Feb
08
Pauline opened her apartment door and confirmed for the aide that she was fine. It was Pinochle Night, she beamed, and everyone was in high spirits. The aide offered a comforting smile, making a mental note to talk to her supervisor about a dementia evaluation (everyone in Pauline’s card group had passed away). Then she heard them. Laughter. Glasses clinking. A chair being pushed back from the table. Pauline opened the door wide enough so that the aide could see Wyatt Banks (died 2010), who gave a little mischievous wave; she gasped, nodded, and fled down the corridor.