The Window Pane
A wheelchair-bound woman sat quietly in front of a large window, staring intently out at the changing world as it flickered and flitted past her stillness. Somehow, the opaqueness of the windowpanes and the daily comings and goings of people on the lawns beyond calmed her, bringing her a semblance of peace. If not for the window, she became agitated, angry and restless.
The caretakers who worked at the Pine Hills Rest Home observed that their patient loved to look out the window at the daily changes that were occurring outside. Seasons and visitors changed on a daily basis, providing interest for their patient.
Following her morning rituals of feeding and care, they normally parked Rose in front of the window in her favorite spot. Somehow, the views from the window calmed her, and served the psychological needs of both the caretakers and their patient. A quiet patient was a blessing in a place filled with an overabundance of need.
Rose stared at the windowpane with her pupils transfixed in an intent stare. When she sat quietly at the window and stared at the pinpoints of changing light and shadows on the panes, she could almost grasp small bits of memory embedded within flowing masses of small brain cells. Glassy snips and snaps of her former self emerged and converged within her mind- quick reflections of faces she’d known, bits and pieces of her past life, and the person she may have been. Small little changing flickers of a lifetime, coming and going within small electrical synapses, moved quickly over time and the windowpane.
If the truth be known, Rose didn’t care who came and went outside the window. The changing seasons and weather patterns didn’t affect her in any way. It was the magic and pieces of small memories in the windowpane that calmed her and brought her peace of mind. Stored within minute crevasses of her failing mind was a lifetime of names of people she’d loved and cared for throughout the years.
She had been married to her college sweetheart for over fifty years. Her husband loved and missed her each and every day, visiting his “Rose” often. She no longer remembered him, but he came anyway, as did their children and grandchildren. He and Rose had raised, nurtured and educated six wonderful children. She would have basked in their many accomplishments. Rose had enjoyed a plethora of friends and extended family, many who had depended upon her wit, charm and laughter. Her commonsense had often been the calm in a sea of turbulent waters. She had been an artist, pianist and a prolific writer. She loved to travel, and she held a keen sense of interest in people of all races and cultures. She’d been the matriarch of her family, happily embracing the roles of wife, mother, healer and friend to many. In essence, Rose had been an accomplished woman of many means, with a heart filled to the brim with love, charity and goodness.
In her early sixties, Alzheimer’s disease had begun to destroy Rose’s awareness of her surroundings, along with her memory and her humanity. Slowly, she’d lost an overabundance of cells in her brain, and could no longer care for herself. When she had slipped into a vegetative state, her family had been forced to place her in a care facility.
Now, she spent her days in front of the window, trying to recapture just a fragment of the memories of love, happiness and kindness she’d experienced so long ago. On a good day (at the window) she was able to recall small flickers of her human potential, and the hope (if only for a moment) that she had lived a meaningful and fulfilled life somewhere. A ‘subconscious knowingness’ that she had been truly loved, and others had loved her, was all that she now lived for. The window had become her lifeline and her tool for remembering. Just the smallest flicker of sweet memories brought her back, day after day, staring out through the windowpane of lingering time.