brownie on a little plate next to his lunch plate. He points to it and looks at the aide with a question in his eyes.
"Yes, that's yours," she says.
He picks it up, but the brownie breaks, and half of it falls back to the plate. He takes a bite off the part in his hand. There is chocolate frosting on it which he gets all over his fingers as he tries to hold onto the crumbling cake. He doesn't seem to mind and licks his fingers rather noisily. The brownie holds his interest long enough for him to finish the whole thing. Chocolate crumbs are left across the table in front of him and in his lap, but I can tell he really likes the taste of the brownie.
Someone at the next table over starts to cough, choking a little on something she has eaten.
"Hey," Harold says pointing at the lady who is coughing.
"She's OK," the aide tells him.
He watches the woman for a while even after she quits coughing as if to make sure she is going to be all right. It surprises me how much concern he shows for the others around him and how he tries to look out for them. Even though he himself needs much attention and care, he still is very willing to try to help others who are in need.
He has eaten most of his food and once again sets down his fork.
"Are you done eating, Harold? Are you getting full?" the aide asks him.
"Yes," Harold answers softly.
The aide takes the napkin from his lap and wipes a bit of chocolate frosting off his chin. She releases the brakes on his wheelchair and wheels him back away from the table and out of the dining room.
