You are my Sunshine

Rosa always sat in the same chair. She didn’t own it. Her name wasn’t on it but everyone knew and THAT is saying a lot on the locked ward where most days the residents don’t know what day it is or who I am or that I come there once a week to teach yoga, blow bubbles, play with feathers and throw beach balls, usually to the tune of Barry Manilow muzak. Now I don’t know if Rosa was first up or first to the family room after meals and that’s how she scored the brown winged chair. All I know is that she always sat there, kinda like Archie Bunker and his chair.

Another thing about Rosa. She usually always had ‘good hair’ and nails painted a dramatic red or a pretty pink. She went to the salon once a week whether she liked it or not and trust me, there were many weeks she did not want to go, especially if she was going to miss ‘the ball’ fun.

Rosa didn’t speak very much English and for some reason I thought she was Italian. She dressed like what I thought an older Italian woman (who wasn’t in mourning/a widow) would dress like and she wore her white hair in a style that I thought an older Italian woman would wear her hair. Plus, Rosa is surely a strong Italian name, no?

German. Rosa was German (I should have known since I am married to one) and once I caught on, I would say a few words in German and she would smile and say something back ( I have no clue what) and then she would motion for the ball. I saw Rosa last Thursday and she was having an especially super morning. She participated fully in class-stretching, throwing and catching the ball and even throwing it to one of the other residents. It was a great session.

On my way out I went over to Rosa, like I do to all the residents and I took her hand and smiled and thanked her for spending time with me and for working so hard and told her I would see her next week. She smiled and chewed (on what I don’t know-Rosa always seemed to be chewing on something-leftover breakfast perhaps) and said something I didn’t understand and that was that.

This week, just before I hit the code to get into the unit, a psw (personal support worker) asked me if I knew about Rosa. No, what about Rosa? She sat down and told me Rosa passed away last Saturday. I was shocked as I had just seen her on Thursday and she looked so good. The psw told me that Rosa always used to sing ‘you are my sunshine’ to her and that after they called the ambulance (she hadn’t been well all that day) and she was leaving, she grabbed Rosa’s hand and said see you soon and Rosa said, goodbye sunshine.

Goodbye Sunshine. RIP Rosa G-94 yrs young.