M and I are walking down the corridor together side by side. We don’t look at one another or speak. She walks slowly and I match her speed. She is taking me somewhere. I feel honoured to be walking with her like this. There is a trust between us and a feeling of familiarity. She leads me towards the service that is taking place in the home.
Suddenly I realise that I can’t go any further. I can’t interrupt and I can’t sit in the service with M. That’s not why I’m here. I’m going to have to find a way to tell M all this, in a way that is not rejecting, that she might understand. I’ll also have to say it quietly because we are now quite close to the Vicars sermon. This is not easy as M’s hearing is not so good. I find myself saying “I can’t go in here M, I’m very sorry.” “Eh?” says M. Again louder and gesticulating more than is necessary “I’m really sorry M, but I can’t come with you in here.” “Come on!” says M and continues to walk. I stop for a moment wondering what to do. She stops and looks back at me “Where are you?” “I can’t go in there M, I’m sorry.” She is quick to make her decision. She turns “I’ve been here already, let’s go.” I’m entirely taken aback. She walks back to me and we continue slowly, side by side back down the corridor. “Let’s sit somewhere” she says.
When I first met M our conversations were always brief. She repeated a few phrases. She would often tell me “I like sausage and mash.” We would go round in circles and at one point I felt very concerned that the time I was spending with her would not be beneficial for her or her environment. She was often suspicious and would try to end the interaction. Her trust was hard won.
The change in her astonishes me. This simple action, these phrases seem to be a bolt from the blue. I didn’t know that she had these words. With her I realise again that I have assumed that this kind of relationship was not possible. In the last session she had asked “did you come before?” She had remembered my name. Which had blown me away. I am learning to assume less!
She sits down on her bed. “Sit here” she says. I obey. We just sit in silence for a bit, breathing together. Then we have a chat. At one point she asks me my name “Pippa” I say. “Pippa?” “yes Pippa” “that’s a dogs name.” I think this may be the only time in my life where I am completely thrilled to hear those words.
“What would you like on the front of your book” I ask, “what?” asks M. “What do you like to look at?” I have to admit I have my bets out here… I am expecting the reply “sausage and mash.” In fact before now I wasn’t even certain that she would understand the question. She thinks for a moment and then- “my mummy”… “and my daddy”… “And my sisters”
I ask her if it’s alright if I read her a poem I have edited from her words. She agrees with her usual accommodating “yeh.” I read it slowly and loudly, wondering what kind of reaction it might receive. Her usually expressionless face breaks into a grin and she says “yeah, that’s what I like”
I realise how much I’m going to miss this. How much I’m going to miss her when our time together is over.
Pippa Wildwood