Transition.
I learned how to sign 'happy birthday' just to surprise Michael* who is deaf for his birthday. I don't think he was impressed but he seems to like me regardless.
It’s the craziest thing. I have struggled at this job, been downright miserable at times, and yet now that I’m leaving I’m sad about it. It’s ironic, right? But as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and in this case the pre-absence is having the same effect.
Until Friday, I am the Community Relations Director (CRD) at an Assisted Living Facility (ALF) in Beaverton. Starting Monday, I will be the Community Liaison in East Portland for a home health company. There are quite a few similarities in what I do now and what I will be doing. The focus of my new job will be to increase census just like I did at the ALF, but instead of bringing people into one building, I will be going to their building and bringing our services to them. I will spend much of my time driving around to different types of senior living communities (Independent Living, ALF, Skilled Nursing, etc) and getting to know both staff and residents. Then, when home health services are needed, I can arrange for our staff to be the ones to step in and fill that need. I am planning to write a more extensive post about home health and what that entails after I have been a part of a home health team, so I will leave that for another day.
I have received mixed reactions from my residents regarding this change. I don’t mean that any of them have been happy that I’m leaving (or if they are, they’ve been kind enough to celebrate behind closed doors), but they’ve reacted in different ways. One or two have been pretty upset with me because I didn’t tell them immediately when I was offered the job, even before I accepted it or gave my notice. ‘You’ve known for weeks?’ they chastised me. ‘And you didn’t tell us until now?’ My attempt to explain how I needed to accept the job, then give my Administrator my notice, then tell the other department heads before announcing it publicly of course didn’t satisfy them.
Another resident who I’ve assisted quite extensively beyond my job duties asked me when my last day was. I told her it was Friday, and expected (the narcissist that I am) her to say something about how much she’s liked having me around or how helpful I’ve been. Instead, she asked if there was anything from my office I was going to give away to residents, and if she could have first pick. I let her know that everything in my office is either a personal belonging of mine (my purse, my water bottle, my coat), or an item belonging to the company that would be left for the next CRD (the computer, the Keurig, the decorations on the wall). She didn’t mention any specific items, but she did ask me to please keep her in mind if I started to give things away. I assured her that, should I start to hand out parts of my office Oprah-style (‘you get a keyboard! You get a wireless mouse!’), she’d certainly be the first to know.
Some residents have said sweet things to me, like that they don’t want to say goodbye, or that I’m special and they are jealous of the future residents I’ll be helping, which is sweet to hear and means so much. A very alert and engaged resident informed me that I was the only marketing person she met with who didn’t talk to her like she was a ‘sweet, sickly old person whose life is ending instead of beginning again.’ I was deeply touched and inspired by that, and told her as much. Other residents have given me advice, which usually includes generic phrases about chasing my dreams and never giving up. One resident asked me what I wanted to be when I’m older, and if this is a step in that direction. I told her that I’m not really sure what I want to be but hopefully this is a step down the right path. Her advice to me was to keep moving up but never grow up, which I love.
I’m an emotional person, and I can almost guarantee that I will cry on Friday, but so far this week I’ve managed to hold it together. The closest the tears came to spilling out was when a sweet resident who rarely strikes up conversations came to my door yesterday. Tom* is very cognizant but has a difficult time getting words out, which has resulted in uncomfortable situations in the past. The last time he came to my office he kept holding up a mug and repeating, ‘The..uh, the…the…uh…’ until I had to tell him that I wasn’t able to guess what he needed, at which point he nodded his head, put the mug on his walker, and walked out. I felt useless and embarrassed that I couldn’t understand him enough to help him. This time Tom came to my office door and, after taking a moment to gather himself, slowly said, ‘You...change…your….mind?’ Only four words, but the most I’ve ever heard him say, and I knew immediately he was referring to my leaving. In that moment, I wanted to say, ‘Yes! I’ll be here with you forever and always!’ just to show him how much I appreciated the effort and sincerity behind his statement.
There’s this nagging feeling of doubt that I haven’t been able to shake all week. I can’t tell if I’m trying to pretend my transition isn’t a big deal for the residents or myself, or if it actually isn’t a big deal. Am I taking the right step? I guess that’s why they say change can be a leap of faith – you don’t really know how the landing is going to go until after you jump. Well, here’s to jumping!
