Today was one of those fulfilling work days. One of my absolute favorite residents turned 100. This centenarian flashes an almost toothless grin and completely melts your heart. I’ve had several conversations with him, and though some days it feels like the same conversation every time, I always walk away smiling. He’s my popcorn buddy, and he’s taken it upon himself to be my official hand warmer, as my hands are cold ALL the time. Often he’ll hold onto my hand and not let go.

Today he was surrounded by family and friends from all over. He was covered in hugs and kisses, gifts, and cards. Upon his still hair-filled head sat his 100th birthday crown, which he protested almost the entire party. He still grinned in spite of it. A newspaper reporter sat down with him, and a TV reporter came as well. I look forward to seeing him on the 11:00 news. He was enveloped by love today.

I wonder how tomorrow will be for him. I’m sure that family will stick around a few days and spend some time catching up with him. But soon they will head home to their various parts of the country. Soon, he’ll be left alone, again, in his little studio apartment.

He told me one day how he’s not sure why he’s lived so long, and frankly, didn’t know why he was still here. He confided that he felt useless. I can see how he would feel that way. Confined to his scooter, he’s not very able bodied. He needs help in most basic care, such as bathing and grooming. It would be hard not to feel useless as you watch your bodily functions slowly wither away.

I assured him he was not useless. He makes me smile every time I see him, and I informed him of that fact. I also reminded him of the 100 years of life lessons he could pass onto people. He smiled in agreement, but then looked down and muttered how he could feel his mind slipping. He’s still pretty spry mentally. He’s mighty quick witted. But I can only imagine the frustration at memories slipping and thoughts not forming clearly like they used to.

I think sometimes he must feel as if he’s invisible. All the employees know him and love him, and we greet him by name as we fly by him in the hall. But sometimes as I rush by in my frenzied hurry of crossing things off my to do list, I can hear him silently screaming, “Please notice me. Really notice me.” I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to stop and really listen to some of my residents.

Today he felt loved, for sure. But will that continue into tomorrow, or next week? Or will his life resume as normal; feeling useless and discarded? I hope that I will continue to reach out to him in whatever time he has left and love on him as much as possible. Sometimes it’s hard to know what to say, and I think that’s why I run away so often. But truly, how much can I say to someone who’s lived over three times as long as I have?

Perhaps he just needs more popcorn and hand warming.