She used to faithfully attend my creative enrichment programs, often ushering others along so they wouldn’t miss out. Attentive to my opening ritual that included arm stretches while singing Popeye the Sailor Man, Bea would occasionally rearrange the semi-circle of chairs, insistent that I hadn’t left enough room between seats for the residents to move freely. She was as conscientious about providing an optimal experience as I was. It was something I took for granted, until the day everything changed.
Bea was a nonagenarian assisted living resident very few people enjoyed. She was a busybody and her hearing impairment left her unaware of how loudly she complained about others in the presence of those being complained about. She liked to be in people’s business and didn’t hesitate to be the town crier, gossiping about fellow residents and employees without evidence to back her claims. That she participated in my gatherings was slightly uncharacteristic of her, a loner, except for her attendance at weekly Bible studies and church services. Bea was also a religious woman who read her Bible daily.
Just down the hall from Bea was Roger, also a resident who preferred to stay to himself and who usually ignored or declined my invitations. Roger, however, loved to crack jokes during meal times, and often crossed the line with his irreverent humor which typically included sexual overtones. This provoked the ladies who sat near him including Bea.
On one occasion, Roger surprised me by accepting my invitation to participate in my program. He arrived late and was about to take a seat at a table on the periphery of our semi-circle, but I insisted he sit in the one empty seat that remained next to Louise, a poised and elegant woman who sat at his right.
“Come on in, Roger!” I coaxed. “Let the circle be unbroken!”
As Roger, with a mischievous grin, made his way to the empty seat, I spotted Bea scowling with disapproval. Nonetheless, I carried on with my topic of the day without a hitch and Roger behaved himself, thankfully.
As the group disbanded I watched Bea follow Louise down the hallway. I followed behind to eavesdrop on what Bea had up her sleeve.
“I didn’t like that Kareen invited Roger to sit in the circle,” Bea snarled. “Next time, if he ever crosses a line, you can take my cane and give him a whack!” she shouted, swinging her cane to demonstrate.
“He didn’t bother me,” Louise insisted graciously.
Just then, I stepped into the conversation to intervene.
“Bea, you and I are both women of the scripture,” I coached. “And you must know that it’s the kindness of the Lord that leads others to good behavior.”
Though I thought I was doing her and Louise a favor by de-escalating the situation, I had instead meddled in a conversation that Louise was perfectly capable of handling and thus, humiliated Bea by using scripture as a weapon to put her in her place. It was the last time she attended any of my programs.
This regretful exchange occurred shortly before the Pandemic. Unfortunately, since I was an independent contractor and not a full-time employee, Bea took it upon herself to make me the scapegoat for all things COVID-19.
“She’s a world traveler. She has no business being here spreading the virus!” Bea would say loudly to whoever was unlucky enough to be in proximity.
Quick to defend myself, I walked my masked self over to Bea and insisted I had never left the country and that I had followed the mask and vaccine mandates both at work and outside of work.
“You have nothing to worry about, Bea,” I insisted.
She was not fazed. For the next three years, Bea badmouthed me loudly, viciously, and frequently, sometimes screaming that I had no business being in the kitchen since I wasn’t staff, even though up to that point I had for years helped serve meals and bus tables. She soon stopped coming out for lunch on my scheduled weekly day to work.
I found myself avoiding her, murmuring about her to my coworkers, journaling about her, ruminating about her, and sadly, despising her.
After the COVID restrictions lifted from the world of long-term care, things settled down a bit with Bea, though she never returned to my programs. And to my delight, I was invited for the first time since the pandemic to be the keynote for a conference for nursing home administrators and state surveyors. The theme of the conference was, “Loving those we serve.”
“Piece of cake,” I thought. That’s my specialty, teaching caregivers about how to better love the elders for whom they are responsible to provide care. I started gathering my materials and rehearsing the original songs I wrote about individuals who were lonely, dying, and living with dementia.
A few days before the conference, I was doing my Morning Pages, a daily practice of three pages of longhand, stream-of-consciousness writing, done first thing in the morning. The concept, created by Julie Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way, is designed to get us to the other side of our emotional blockage. Suddenly, thoughts of Bea emerged while writing. And then it occurred to me that I had only written songs about elders who were endearing, not loathsome to me. I got curious and started imagining how to access love for the otherwise unloveable. I challenged myself by considering three ways Bea’s existence provides an opportunity for me to be a better person.
While processing my thoughts, I came up with three answers: 1) Bea shows me I have some inner work to do to improve in the area of emotional differentiation. That is, the intimidation I feel when I see her reveals to me that I could develop in learning to be o.k. with myself even when I know someone else isn’t o.k. with me. 2) I can look for earlier times in my life when someone similarly triggered me as Bea and how, if at all, I resolved that situation. 3) I can gain empathy and compassion for Bea’s woundedness. Ironically, Bea and I had kind of a ricochet effect going on. I wounded a wounded person who in turn wounded me back.
That was a good start. But I still couldn’t yet see how to gain compassion for Bea or others who triggered me. I kept writing until I came up with another question: What are three negative qualities I have in common with Bea? I established that 1) Bea and I both like to gossip once in a while, 2) Bea and I are both passive-aggressive at times, and 3), Bea and I both make up stories in our minds about people or situations without evidence to back them up.
Wow! I wanted to pat myself on the back. But I wasn’t there yet. As I continued to process, I gained another epiphany. As I thought about the three negative characteristics, I realized they don’t define who I am. Neither do they define Bea. And if I can own that I am worthy of love and that I matter despite those negative characteristics, I can apply the same to Bea.
I shared with confidence my new insights with the conference attendees. But something was missing. I felt there was one more thing I needed to do. Even though encounters with Bea stung a lot less, I was still curious. What if I were to revisit that moment with her and Louise? What if I were to acknowledge how I had wronged her by correcting her in front of her friend and using scripture to discipline her?
The next week, I mustered up my courage to knock on Bea’s door, fully anticipating she would shoo me away.
“Hi Bea,” I said when she opened the door. “Could I chat with you for a moment? I feel I owe you an apology.”
“You don’t owe me anything!” she beamed and held her arms out wide. “You don’t need to go back and rehearse anything. I wouldn’t remember it anyway. You don’t owe me a thing!”
“Can I give you a hug?” I asked.
“Sure!” she replied.
We hugged and she invited me to sit down. We chatted for at least 45 minutes. And I chuckled on the inside when I realized I had more commonalities with Bea. I discovered that she and I don’t like to waste money, we don’t like to buy anything extravagant for ourselves, we don’t mind wearing used clothes, we like to tell the stories behind each of our furniture pieces and how cheap we got them, and that we love to point out the family photos we have on display.
Oh, and that an apology is all we need to cover a multitude of sins. For Bea, I owed nothing but love.
Photo by Kareen King