Approaching the care home, the music got louder and louder. I recognised the tune: The Wonder of You.
The Elvis song is a favourite of mine. I’ve sung the song many times. Parties, karaoke, the pub (often), a hen night (in full jumpsuit, too!), even a funeral once. The Wonder of You was always my ‘go to’ song.
It’s fair to say the singer was no Elvis. He was putting his heart and soul into it, but this was no King. Harsh? Maybe. It is just possible that I was just a teeny bit jealous that somebody was singing ‘my’ song!
It took a while for a member of staff to answer the buzzer. Halfway through Amarillo, as I remember.
'Sorry’, she explained. ‘We are in the community lounge. Sadie is celebrating her 101st birthday!'
I did wonder if Sadie would, honestly, be celebrating her birthday. Can you really enjoy a birthday party in a room full of strangers, when all your friends and maybe your family have passed away?
When I peeked into the room, the Birthday Girl did seem to be enjoying herself though, bedecked in a paper crown and a birthday sash.
The party was in full swing, and the lounge was full of residents and staff now taking part in a sing-song, some more enthusiastically than others. My friend wasn’t there, though. I never thought he would be.
I found him in his room. He always seemed to be in his room these days. Often dozing, sometimes staring into space.
I still got a slight shock when I saw him, it happened every time I called. I still expected to see the friend I remembered from all those years ago, those days when we were young and bright and full of nonsense. When life was fun and filled to the brim with endless possibilities. The golden days when opportunity often knocked… And I smiled when I pictured him belting out doo-wop backing vocals at a birthday party we had attended just a few short years ago.
My old pal was more animated than he had been on my last visit, which I had actually feared might just be my last. Today, the spark was back in his eyes and he did speak – not that I understood a word. Our conversations were strange affairs, but my hope was that he got something from my visits, anything that might spark a memory or a feeling, or just… something. The frustrating thing was that you could never really know.
On a recent visit, one of the nursing staff had insisted that my friend really did understand what we were saying to him. The nurse was absolutely convinced there was still something there, and I cling on to this. As long as the visits are not causing distress, I’ll keep coming back.
I didn’t stay long, but then I rarely did now. You run out of things to say, and the last thing I wanted to do was bore my mate to death.
I promised I would see him again soon, and squeezed his hand. As I got up to go, on impulse I quietly sang:
‘When no-one else can understand me
When everything I do is wrong…'
I can’t be sure, but I do believe he gripped my hand just a little tighter. And he said something. Maybe he was singing. Or maybe telling me to shut up. Whatever, it was a response.
‘You give me hope and consolation
You give me strength to carry on …
On the way out, I met old Sadie, her crown now very askew, with one of the nurses.
‘Happy birthday, Sadie’, I said.
'This is the best birthday party I’ve ever had, son!' Sadie replied, her eyes shining. ‘I’ve had such a lovely time!'
I was still humming The Wonder of You when I left the care home.
Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building. Uh-hu-huh …