i just found out one of the men from the convalescent center i used to clean died last month. i called him Red, White, and Blue cause that's all he ever said.

i worked in the CC as a housekeeper the summer before i left for college. my duties were basic clean up, which extended to human filth and excrement. the pay was $7.50/hr and i was there 3 on, 2 off with ten hour days.

i hated that job. not only did i walk home every day stinking of piss and shit, i spent my time watching the nurses and CRNs mistreating and abusing the patients. they would leave fiesty quadripilegics writhing on the floor, incontinent elders would spend hours in shitty diapers, any food or money left for the patients went straight into someone's pocket.

but i, and the rest of the housekeeping staff, were treated like garbage. i suppose that had something to do with the smell. we weren't allowed to address the patients or ever touch them. not even on the off chance we wanted to visit on our days off. nope, we weren't allowed to touch anyone, ever. as far as talking, there was no one to talk to - they all babbled incoherently.

well, except marybear, ms. gracie, and sarah womack. that's what they had to be called. i don't think any of them went by real names. anyway, they would talk, but only about certain things. marybear talked about tv. ms. gracie was obsessed with food (which she kept stashed on her person and around her room), and sarah womack couldn't keep her mind off her diaper. she'd talk to you about it for hours if you'd let her.

i really liked the patients. scary though they were, i liked them. even ole nasty c.hall who was schizophrenic and would attack you with one side of her body while trying to hold herself back with the other. she once threw a cup of scalding hot coffee in a nurse's face. i thought it was justice since no one should've given the damn woman hot coffee in the first place.

so, Red, White, and Blue. he was so ... well, he was so nice, in his own mind-blown way. he would wave his hands in the air while repeating this favorite words in a sing song tone. i'd try to talk to him, but he'd only answer me with red, white, and blue. a couple times, i came in to clean his room and found a teddy bear tucked in his arm, but as soon as he saw me he'd chant red, white, and blue as if the teddy bear didn't exist.

i hate that he died, but perhaps, for many of those patients, death is the next, happier, step. i can't imagine spending years upon years in a such a place. the stench of it was enough to break even the most stoic visitor. my hope for the gentle man is that he is resting easier in heaven than he did on earth.