All in stride

The door was shut but Agnes waited in the hallway, her hands folded in her lap as she faced the long hallway.

“Good morning,” I said, bending down and squeezing her shoulder. I was on my way to visit someone else in the nursing home but I always made time for Agnes.

SeasonsI remembered the day when she was able to navigate using a walker. Then as her feet and legs began to fail her, she switched to a motorized wheelchair. Now her memory loss had made the motorized controls too confusing. So she made her way with a simple black wheelchair.

Her round face broke into a wide smile. “Good morning to you as well.”

Back in the day when Agnes could still walk, she and the hobbits had one thing in common: height. Well, the lack of it. Now Agnes sat in a short wheelchair so that her legs didn’t dangle like a toddler.

“Are you getting your hair done today?” I had glanced at the sign on the door and knew the hairdresser was due any minute.

“I’m just waiting,” she said. The smile got bigger, if that were possible. “I like to watch legs.”

“Legs?” And then I bent again to her view.

“You see bow legged people. Knock kneed people. Long steps. People in sandals and people in boots.”

Standing had deprived me of a unique view. “I never thought about that.”

Agnes nodded. “I don’t mind waiting. This is kind of interesting.”

“Enjoy,” I said, patting her on the shoulder again.

But when I walked on, I did double-check to see if she was watching my stride, too.


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