Willowbrook: A first-hand account of life in a nursing home.

Willowbrook: A first-hand account of life in a nursing home.

The room is quiet now. The carers came early, as they always do. They tidied up, fussed over the bed, straightened the pillows, and left me with a soft smile. It’s a small room but tidy, everything in its place. The morning light is coming through the window, and there’s a promise of a fine day ahead. The air smells fresh, and the birds are starting their usual chatter outside. I let my breakfast settle, just tea and toast today, and sit back in my chair, watching the light shift on the wall. There’s a kind of peace in the morning, before the nursing home stirs too much. The nurses make their rounds, gentle and quick, like they’ve done this a thousand times. They check on us, ask how we’re feeling, and go about their way, always with a kind word. There are activities planned for later, nothing too strenuous. I might join in, or I might not. I’ll decide when the time comes. I hear the front doors creak, and a few of the relatives start to arrive. Some look cheerful, but I see the tears in their eyes, even if they try to hide them. We all pretend not to notice. That’s how it is. We don’t talk about the sadness much. I don’t mind the company, though. I’ve learned to take the day as it comes. For now, I just sit here. The day stretches ahead of me, simple and calm. I’ve no need to rush. There’s a stillness in the air, and I breathe it in. The sun is getting warmer, the world outside moving along. It’s a good day, I think. Better than most.