The Many Visits Since

Since finding Nikky, I have visited her two or three times a week. The first few times followed a familiar pattern. I find her either in the dining room, or in her room. "Who is it," she asks, after I knock on the door? "It's Jessie," I reply. When the door opens, she looks up at me, not knowing who I am. "It's me, Nikky...Jessie," I say. "Remember?" "Oh yes, you're my friend, my good friend," she says, not knowing who I am but knowing I am friendly and that she does know me. We slowly walk into the dining room, with Nikky repeating, "Nikky and Jessie, Nikky and Jessie," and sit down at her table. "Can we look at your pictures," I ask? "What pictures," she replies? "Let's look in your purse and see if you have any pictures." Nikky slowly opens her purse, and sees the purple plastic photo album we made together. "What's this? This isn't mine," she says. "Let's see," I reply. We look inside and see the sticker with her name on it. "That's me," she says with surprise. And then she tells me about each picture. "This is my daughter Lucille." "This is Frankie, the cop." And then we get to the picture of me and my family. She looks at it. "Who is that," I ask, pointing to me. "I don't know," she replies. "Who is that?" "Look at me," I say. "That's you," Nikky says excitedly. And then, always, "You're my friend, my good friend. God love you."

Sometimes I tell her the story of how I found her. "Oh yeah, I was lost," Nikky remembers. "You were my angel, God love you." But sometimes I don't remind her, and she reminisces, "You're my good friend. We go way back." Or she tells me stories about her big brother Frankie, always adding, "the cop." "You remember Frankie," she says. Always, we hold hands, and she leans into me saying, "God love you."

Every time I leave, I feel very blessed.