#Youarenotalone

The following short stories are examples of the things I do and will continue to do to make a difference in this world. The names have been changed to protect the identities, but the stories are true.

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She is confused, she cannot remember why she is here. She panics. She screams out, again. “Help me help me help me” She really doesn’t even know why she is screaming. She cannot remember her son’s name, was she even married? Why can't she remember? Why is she hurting so much, why can’t she die? A lady comes in, she thinks she recognizes her but she is unsure.

The lady introduces herself. “Hello Maria, my name is Victoria. I am your friend, I came by to visit you.”

The lady seems nice so she pretends she remembers her friend, but she doesn’t. It is only minutes and she forgets everything again. Her heart starts to race and she is terrified.

“Help me help me help me. Johnny where are you? Daddy, save me! Mama, help me!” she screams. Tears fall from her eyes.

I come over with a cup of warm tea for her. (I make sure the tea is not hot because I know that Maria will not remember to let it cool down on her own). I help Maria get comfortable and I offer her the tea.

Maria doesn't know who she is, but she is smiling and she is trying to help, and it feels nice. “Thank you, this is nice,” The elderly woman said.

I pat her hand and sit next to her with my own cup. We begin chatting, it is mostly gibberish and incoherent, incomplete thoughts, but I don’t mind. It depends on where Maria’s mind goes at the moment.

It is getting late, I tuck her in and rub her back. I move the hair from Maria’s face and wrap it up for the night, making a mental note that tomorrow I will come with some ‘Pink hair lotion’ and do her hair up again. I do not do the best braids but I try. Once I get some money I will pay for Maria to get it done right. (Her family hasn’t visited her in months due to some unfortunate situation that has caused it to be near impossible and her funding has run down so hair appointments and nail salons are currently suspended unless someone donates to her).

“Who are you?” Maria asks, having already forgotten again. She panics.

“Hello Maria, It is me your friend Victoria,” I tell her again. “What is wrong?”

Maria is panicked. She cries and she cannot gather her thoughts. I sit next to Maria and hold her hand. Eventually, Maria calms down and this time she enters into a memory of a time in 1950 when she was 17 years old. She doesn’t just remember it as we would, she believes it is 1950. Maria begins to tell me about the prom she is getting ready to go to. It is a story she tells often.

I pretend I am excited, “Wow, really, you are going with the quarterback? What is his name?” I pretend to not know.

Maria smiles and shyly tells me “Johnny Goodman".

“Oh my goodness! He is soooooooo handsome! I would just swoon.” I gasp out.

Maria giggles at this. “If you get caught talking about a [black] boy like that, you know what they will do! Why are you so nice to us [blacks]?” (She would actually use another word here, but it is highly inappropriate so I am just using ‘black’- her wording was what was used at that time)

“Oh Maria, your skin is beautiful, do not let anyone tell you differently!” I tell her and to get her back on to a better topic since I do not want her to relive the era of segregation and racial murders, I pat her hand and say “So tell me how did you first meet Johnny?”

That took her a minute, and I thought I was going to lose her from her good memory but then she smiled, a beautiful toothless smile with her bronze-colored skin and her faded brown eyes. Her beauty still lingered there, even with the age that has taken over her once smooth skin. “His daddy was my preacher,” she proudly stated. “Every Sunday mama and daddy got us all dressed up to go to the church and I sat in the third row. I could just see him there, so handsome... He was the quarterback, ya know. He asked me to go to the prom! What should I wear?” The conversation made a full circle. I was used to it.

“I cannot believe he picked me! What should I wear?” She asked again.

I play along, knowing this story all too well from the many times she told it before. “Why not the pink one? With the white lace gloves?”

Maria cooed, the delight shined in her eyes. “That is my favorite dress, do you think he will like it?” (I knew that was the exact dress she actually wore).

“I think he will love it!” I pat Maria’s hand. “so we should probably get some sleep so that you do not have bags under your eyes for your big day?!” I was hoping Maria would fall for this line since I knew how badly Maria needed to sleep. Her dementia caused her to go days at a time without proper sleep, which of course made her pain level worse, and that caused her anxiety and dementia to be worse. Maria agreed and went quietly to her bathroom to get ready then to bed with me right by her side.

“Do you want me to read to you tonight Maria?”

“Oh yes, please. Psalms 23, it’s my favorite.”

I already had it opened to the page. “Of course.”

I never minded reading the same chapter over and over and over with her. I knew she would forget or not understand but that was not the point. I smiled at her and sat down. I reached for Maria’s hand and held it as if this sweet lady was my own mother. Actually, Maria was a stranger to me. I had only just met her the week before.

I began to read from the bible chapter after chapter after chapter. I sat on the uncomfortable folding chair, with my bladder filling up, my arm that Maria held was in an uncomfortable position and now asleep. I would never let on about my own pain as I continued to read over and over the same chapters until finally, Maria was asleep. Her moans of pain softened down to sweet gentle snores. Still, I read on until I am sure Mrs. Goodman was asleep well.

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Tina is crying, sobbing. Her abusive boyfriend just beat her up again. She is done with this life. I saw her post on Facebook and I knew she was in trouble, so I reached out to her on Messenger. “This is Victoria, you do not know me well but I have been in similar situations and I am here for you. I will not judge you, nor share with anyone what you talk to me about, just wanted you to know that you are not alone.” I wait, I see the three dots showing me that she is writing. Several minutes go by.

“Thanks,” she says. I do not pry but I know she wanted to say more.

“I saw your picture with the little boy, is that your son?” I ask, just trying to keep the conversation going.

“That is my nephew, Joey.”

“Well he sure is handsome”, small talk but I knew she needed to know I was safe to talk to and that just did not come easily.

Three months later, we have continued talking and she continually dropped hints on what is going on. I kept my word that I would not judge or tell anyone her situation and told her of some of the things I went through. We have become friends even though she was young enough to be my daughter. Tina finally opens up to tell me that the night I contacted her, she had planned to kill herself and with my help over the past few months she was able to get the courage to save up money as I had suggested to her, and she was leaving that very night.

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Because of people like her and many others that I have helped, or tried to help or continue to help I opened a group up on Facebook called “You are not alone”.

What am I doing to make a difference? I am going to keep reading to people like Maria that may never remember I was there. I am going to hold the hand of the man or woman sick and/ or dying. I am going to sing to the child that has a high fever and cannot be held. I am going to do whatever I can to care for those that need to be cared about. Whether I do that by holding the hand of the dying or comforting the family of one that passed. Whether I do that by having a group on Facebook so that people do not feel alone (#Youarenotalone, #youarenotaloneever) or listening to the young adults like Tina that come to me at any hour knowing that they can tell me anything and I will never judge them, nor turn my back on them. I do not care what color a person is, what their gender is, or what their sexual preference, religion, political stance is. If someone needs help and I am able to help them, I will. What are you doing to make a difference?