Walking up the back stairs of the nursing home, I heard someone yelling and cursing loudly. I pressed the red button releasing the door lock and came onto the third-floor unit. The fire of her fury had burnt out rapidly, and a 32-year-old young woman—I’ll call her Gwen—now sat hunched and sobbing in the nook at the end of the hallway. I thought if I spoke or approached too closely she would dismiss me, so I sat quietly 10 feet away on the broad windowsill. Her breathing slowe

Sakura was born in 1931, in the Japanese city of Nagasaki, a major port city and centre for ship building. She enjoyed a pleasant childhood with many friends and family. The early years of her adolescence were overshadowed, though, by the increasingly grim circumstances of her country being at war. On August 9, 1945, the day seemed ordinary for the 14-year-old Sakura, until in a flash, nothing ordinary remained, after an atomic bomb was dropped on her city by the U.S., and 60

“I call them the persons of my mind, my pers,” Robin said, in reference to the split personalities she experiences due to trauma. “I talk out loud to them and I find it therapeutic, but I try to be careful because I know it can bother my roommate, and other people,” she said. Robin suffered severe and serial traumas, and was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, and associated psychotic symptoms (voice-hearing and delusions). She currently resides in a nursing home,

(‘Alex’ gave permission for this brief sharing of his story; ‘TJ’ said not a word.) Alex is a tall, thin, 86-year-old former psychotherapist now living in a nursing home, and walking with a walker. He experiences mild anxiety and depression associated with adjustment to stage of life development, and he experiences mild cognitive issues. I meet with him for life review therapy. Alex loves music and theater, and he wrote and performed in plays, in addition to practicing and te

Contemplative poetry: is it something to define, or something to enter? Is it something one knows when one feels it, or when one is told about it? Is a contemplative poet known by reputation, or discovered by surprise? The contemplative poet might be the one knocked silly by the discovery of having written such a surprising poem. The soul is called into a contemplative quiet. The inward aching yearns for words to convey what cannot be said. Only prayer would do, no other

Our whole lives have been spent in time, and are measured by time. We mark the day of each birth, and celebrate it annually. We engrave the dates of birth and death on grave stones. We organize each day and week for the proper use of our time. We read the daily news, and study the history of events through time. We might be bored by the slowness of time at one moment, and dismayed by the swiftness of its passing in the next. We ought to be fully familiar with and understandi

We encounter many kinds of storms as we journey through this world, for some, they are more destructive than for others. We naturally react with fear, and worry, and anger over why it must be this way. God knows we are passing through a fallen world, and He asks us to try and see things as He does, or to trust that He is in control, and will guide us all the way. As a psychotherapist, I work with clients who live in nursing homes. An elderly man who I will call Alex, recently

Hannah was sitting on the living room floor talking to her doll, Samantha, when Henry walked in. Henry was her big brother and he seemed all excited about something he had in a box. “What do you got there, Henry”? Hannah said. Henry said, “Oh, it’s great! I can’t wait to show you”. “Well, what is it”? Hannah said. Henry kept walking toward the kitchen, saying “Mom! Dad!” Hannah ran after him shouting, “Henrryyy”. When he got to the kitchen Henry said, “I got a frog”!

All that I thirst for, Being known and not condemned. Eternal relief. I came to see you. I have never not loved you. Do you see me now? You came first to me? You wanted water from me? They all left me dry.

Always one with the Divine dispatch Never a thought for himself Always a swift and selfless messenger Never a pause to ponder his view Now God asking to become a person Never had this happened before Great Gabriel approaching This person This question This transition God asking if this Mary might become His mother Always he’d flown on the wings of the Lord Never had he felt like a human, hesitant to be seen Do not be afraid, Gabriel, for you have been chosen for this role Thi

Evening gasps, Grasping closer his dusky cloak Till he's a shadow in the corner. Loitering longer near this luminous lady sewing in light. Time glides beside Evening, Stilled to see His winged spirit is her guest. Your presence, Lord, is felt By the powers of nature. Your silence speaks to the cycles of movement, To our longings for the everness of you. Abide always, meekest one. Fill my breath with the motions Of your arriving and going, She prays. A Habit of Prayer A weddin

I'm happy to share that En Route Books, a publisher specializing in Catholic writings and media, will be publishing my collection of Haiku Psalms this fall. These poems, adapted from the Book of Psalms, allow for the recitation of these prayers in the form of a Haiku. The Haiku is a wonderful poetic structure: it's 5/7/5 syllables allow for the poem to be spoken on a single breath, and the natural rhythm in the recitations allow for an easy connection between the psalm, the

Originally published with psychotherapy.net. A frustrated and depressed nursing home resident recently described the facility as “a place where unwanted elders can be exiled.” Through our therapy conversation in that session, he came to acknowledge that he did have problems with his memory and his health, and that his facility residence was reasonable — even though unwanted — and was not a rejection by his son. “I know he’s only doing what he thinks is right for me.” The Em

I was invited to speak with Travis Heath, host of Therapist Confidential to discuss my career of 43 years spent providing psychotherapy in nursing homes. We explore how these settings have changed, why they’re “very lively, even though they’re often dealing with death,” and what it means to do meaningful therapy with older adults and medically complex younger adults. Filled with vivid stories and nuanced reflections on loss, hope, communication, and meaning, this conversati