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The ambulance and small car arrived simultaneously at the serenely landscaped nursing home. Attendants moved quickly and efficiently to remove the stretcher bearing the elderly lady from the vehicle.
The young woman from the accompanying car walked behind the gurney as the attendants made their way through the lobby and down the long hall to room 122. She walked a bit stiffly, and her hands clenched spasmodically.
Settling into the older woman's room was too easy. A few belongings and few memories made the transition complete. Photographs of the grandchildren, a small television from home, a favorite afghan, and a bouquet of brightly-colored flowers did not make this room home.
Why did this happen? How could such a previously active woman face what lay ahead? Her world had changed, and she had not a voice in it.
The tired gay eyes no longer sparkled. The face that could shine with such joy no longer had any emotion.
Cool green walls, brightly-colored draperies, the sound of a familiar soap opera, and the compassionate-faced nurses did little to free the younger woman of her own pain and guilt.
Before her lay the woman who raised, cared for, and loved her. Born late in life, ...