Illustration by Catherine Chan
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A conga line. Bottomless ice cream. Jennifer Lopez tunes blaring from the speakers. No, it’s not a scene from an all-inclusive resort, nor was it a late-night weekend rave. It was the end-of-summer party at my grandmother’s long-term care home.
On a sunny Thursday in August, between afternoon naps and dinnertime, there was a sea of octogenarians dancing alongside their friends and personal support staff. And there in the middle of the dance circle was my 15-month-old daughter, waddling to the music and putting a smile on every face around her.
Don’t get the wrong idea: our weekly visits rarely turn into a dance party — but my daughter’s presence in these halls has surely become cause for celebration.
For years, my grandmother warned our family against moving her into a retirement home like this one. She’s lived in her beloved bungalow for half a century and she insisted on staying there until the very end. But eight months ago, one week shy of her 92nd birthday, Nonna fell and shattered her hip. After immediate surgery followed by a hospital stay and months of rehab, she’s now back on her feet — though under a different roof.
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The long-term care home was supposed to be a trial run to test out the 24-hour care she now needs. She has a private room plus a schedule of daily activities to keep her mind sharp and her body moving. Still, it wasn’t home.
But over the last few months, watching my daughter, Mia, liven up the place has helped Nonna’s transition beyond measure.
On those first few visits, when Mia would wail or throw a tantrum, I flushed with embarrassment, afraid we were disrupting the other residents. But as I scanned the reactions around me, I didn’t see looks of annoyance. Instead, I saw friendly smiles and even heard a few entertained chuckles. A crying child was not an inconvenience here. Happy or sad, toddling or flailing, my daughter became the fresh face of fun for the residents and staff alike.
Soon, it dawned on me: it’s no wonder my daughter fits right in — because the people here perfectly match her own bright energy.
Mia shares her joyful outlook with so many of the long-term care residents. Retirement homes can too often be perceived as dreary, depressing places, but from what I’ve seen, they are full of life. Social hours, bingo tournaments, karaoke, balcony chats, water aerobics, jazz night and so much more fill their event calendars. In between it all, real connections happen every day.
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Now, everyone knows Mia by name. And on the days I don’t bring her, the disappointment is palpable. As for the memory-care residents who forget that they’ve met Mia before, I have the pleasure of reintroducing them. “The cutest little thing,” they say each time.
And then there’s Nonna: Mia’s doting publicist.
“She’s so smart for her age,” Nonna touts to the people sitting next to her. “She can already walk and talk.”
Despite the “talk” part being an embellishment, I’m relieved to see how comfortable Nonna has become with her nurses and floormates. She’s happier than when she first moved in and while I can’t attribute it all to Mia, the truth is glaring: there’s nothing quite like a chubby-cheeked baby to break the ice.
Now, our weekly visits are much anticipated.
For the residents and staff, it’s an opportunity for the kind of play and laughter they crave. For Nonna, it’s time spent with her only great-granddaughter — and hopefully a reminder that home can exist beyond her bungalow walls. For me, it’s been an education in the power of connection. Despite being 90 years apart, Nonna and Mia have shared countless hours together that I will forever cherish.
And the mutual friends they’ve made along the way? Proof that you’re never too young, or old, to make a new friend.
Stephanie Grella lives in Oakville, Ont.