You aren’t meant to make friends with your clients but I always seem to.  It can backfire and cause problems (I know this from experience) but in Ann’s case it happened very gradually and without us even realising…

Ann was two ages.  She was eighty- five years old in her body but about six years old in her mind.  I had known Ann for about three years.  She came to an Activity Centre where I worked as an Activities Worker.  Ann was not popular amongst the staff.  She didn’t respond much emotionally and was quiet (non- verbal) most of the time.  Ann loved to colour in and also loved to see photos of herself.  I wondered about the photos and thought perhaps it was her way of seeing that she really existed; she was part of the world.  Ann was very reserved and didn’t like to be touched.  I asked her once if she wanted a hug and Ann said ‘no’.  I said that was fine and smiled but Ann didn’t smile back.  Ann was not unfriendly but she was not friendly either.

Covid time struck our industry and put us all in a spin.  Without our clients to interact with we had nothing to do.  It was scary and we didn’t know what the future held.  But we worried about our clients!  Those with dementia or intellectual disabilities did not understand why we all had to wear masks.  They were frightened and confused.  We had to do our best to reassure them.

The Covid rules relaxed a little and we were allowed to make some home visits.  Our coordinator put Ann’s name forward as someone for us to visit.  There were two other staff asked but no one wanted to visit Ann, however I said “yes”. 

I showed up at Ann’s place one day wearing a mask, gloves and gown.  Ann asked why I was wearing a ‘funny apron’.  I said it was a funny apron!  I tried to explain as best I could.  Ann did not understand the Covid virus and so I said it was a very bad cold that some people caught.  After a while I took the mask down so she could see my smile/face but I made sure I put it on again when her sister came into the room!

We coloured in together, I sang songs, asked Ann how she was feeling, played chess (without any rules!), watched the Wiggles together, played ball and balloon and generally just had a bit of fun.  I enjoyed it and I think that Ann did too.  Although she never said…

Fast forward and Ann’s health started to decline.  Ann had bowel cancer.  Ann did not know or understand this of course, but it was a sad thing.  I could see that things were harder for Ann.  I could see her confusion and sadness growing.  I tried to bring her as much joy as I could.  We had a wonderful birthday party with hats, blowers (not really allowed), a card and birthday cake (not allowed either).  Ann, her sister, her niece and I were a little, temporary family.  Ann hardly ever smiled but golly, she loved that cake!

Ann’s cancer worsened and Ann became incontinent.  This was too much for Ann’s sister to cope with and so Ann went into hospice.  My coordinator said I did not have to visit Ann in hospice.  It was up to me.  I thought about it but knew all the time that I would see Ann out if I could.  I had become fond of her and she fond of me, I think, although she did not give much sign of that.  The only way I knew, is that she talked a little bit more with me.  At the hospice, she talked with no one. 

The first time I visited Ann in hospice I had to stop myself from crying.  Hospices are for people who are dying and Ann was dying.  I had to give myself a good talking to and say: this is not about you, this is about Ann.  I asked for Spirit’s help and companionship and believe I received it.  This time was precious and was for Ann.  I brought in a robot cat which responded when you stroked it.  Ann loved this!  Her eyes would light up and she would say “kitty cat, kitty cat!”. 

The one person Ann loved with her whole heart was her Mum.  Ann would speak about her Mum from time to time.  I think that was probably the last time Ann felt really loved and safe and wanted.  I acknowledged this and talked about my own mother a bit.

At the end of each visit at the hospice, I would kiss Ann on her temple.  I asked her first and showed her with my fingers on my own face where I would kiss her.  Ann didn’t say yes or no and so very slowly and gently, I leant across and kissed her on her temple.  She watched me carefully when I did this but did not pull away.  It crossed my mind that the last time Ann experienced a kiss might have been from her Mum about seventy years ago…

When I found out Ann had died, I wept.  I realised that Ann and I had become friends and that I loved her.  I went to a quiet gathering at her home with her sister and her niece.  We had tea and cake on the front veranda.  No one talked about Ann.  I knew this was okay.  It might have been too painful or raw.  Just as I was going, I mentioned to Ann’s sister, Lily that she had done a terrific job of looking after Ann.  Lily disagreed and said that she didn’t companion her enough.   I replied that she had kept Ann out of living in a home or institution and that was a wonderful gift.   I knew that Lily would miss Ann very much although she would also feel lighter.

Ann died in the bathroom of the hospice where she was staying, in a pool of excrement.  I like to think that before Ann hit the floor, she was reaching out her hand to her Mum and is now in her mother’s arms.