NURSING HOMEARAMA. Linda Mary Montano 2025It happened again for the second time. They almost incarcerated me!!!! Almost kept me!!! Decided that I belonged for good at two local NURSING HOMES!!!! First time, my friend and I were visiting a classmate in the Alzheimers wing of a local endgame facility and after an oy vey ( because sad, wondering, remembering the past) hour there we walked to the triple locked front door to leave. Nope, it wasn’t going to happen. The front desk warden stopped us in our tracks, broke nursing home staff silence, dissuaded us and shouted, "Where are you going!! Stop!! You can't leave. Come back inside!" Guilt monger that I am, I figured the worst, internalizing and hearing my ever-ready inner voice and self-pointing finger wagging at me, convinced that I probably did something bad/wrong/inappropriate/ Catholic confession worthy( only Catholics of a certain age will get this reference). And of course I was right! She got up from her station and followed me, yes ME, NOT MY FRIEND, out of the locked facility and in a learned , " be nice to all patients no matter what voice", trained into her at the most likely no more than 3-hour preparation/intake she probably took to work there, she gently invited me back inside. I responded in kind, that is with a duplicate forced smile, intuitively realizing that I was again being a very bad, BAD GIRL AND WRONG! Hey wait!!! What mistake did I make this time??? Grabbing at my wrist, she looked closely at a cheap, plastic, institution looking bracelet I was wearing which, to her, was giving off clues/signals/prompts/messages and intimations of my belonging there, with her and the hundreds of other bed-bound/chair-bound/permanently sleeping elders on FLOOR D!! Oy! Didn't they also have plastic wrist bracelets just like mine? A seeker of synchronicity I began feeling spooked. But I was spared returning inside because the front door guardian of the HOME OF NO MEMORIES, THE HOUSE OF NO RETURN signaled her mistake indicating that I was OK, that my bracelet was just high fashion and that I was someone who still remembered, someone who just VISITED my compromised classmate, someone who might end up there but not NOW! So THAT is the story of the first time that I was almost mistakenly institutionalized. ( Does being a nun for two years, living in silence count as institutionalization?)Second time, some years later, me with even whiter hair and deeper etched life-lines on my face, me with what is called full body creepy or is it crepy skin, almost got another invitation to be included in that population and because I was giving off more serious and obvious aging clues, this almost incarceration is a little less upsetting. And hadn't I been asking for it? The aura of, thoughts of, wondering about nursing homes was in my vibrational frequency having recently researched the two elder friendly(children, animals, gardening) run places about 2 hours away. Armed with the realization that taking care of a two story family home was daunting, armed with out of control lawn mowing and snow plowing, I was SERIOUSLY flirting with the probable possibility of my going to at least one of these more likeable ones and positive possibilities were hard to disregard at my age, 83. Let's list a few positives: 1. questionable and highly processed meals provided, so that I would never have to go to PRICE CHOPPER ever again; 2. all heat/water/electric/snowplowing bills paid by them(after giving them $8,765,449,743 to become a member of their club and remembering to pay a monthly rent; 3. the chance to do group exercises in a probably much too warm, urine-stained carpeted room with other flatulent elders. All of this seemed more doable most days . Doable and fun, and was sounding better and better, especially as winter darkened the days far too early. Especially with nightly news, health weirdnesses and Mother Earth’s tragedies. Help!! Buoyed by my incessant thoughts of, now what do I do? Be proactive Linda and so I reasoned that I could plan an onsite research trip to a local nursing home literally 5 minutes away by foot. Let me go and visit my 99 year old male friend from Church. And that’s where the second almost incarceration happened. Was it because the vibe in the front parlor(my friend who looked WONDERFUL was there for a group Holiday party and was not in his room ) was so inclusive that I had magically morphed into being one of them having practiced the performative art of absorbing others: Bob Dylan, MotherTeresa, Paul McMahon as ART? But this was not ART! This was LIFE and the activity director who appeared to be and sounded hysterical, was flailing about and in a voice almost screaming encouraged us to join in, participate , sing along, have fun (notice that I was now seen to be, was treated as and felt like one of them) but it was so forced, so insistent so wrong so emergency-like and as if we were in a dire situation where all 15 FORGETTERS plus me, plus the wide eyed children who would never ever forget that day, were about to be T-boned by an oncoming tractor trailer. HELP, let me out of here! There has to be a DEUS EX MACHINA? A BREATH? A tender hope? A denouement? An allowed and receptive embrace of the grief of sickness, old age and death? And here it is. The first grade teacher called out, “ OK CHILDREN, LET’’S SING SILENT NIGHT FOR THEM.” That was it, that was the AMAZING GRACE but there was one last caveat, one last possibility of EXIT because as soon as as they finished singing and truly blessing us, I heard her say something so RESCUING, so reassuring! For the children, not for the FORGETTERS. ( Not for me???). She said, “ Say goodbye, we have to go now so you won’t be late for your bus HOME” Linda Mary Montano January 2025