Mrs Raab wants to go home
Over the past years I was employed as an unskilled social worker in a low-income quarter. Then the management changed, the company got a new logo, and I was made redundant.
I found a new job in a nursing home for elderly, my task here is to spend my time with aged ones suffering from dementia.
In the quarter I met people who were too poor to use public transportation. I met people who drank too much. I met people with delusions. I met people who could neither read nor write. I met people who were old and sick. All of them were lonely.
But then, moving to a home for elderly, you lose even the last remains of the life you have lived.
Your autarky has gone, and you are depending on the help of people that are organized by shifts.
The home lacks personal, it always does.
The nurses are overstrained.
Its hard to stay patient and appreciative under these circumstances.
Some of them are kind to the old ones.
Others are bossy.
Often enough, some nursing staff just trample over them.
They have nobody to talk.
And the aged ones are left alone. They stare at the walls,
they close their eyes,
waiting for the time to pass.
And they know, I am going to die here.
Not at home, but in a home.
A terrible place to be.