Little Miss Personality: Part 1.

Little Miss Personality strutting her stuff outside my office door. The eye patch is fake, but the matching pink pants-shirt-walker pouch-flower clip ensemble is very real.

Little Miss Personality is her name in my head. Emphasis on the Personality (she had enough for about four people) and emphasis on the Little (she was four-foot-nothing and I always towered over her). Daphne* was one of those residents you were convinced was never going to die; that when it came time for you to move into an Assisted Living Facility (ALF) years later, you’d somehow end up in a room right next to hers. She was tiny, weighing in at just under 90 pounds at her heaviest in the two years I knew her, but boy, was she feisty. When new employees came over to work at our ALF, they’d often known her at a previous facility, or had heard about her already. She wasn’t a resident you met and then forgot, you can be sure of that.

My memories of her stretch back to my second week working at the ALF when she sang a song to me about Hawaii, her homeland. She loved to talk about Hawaii, and if there was no one in the lobby when she had a hankering to discuss the hula or the history of the lei, she had no problem having a full, loud conversation with herself. She loved asking visitors where they were from, and she always replied with, ‘Oh, I’ve been there, beautiful place, I was there many times.’ It didn’t matter if it was a city, a state, or another country - she’d always been there, and it was always a beautiful place.

Daphne was one of those residents who used their dementia to their advantage. Sometimes she’d pretend not to hear or understand something you were saying, and then she’d be able to reference specific details from the conversation days later. She was crafty, sassy, and kept every employee, resident, and visitor to the ALF on their toes. We had a contract with a pharmacy that delivered medications, and the man who brought the evening medications became so fond of her that he started occasionally bringing her flowers. Some days she’d be sitting in the lobby when he walked in and she’d recognize him, and other days she acted as though they were meeting for the first time. He took it all in stride, and simply adored her. In fact, we all did.

Daphne got me into more sticky situations than any other resident. She was quite deaf, and would often yell because she couldn’t hear herself. Imagine giving a tour to a family and having to try and talk over the surprisingly loud voice of a surprisingly tiny woman yelling, ‘Where’s the water? More water! Bring me two waters, one hot, one cold!’ It’s harder than you’d think. Or having to jump in and recover an encounter between a family who just met Daphne in the lobby before their tour and were being grilled by her on whether or not they were from the Philippines, despite being a very Caucasian family. ‘Oh, I see you’ve met Daphne, she’s very into genealogy, isn’t that interesting, let’s get moving please.’ I’d spit this all out in one swift sentence and move the family out of the lobby as quickly as possible. Some days Daphne was the most welcoming greeter, and other days I worried she was going to challenge a visitor to a fist fight. I just never knew.

When I was still getting used to working in the unpredictable environment that an ALF delivers, I made the mistake of leaving my office door open while networking with a placement agent I had just met. And who should slowly shuffle through the door behind her blue walker with its bright pink, lei-patterned pouch on the front but Daphne. The conversation between the placement agent and Daphne started harmlessly and predictably enough (‘What’s your heritage, where are you from, oh I’ve been there, beautiful place, wonderful people, etc’), and then quickly derailed. Suddenly I found myself almost paralyzed behind my desk as she was explaining to him about how she was still searching for a man to ‘travel the world with, hand-in-hand’ and how she was still sexually active. I won’t go into the specifics, but believe me, it got specific.

I have never been so at a loss for words as I was in that moment. I seriously considered crawling under my desk and hiding until they both went away. Eventually she wandered back out, and the placement agent made a comment about how he should be going and stood up to leave. I offered to walk him out, which he tried to decline, but I insisted. As soon as we were in the parking lot, I broke the uncomfortable silence and tried to apologize. Fortunately, his response was to burst out laughing, and he stated that he’d been in some funny situations with seniors before, but that interaction with Daphne had just shot to the top of his list. We became close friends over the course of my tenure at the ALF, and to this day he will sometimes mention her just to see my face turn red.

I’ve been telling you about Daphne in the past-tense; it’s highly likely that by the time I publish this post, she will have passed away. I had dinner with my old ALF Administrator recently, and we stopped by the building afterwards where she told me if I wanted to say my goodbyes to Daphne, now would be the time. I popped into her room and found her laying on her bed where, despite all the blankets she was swaddled in, I could see that she had lost even more weight. She looked so small I knew I could easily pick her up if I wanted to. Her face looked sunken in, her lips were cracked, and her eyes had the far-away look that I’ve come to recognize in those who are approaching death. I leaned over and started talking, not knowing whether she could respond or even hear me.

‘Hi, Daphne!’ I chirped a little too brightly. ‘It’s Tracy. Thank you for sharing about Hawaii with me; I can’t wait to go there one day, and I will think of you when I do.’ At the mention of Hawaii, she perked up a little and became interested in the conversation. She said a few sentences to me, clearly not recognizing who I was, and then said, ‘I’m a little tired, dear. I think I’ll rest now.’ ‘Sure, Daphne, you rest now.’ I replied. ‘We’ll talk more tomorrow. You just rest now.’ I watched her drift off to sleep, and I thought about how even now, listless on the bed, she was Little Miss Personality bossing me around. And when I left her room for what I can only imagine was the last time, there was a smile on my face in place of tears.

*Note: Daphne did end up passing away two days before this post was published. Like I’ve said before, sometimes we can predict a death to the day, and that was the case with Daphne.