The lights were out

1 I visited yesterday, 15 July. I arrived about 1315, was invited to sit on a comfortable chair just inside the door, and was given a cup of tea. After a while, we meet in the snooze-room, a ground-floor room which contains an armchair, a fish-bowl, and a soft-armchair, low on the ground. I took a hard-back chair from the dining room and sat close to the lady as she sat, asleep for much of the time, in the armchair.

2 She looked comfortable. She was dressed. Her hair remains fresh-looking. Her skin remains soft to the touch. She did sleep for much of the time that I was with her. In any case, her head was down, her chin resting on her chest.

3 Alas, she was generally unresponsive. Twice she lifted her head when I called 'Lilian'. On both occasions, she looked directly at me, but there was no sign of recognition, either in her eyes or by the touch of her hand. When I held her hand, she did not respond. The palm didn't open, there was no grip in response to mine. Yet I heard that she had been in the garden during the Open Day last Saturday. I heard too that she was feeding herself.

4 My sense was of a gentle lady who, compared with previous visits, had withdrawn further from the world. She was comfortable. She was clean. She was well-dressed. But the lights were out.

5 Perhaps she is more responsive at other times. I wonder if she is more responsive, say, in the morning, before lunch. Perhaps she does recognise some members of the staff. Perhaps.