It was the third week I was meeting with Mr. Schwartz, an 85-year old man with a thick mustache and a penchant for suspenders. I found him watching TV in the dayroom, surrounded by some of his peers. I crouched by his wheelchair so I could speak to him at eye level.
“Hi Mr. Schwartz, I came by to see how you were doing. Can we talk in your room for a while?”
“Sure, young lady!” he replied without hesitation, seeming eager to see me despite not being able to recollect my name.
“I can give you a push to your room,” I offered. “It might be easier since you’re holding that cup of tea.”
“Tea!” Mr. Schwartz exclaimed, with mock astonishment. “I thought it was beer!”
I laughed heartily and he smiled with pleasure.