Romeo requested to be moved from the table where most of the male residents on his floor eat their meals. He said that they don't talk, they're grumpy, and they grunt like barnyard animals when they eat. He found happiness at a nearby table with three women. He loves to sit with them, he says, because he likes to chat, and everyone at this table talks to each other and to him.
He jokingly refers to them as his "harem." They giggle at his every word, flirting like schoolgirls. They fuss over him, making sure he has everything he needs. They wipe up his spills and messes. I have seen one of the women propel herself in her wheelchair to a different part of the room to get Romeo what he wants. I have seen another of the women wheel her chair behind Romeo to fasten his "clothes protector" behind his neck. They will also hover in their wheelchairs outside the door of the dining room, waiting for him before they go in. He laps it up, of course, every bit of it. Who wouldn't?
It's no wonder he likes to sit at this table. Their attentions to him warm my heart. If I can't be with him every moment to take care of him (and I can't), it soothes me to know that he is attended to by these gentle women. Romeo has little happiness these days in his life with dementia. Wherever he finds love is more than okay with me.
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