Where Am I and Where Am I Going?

I met a woman in the elevator of the Assisted Living Home and asked her how her day was going. She said she wasn’t really sure. I asked her if she was coming to my art class. Again she said she didn’t really know where she was supposed to be. I could tell it disturbed her that she didn’t know where she was or where she was supposed to be going. 

I told her I thought she would enjoy the art class and I was on my way there right now. If she’d like, I would take her there with me. She wasn’t sure about that, but because she wasn’t sure about anything, she agreed. As we approached the art classroom, she looked down the hallway and asked me what was there. I told her some of the residents had rooms along the hallway. She asked if she had a room down there. I told her I did not know but that in all likelihood a nurse would be showing up at some point in the art class and we could ask the nurse. With a troubled look, she followed me into the art classroom. She sat down and repeated that she didn’t know why she was here or what she was supposed to be doing. I told her my name again and that I was going to teach her how to draw a cat today; would that be OK ?

She nodded, a little dubiously, and picked up a pencil. Again she said she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. I told her when the rest of the class arrived, I would teach her step-by-step how to draw a cat. Then I sat down to chat with her while waiting for the others to arrive.

I asked her if she had children. She said she did but she could not remember what they did, how old they were, or where they lived. Again, she grew upset, knowing that she should remember these things. I asked her what her favorite season was and she instantly said, “Autumn” . I agreed with her and we talked about the beauty of the autumn scene just outside the window. There was a tree lit by the sun, shades of orange and yellow and gold. 

The rest of the class began arriving. I went to the front of the room to finish setting up. The woman asked each person as they sat down if she was supposed to be there. Again I returned to her and reassured her that she was indeed supposed to be here and I promised her that she would be able to draw a lovely cat. I figured I would have to guide her even more than I usually do with the elderly residents. The confusion in her expression broke my heart.

I began the class and the woman fell silent, drawing. As I circled around the room checking on everyone’s drawing each step of the way to be sure that no one became lost, I was shocked to see that she had stayed up with me and had drawn very well the steps thus far. She no longer asked anyone why she was there or what she was supposed to be doing. She watched me intently, and drew each shape carefully as I demonstrated on the Art board at the front of the class.

The hour whizzed by as it usually does. Many of the residents reminisced about cats that they had owned. One man told me of a disturbing memory that he had never forgotten of a cruel child in fifth grade throwing a kitten against a tree. He said that that memory still lingered and he couldn’t understand how people could be so cruel even to this day. 

As we drew the tail, I asked if anyone knew what the purpose of a cat’s tail was.

“For balance!”one woman said proudly.

“That’s right,” I said, “So why do you think God designed a Manx cat with no tail?”

Silence from the class.

“Why?”another woman asked.

“I don’t know, but I am sure there is a reason.”

“Amen,” said one of my new art class members.

Class ended and all the residents trickled out clutching their picture of a cat and pumpkins.  As usual, all of them were saying they were surprised that they had done this picture since they had never drawn a cat before. 

The last one to stand up was the woman I had met on the elevator. She had drawn a very beautiful cat. I held it up and said, “Are you surprised that you were able to draw such a beautiful cat?“
“Oh no,“ she said with a big smile, “I drew quite a bit in my childhood.”

She asked if she could keep her picture and I assured her she could. Still smiling, she followed the group out of the room. I heard her ask someone where she was supposed to go now.

I was grateful that for that hour of art class, she had remembered who she was and why she was there and a piece of the joy she had known as a child those many years ago.

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Nothing is impossible with God