You
Don't Know What You Got Until It's Gone
By
Nancy Best, ACC, CTRS
RIn
reference to a Don McLean Classic "America Pie",
the infamous line "The day the music died"
refers to the death of four of the 50's greatest Rock
and Rollers. Buddy Holly, Ricky Valance, the Big Bopper,
and Buddy Knox. My music died December 24, 2002.
Flashback
to July 1976. America is celebrating its bicentennial
I return to my small western PA hometown, unemployed.
Thank God for parents, free rent, good food, and a roof
over my head. I received a call about a job opening
for Activities in our local nursing home. With my degree
in Parks and Recreation, I decide to apply. I was hired
as the Activity Aid at a whooping $2.40 an hour.
I
have the usual jitters for my first day on the job.
On my way to work I wonder what I have gotten myself
into? What kind of programs can you plan for old sick
people? A few months into my job I realized my residents
are not any different than other people I would plan
programs for. They enjoy activities tailored around
their interests and needs. You just have to be creative
and adapt the activities to their abilities.
My
parents always taught me to treat others, as you would
want to be treated." Those in my care became my
extended family; their families and loved ones became
my aunts, uncles, and the residents become the grandparents
I never had.
I
put my heart and soul into my residents, not my job.
As many of you do, I put in many long hard hours. However,
if someone asked to go boating, we went, a roller coaster
ride, no problem!
As
I grew to know and love my extended family, they grew
to love me as well. They became almost my whole life.
I woke in the morning for the sole purpose of caring
for "my people."
Fast-forward
December 2002.
After 27 years, I had to make a hard decision to quit.
I told no one of my decision, except my immediate supervisors.
December 24, 2002, I walked away from my family.
My music died.
I
enjoy renewing old friendships and making new ones at
each conference I am able to attend. It reminds me of
what I once had and have not been able to gain, living
in such a small town with no other near by facilities.
I
still see families of residents whom I cared for. They
continue to thank me for the love and care I provided
them in their loved ones last years. I remember the
days when I had a purpose, when I had a I reason to
wake up everyday. Then the light fades and I return
to the real world.
I
have a job - actually four, but not with the people
I love to care for, "my people."
I
write this account not for sympathy or pity, but rather
to explain what a wonderful opportunity we have to work
in activities. It's not simply a job; truly it's a privilege.
So next time you are stressed out and wonder "is
it all worth it? Do I really make a difference?"
The answer is yes. Don't let your "music die."
NN
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