By Chetra Kotzas, 2009/10 Foundations Student

Chetra E. Kotzas has a MA in Psychology, Theology and Education and holds three Teaching Certificates in the field of education. Some of her children’s poetry appears in Song and Dance (Simon and Schuster), Hamsters, Shells, and Spelling Bees (The “I Can Read” series by Harper Collins) and School Supplies (Simon and Schuster). Her photography and poetry appear in the coffee table book, A Cats: A Century of Tradition.  She balances her hospice work by restoring the gardens of the Jacques Marchias Tibetan Art Museum on Staten Island.

Debra sits, nodding off, wheel chaired; snoozing through parts of her day and awaiting the next noise to jostle her awake so she can participate in whatever commotion stirs the nursing home that she has lived in for the passed four years. Alzheimer’s Disease, Debra’s constant companion, slowly creeps about in her mind leaving her confused and in need of care by a professional staff.

The hall she is in fills up slowly around the nursing desk, which becomes surrounded like a bee’s swarm with the wheel chairs of other residence who long for comfort and safety and who, every day, journey down the halls to be near the hives center… the nurses station.

Debra head rises, her eyes open. 

“May I sit with you”?  I ask.

“Who are you? No! I don’t know you.”  Then, she nods.  This is our routine.  I, carrying a folding chair up next to her, sit.  We look through the local newspaper’s centerfold of dogs dressed up for a K-9 show.  She studies the images seriously.   I read. This is our ritual.  Frowning she gathers incoherent words in a sentence.  She knows something is wrong. She frowns more.

“Dog, I think … mumble… mumble, I … I …  In frustration, Debra says, “Blah! Blah! Blah!!!  She looks into my eyes, saying once again…. “Blah! Blah! Blah!!!” 

Today I say,  “No words. You just don’t have any words that make sense. That is what it seems to me.”  Alas, the elephant in the room of her silences has been invited into our time together.

Debra, with a quiet look in her eye, says, “You ... mumble …  mumble.  you … furled brow … “Blah! Blah! Blah!!!

I continue, cheerfully and without trepidation,  “Yep… No words.  I can’t remember words either. Some days are worse than others. (This is a truth for me and Debra can see I am utterly sincere.  I explain just a little more.  “I was born without much short term memory and I’m learning disabled so I spent most of my life feeling stupid.  Everyone in school could recall everything. Not me. No words. No words.”

Debra takes hold of my hand that I extend to her, saying,  “No words.  No words.”

Chuckling, I say, “I don’t need words. We don’t need words. Blah! Blah! Blah!”

Debra, looking intently and long into my eyes, says,

“No words. No words.  Blah! Blah! Blah! … and, then she starts laughing and smiling broadly.

I say, “No words for us.  Blah! Blah! Blah!  No words, no words.”

Debra squeezes my hand, raises it to her lips and places more than a few kisses into the palm.  She looks up and we say together,

Blah! Blah! Blah!  

And, then… we start laughing and laughing punctuated only by more “Blah! Blah! Blahs!!”