Just Business − 13 June, 2008
Nathan's uncle died this morning. It came as a shock that it should happen so soon. It had seemed that he had at least another couple of months. He was doing better than he had been in a while.
But what do I know.
They're going to scatter his ashes in the Green River. Which is illegal, but Nathan tells me that that's not going to stop them. I haven't seen any of the family since before Richard died. I almost don't want to. I don't fare well in an atmosphere of grief. That's probably selfish. I don't know.
I'm waiting to see if this will impact me. Whenever a resident dies at the nursing home I always expect to feel a certain way, but I never do. No matter how long I've known them, it's always the same. I'm in their room the next day to paint and to make repairs, and once the new coat goes up and the holes are patched, after the bed is stripped and the closet is emptied, it's as if they were never there at all. And that's exactly how I feel. It's just business. Maybe that's how you have to be, working at a place like this.
But Richard was never a resident. He was a fully functioning member of society, in his fifties, sitting on the porch telling stories about his youth and explaining the correct way to sharpen a knife. Though I didn't know him as well as I did the rest of the family, I still think I should feel something about his passing, instead of the usual "just business" attitude.
I don't know. Death is a strange thing to me.
But what do I know.
They're going to scatter his ashes in the Green River. Which is illegal, but Nathan tells me that that's not going to stop them. I haven't seen any of the family since before Richard died. I almost don't want to. I don't fare well in an atmosphere of grief. That's probably selfish. I don't know.
I'm waiting to see if this will impact me. Whenever a resident dies at the nursing home I always expect to feel a certain way, but I never do. No matter how long I've known them, it's always the same. I'm in their room the next day to paint and to make repairs, and once the new coat goes up and the holes are patched, after the bed is stripped and the closet is emptied, it's as if they were never there at all. And that's exactly how I feel. It's just business. Maybe that's how you have to be, working at a place like this.
But Richard was never a resident. He was a fully functioning member of society, in his fifties, sitting on the porch telling stories about his youth and explaining the correct way to sharpen a knife. Though I didn't know him as well as I did the rest of the family, I still think I should feel something about his passing, instead of the usual "just business" attitude.
I don't know. Death is a strange thing to me.
