Lunch at the Facility

As we walked into the relentlessly cheerful lobby of the facility, I took note of the crackling fire, the swing music coming out of a replicated antique radio, and the squashy, comfortable chairs scattered throughout. They were really trying hard to impart a sense of home and vintage charm; while at the same time covering up the realities of aging. I nervously wanted everything to go well, leery of how Dad would react to being in the facility, even though we were supposedly only there for a meal. I watched as residents variously strolled, wheeled, shuffled, crept and edged to the dining room. The entire spectrum of old age and illness was represented.
Dad took it all in stride, sitting down at a free table with Christian and me, looking around the room with interest. Keeping up my usual flow of chatter, I monitored Dad’s reactions to the whole experience as we ate lunch.