A Friend at The End

A story about one of my favorite residents who will always stick in my memory.

An elderly man sits and reads a book while their caretaker looks out a window to their left. // Illustration by Roshan Capewell

Written by Joshua Solórzano

I had no idea what I signed up for when I applied to be a caregiver for elderly people with memory care issues.

I fell into caregiving when I escaped living with my parents for the first time in my life. With that came the need for a job. When I got a call from the old folks home asking if I wanted to come in for an interview, I said of course.

The job description was vague. It spoke about being responsible for all residents’ care, be dedicated to the community and the willingness to care for the elderly. I knew I loved elderly people, and being a caregiver always seemed like something I wanted to do. A few hours after that nervous interview I got a call saying, “You’re hired.”

My first day was a little terrifying. My Dad called me and asked what I would do, but I had no idea. I remember he made some kind of joke, asking if I was only going to work on the weekends because that’s when the elderly have fewer bowel movements.

Everyone I told about my new job made subtle jokes about wiping old people’s butts or asking me in a surprised tone, “Do you have to wipe their ass?” and I’d reply blankly, “yup.” To be honest, the idea never bothered me. I always thought, “well, I want a kid one day.” I was more so thinking about how much fun I would have helping people.

Although it did make me sad that I was helping people who were approaching their last days, I had a blast working there. Every day I worked people were happy to see me. I used to think Alzheimer’s was like a recurring thought loop of forgetting everything cyclically, and sometimes it is like that, but there are so many levels of Alzheimer’s. According to The Alzheimer’s Association, there are early-stage, middle-stage and late-stage Alzheimers, but even throughout these stages, each person’s personality while having Alzheimer’s can be completely different.

For example, John was one of my favorite residents who I knew had some working memory. John was the kind of guy who dressed sharply like a businessman. You would think he was in the mafia at first glance. He bought nice suits, wore gold rings and watches, and although dementia had taken away his ability to communicate like he used to, he had charm.

His daughter told me John had an affinity for nice suits, but he also was just the kind of guy who you could tell had spent a pretty penny on a suit. He liked to keep himself clean, dress somewhat nice, wear nice jewelry, and had a really nice silver watch — which he thought I traded out for his gold watch.

For a while, he would call me a traitor every time he saw me. I was a little sad that John thought I would betray him. But it was no hard feelings because people with dementia can’t help the way they act, and anyways he and I were buddies. We got back on good terms quickly when one day, he pretended to need help. From down the hallway, all I heard was, “Help! Help! Help!” I ran over to see what was going on, and as he lay in bed, he said, “Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to see if you’d come.” That one really cracked me up.

When John first moved into the assisted living facility, he used to remember my name well, which warmed my heart. At first, he always remembered my name, “Hey, Josh,” he would call. But as he began to decline cognitively, I’d say to him, “Hey John, what’s my name?” and he would stand there for a minute, think and then exclaim, “Roberto!” or “Carlos!” or “Federico!” I thought it was funny that he always came up with some Hispanic-sounding name, but I would give him a hint, and he’d exclaim, “Josh!”

But, despite his cognitive decline, eventually, John unexpectedly started to remember my name again every time. This was shortly before he got really sick, however. COVID-19 made its way around the facility, and despite having his vaccines, John got very sick. I still don’t know what caused his decline, but after he recovered from COVID-19, he was weak; he could only lay in bed.

According to Mayo Clinic, people with Alzheimer’s only live between three to eleven years, so whenever I met a new resident, I could never tell how long I would know them. It’s a terrible feeling to be with one of your residents when it’s close to their end. You know it, and sometimes they know it too.

John was still able to hear and understand. I would say, “Hey John, what’s my name?” And I would hear a faint groan come out like he wanted to say my name. I’d tell him it was OK and that it was Josh. He always seemed happy to see me, and I was always happy to see him.

The last time I saw him, they told me he couldn’t sit up on his own and didn’t want to eat anything. If he tried to drink anything, he would choke on it, so he wasn’t even drinking.

I knew John, and I knew he loved sweets, especially chocolate. I brought him over a chocolate shake and chocolate ice cream and asked him if he wanted to sit up and eat some, and of course, he said yes.

I sat him up, held him up with one arm, and helped feed him small amounts of ice cream with the other hand. One of the medical technicians, Garret, helped sit him up, and he eventually ate two whole little ice creams and drank a chocolate shake.

John loved his sugary treats and would never turn them down. Deep inside, I wish he would’ve just kept eating those treats, but he was too weak; It was time for him to be at peace.

His daughter told me he was a religious guy, so I’d like to think he’s somewhere very nice, eating something sweet.