So Much More, Part One

It was Christmas Eve. Tori sat in her twenty-year-old Toyota Corolla and tried to take deep breaths. Her shift at St. Agnes’s Center for Nursing and Rehabilitation was about to start. The sky was still dark with early morning, her body and mind tired. She would have a cup coffee when she got in, taking quick sips under her mask. It would hopefully wake her up. She didn’t want to go, didn’t want to face another day, but this job was the only thing between her and sleeping on the streets.

She took a quick glance in her car mirror, her short dark hair a bit ruffled from her hat. Her dark eyeliner highlighted her blue eyes, the only part of her face that the residents could see these days. Tori tried to smile with them the best that she could.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” she said to herself in the mirror before stepping out into the frigid air.

It didn’t matter that it was Christmas Eve to Tori, not really at least. She hadn’t grown up with the picture perfect holidays she had seen on TV, had never stayed in a single foster home for more than a year. She was used to be being bounced around, used to being an afterthought, used to never really mattering. 

Although the air was cold, only a few crusty spots of snow remained. It had snowed weeks before, the white crystals blanketing the ground before slowly melting and disappearing. Tori had seen something about snow later this evening on the news as she got ready for work, but hadn’t paid much attention.

The smell of disinfectant was barely noticeable with her mask when she walked through the doors. She clocked in, put her coat in her locker, and checked in with Kelly, her supervisor.

“Morning,” Tori said, smiling even though Kelly couldn’t see it.

“Hey,” Kelly said. Her blue surgical mask couldn’t hide her tired eyes. “Here’s your room assignments for the day,” Kelly said, handing her a piece of paper. “The second floor is quarantined and I managed to keep you off of it.”

Tori breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said, glancing at the piece of paper. She smiled when she saw Mildred Hess’s name on her list.

“I gave you Mildred,” Kelly said.

“I see that,” Tori said. “Thanks.”

“She always does better when she sees you,” Kelly said. “I think you both do.”

Tori smiled and nodded. She hesitated, lingering in the staff area.

“He’s not here,” Kelly said, her eyes smiling.

Tori was glad her mask covered most of her face but knew that Kelly could see her cheeks redden.

“He was here early. Staying late too.”

“Oh,” Tori said. She wouldn’t admit to Kelly that she was thinking about Shawn. They usually saw each other in the mornings, usually chatted for a few minutes before they started their shifts, Tori as a nurse’s aide, Shawn in the kitchen. It was always a good way for her to start the day.

Kelly looked at her, still smiling. “I better get started on my rounds,” she said, interrupting Tori’s thoughts. “You should too.” She winked.

“Yeah,” Tori said, hating how embarrassed she felt. “See ya.”

Tori got her cup of coffee before going into her first room. Within minutes she felt more awake. She smiled as she entered Mr. Gonzalez’s room event though she knew he couldn’t see it.

“Good morning,” she said as brightly as possible.

Mr. Gonzalez stayed quiet in his bed.

“Do you mind if I open the curtains?” Tori said, already making her way to the window. 

Mr. Gonzalez grunted which she took for a yes. 

Tori slid the curtains open, the curtain hangers screeching a bit against the rod. “There,” she said, as the weak sunlight streamed into the room. “That’s much better.”

Mr. Gonzalez reminded silent.

She helped him get dressed and ready for the day before moving on to her next room. It was like this every morning. Some residents needed to be bathed, some just needed to get dressed, others needed help getting to the dining room for breakfast, some needed help eating in their own rooms. Tori did it all and she didn’t mind. She had never planned on being an “essential worker”, still felt directionless and lost most days, but working at the nursing home gave her a sense of purpose that she had never had before. She had applied a month before the shutdown, only a few weeks after she had turned eighteen and was free of the foster system that had ruled her life for so long. Tori had needed a job and her social worker had suggested the local nursing home until she figured out what she wanted to do with her life. Without giving it much thought, Tori had applied as a nurse’s aide and started working before one of the darkest periods. Had she known what was coming, the loss of countless residents and even some staff, Tori probably would’ve stayed away. She needed to take deep breaths to go inside every morning. But once she was inside, she was okay, felt safe in a way even though the nursing home had been a place of so much loss. But it was also a home for her, a consistent place for her to be appreciated, something she had never felt before. No job was below her, her need to prove her worth making her an agreeable team player. Tori would be lying if she said it didn’t take a toll.

The hardest part was seeing how the residents suffered. They hadn’t had outside visitors since before the shutdown and the loneliness was palpable. It was why Tori tried to be a cheerful and warm presence for the residents. It was never enough, an eighteen-year-old girl could never replace the loss of loved visitors, but Tori knew true loneliness and how empty it could make one feel.

Mrs. Hess, or Mildred as she insisted on being called, seemed to suffer more than most, which is why Tori always tried to spend extra time with her if she could. Mildred suffered from dementia and had declined significantly since the pandemic had started. She had three daughters and at least one came every day to visit through the window. The change in Mildred during those brief encounters always shocked Tori. It was then that Tori could see glimpses of a younger Mildred, a woman who had taught elementary school for thirty years, a mother who had raised three daughters on her own. She was bright and alive and full of warmth. Tori imagined that she had been the perfect mother, the kind of mother who baked cookies and snuggled with her children in bed, the kind of mother who was always there for her children. Why else would they visit every day even in the darkest of times?

Tori hesitated before entering Mildred’s room. Her youngest daughter would be visiting according to the notes on her schedule and Tori would be bringing her to the window where they could wave to each other from the glass. It was always a mixture of emotions for Tori and she tried to collect herself before stepping through the door.

“Good morning,” Tori said, her voice singing through the air.

“Morning, morning, morning,” Mildred said. She was sitting in the lavender chair by her window, her eyes fixated on something outside.

“Your daughter Sheila will be here soon,” Tori said, stepping toward Mildred.

Mildred kept her eyes outside. “That black thing,” she said, pointing to the window. “That black thing up and down.”

Tori glanced outside. The only black thing she could see was the roof of the building. Mildred often said words that didn’t make sense to her. “Oh yeah,” Tori said looking out. “That’s nice.”

“You know they always do stuff like that,” Mildred said.

“Oh I know,” Tori said. “Come on, let’s get you ready for Sheila.”

Mildred rarely seemed agitated by her dementia, something that was common in many of the residents. She seemed mostly content, although loneliness had diminished her words.  

“How about we get you dressed?” Tori said noticing that Mildred was still in her pajamas. Some days Mildred dressed herself and was ready to go, but today wasn’t one of those days.

Mildred continued to stare out the window, her expression now blank.

It took a half an hour to get Mildred ready and Tori worried they would be late for Sheila. She knew Sheila would wait, but she hated to be late for anything. It had always given her anxiety. 

Tori helped Mildred into her wheelchair. Mildred could still walk short distances but she was weak and needed a wheelchair for anything outside of her room. Tori walked as briskly as she could while still pushing Mildred.

Sheila was waiting at the window outside the activities room, the official “in person” meeting point for the nursing home. It was currently empty which wasn’t unusual at this time of day. Tori pushed Mildred as close as she could to the glass. 

“Do you see Sheila?” Tori asked, keeping her voice cheerful.

Sheila waved to them with her blue fair isle mittens. Her long blonde hair was partially covered by a matching hat.

“Sheila,” Mildred said, smiling. There had been times when Mildred didn’t recognize a visiting grandchild, niece, or nephew, but she always recognized her own children. The brain was a mysterious thing.

Tori waved to Sheila too.

“I love you mom,” Sheila called through the glass, blowing kisses. “I miss you.”

“Miss you too,” Mildred said.

“I hope you have a nice Christmas tomorrow,” Sheila said, her eyes misting with tears.

“Christmas?” Mildred said.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Tori reminded her. “You’ve been so excited about it.”

“That’s right,” Mildred said, smiling at Sheila.

“We’ll all be thinking of you,” Sheila said. “We’ll all be here tomorrow.

It wasn’t lost on Tori that here was Mildred, alone in her room most days, but with so many people who loved her, people who visited her every single day, people who cared about her so much that they did whatever they could to show that. Tori was alone as soon as she left the nursing home with only professionals who were required to check in on her. She had not lived the full life of love and caring like Mildred had, didn’t have a family to spend her days with, let alone the holidays.

Sheila ended the visit with promises to return tomorrow. “Thank you,” she said to Tori through the glass.

Tori only nodded.

She wheeled Mildred back to her room, this time slower than usual. It was always especially hard for Tori to leave Mildred. 

“I’ve gotta get going,” Tori said, once Mildred was settled back in her room.

Mildred smiled and nodded, understanding. “I know you do dear. Thank you for taking me to see my beautiful Sheila.”

“Of course,” Tori said. Mildred was back. Sheila’s visit had helped her find her words again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tori said.

Mildred nodded. “Christmas.”

“That’s right!” Tori said smiling.

Tori turned to leave.

“Tori?” Mildred said. 

Tori stopped in the doorway. Mildred had never said her name before, never seemed to remember it. She felt her heart quicken. “Yes?”

“Don’t let the loneliness win. Don’t let the darkness overcome you. You have a lot of time for love to find you.”

Tori’s voice caught in her throat. Maybe Mildred was just saying whatever came to her, maybe it was another one of her meaningless rambles, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like Mildred had looked deep down inside of her and spoken words that she had always needed to hear. How she knew it, Tori had no idea. She looked at Mildred, nodded, and stepped out into the hallway.