Walking into the home, some patients look up then gaze back at the colorful moving images on the screen. In the dining room, the pale pastel walls look festive with bright pink-n-black balloons dangling over the table. Most residents nibble on white cake while some push the melting vanilla ice-cream around with a fork. “Happy Birthday Mom,” I whisper kneeling beside her when she unexpectedly starts stroking my hair. And for a moment I’m the little girl she loves. Still, holding her hand, I know she always welcomes me. But only as the nice lady who drops in.
"Classic"
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