Feels like home.

The nurse finished with me and took me to my room.  The sun was starting to come up, and, fortunately, the other bed in the room was empty.  This is very unusual for the VA.  She said, 'Mr. Jackson, if you need anything, let us know,  You should try to get some sleep.  The treatment team will want to speak with you in the morning.  I guess you know where everything is?'  I should.  I had been in this particular facility 16 times over the last four years.

I stood there for a moment, asking myself the same questions I had asked myself the last time, and the time before that.  How could this happen, I thought.  What went wrong?  There has to be something I'm missing, something I just can't put my finger on.  For a moment, I felt completely hopeless.  I looked down at the bed, turned, and walked down the hall to the common area.  The TV was off; there was another patient sitting at a table trying to read.  I left the room and walked down the hall to the kitchen and opened the freezer.  There they were:  a couple of dozen chocolate and vanilla four ounce ice cream cups.  How many of these had I eaten over the years? I thought.  I grabbed one of each, found a plastic spoon, and walked back to the TV room.  I sat down , found the little paper tab, and pulled the top off the vanilla.  No sooner had I stuck my spoon into the ice cream when I heard a voice say, 'Is that you, Russ?'  I looked up; it was the guy reading the book.  'Don?'  It never fails.  I always run into someone I know at the VA.  Like moths to a flame.