A Teacher’s Story

Sharon Sirkis, Columbia, MD

On my second visit at Break Away Adult Day Care Center I had a very powerful experience. As I was teaching seated TCC, I encouraged one of the members, Mr. P., to do the moves. Since this was my first time teaching him, I was unfamiliar with his physical or mental capabilities. He sat there like a statue and just stared into my eyes. He lifted his hands once, but only for a few seconds. I assumed he didn’t understand, and that some part of his mind had unfortunately slipped away. My assumption was wrong.

After my class, my mind drifted to other things. In a few hours, I would be sitting in an IMAX theatre. I had been looking forward to seeing Everest and today was the day. On my way out, I noticed Mr. P. still sitting in his chair. I was now close enough to see the tears in his eyes. “I don’t belong here,” he said. “After thirty-eight years of marriage I can’t even trust my wife.” I suddenly realized that this man was not as “out of it” as I thought. Everest could wait. I felt compelled to stay.

It disturbed Mr. P. to see the members of the center who were mentally unaware. He then proceeded to tell me about a relative who ended up in a psychiatric institution. After a few gentle questions, he admitted his deepest fear. He felt being in the day care center was one step closer to the psychiatric institution. He apologized for crying, admitting his anger and bitterness. “There’s no need to apologize” I told him. “It’s good to get it out. If you keep your anger stuffed inside, it can lead to physical problems on the outside.” Mr. P. seemed relieved to hear this, understanding that in showing his emotions he didn’t have to feel ashamed.

. . . we continued our conversation over lunch. Mr. P. spoke of the sadness and pain in his life. “How do you keep smiling?” he asked, when I admitted to my own experiences of struggle and pain. “I try to reframe things, to look at them in a different way,” I said. “For example, you didn’t want to come here today, but if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have met me!” He had a good laugh which was a joy to see. “Also,” I said, “one of my favorite sayings is: that which does not kill me makes me stronger.” As soon as I said that, Mr. P. sat back in his chair, his body relaxed, and he finally “let go”. Something was triggered for him, I’m not sure exactly what, but it was significant. He started fiddling with his name tag. “I know it’s not much, but I want you to have this. Thank you for your time,” he said. I accepted with thanks and a hug.

A feeling of sadness overwhelmed me. I was humbled. I thought about how quickly I had judged Mr. P. as having reduced mental capabilities. Little did I realize that he had chosen not to participate. Mr. P. had not seen the concept of adult day care as a break for his wife. This concept to him manifested as betrayal, loss of control and abandonment. It hadn’t occurred to me that maybe he just didn’t want to participate. It hadn’t occurred to me that he was retreating into his own safe inner world. It hadn’t occurred to me that Mr. P. was a very proud man trying to hold onto any shred of independence and dignity he had left.

I couldn’t shake Mr. P. from my thoughts the rest of the day. The fact is, I didn’t want to. I left with a sense of gratitude – grateful for my sight, my youth, my hearing, my memory – the things I often take for granted. Grateful for knowing even if our paths never cross again (I teach once a month), that I believe he will remember me, and I will remember him. I touched his heart and he touched mine.

I came home to face the piles of papers and work that had been stressing me out. It all seemed so trivial now. I still managed to catch Everest later that afternoon. As I watched the mountain climbers reach the summit, I couldn’t help thinking how, today, Mr. P. and I reached a summit of our own.