Day 7 Update: Leon

Tonight was an evening visit, arriving a little after 5 to find things already in motion — dad was being moved up to the 9th floor into a new room. One of the nurses who had been caring for him was exceptional — a real communicator, the kind that makes you feel like your person is truly being looked after. Those people matter more than they probably know.

The move went smoothly, and the new room team did their intake assessment as he settled in.

But the moment of the night happened once we got settled into the new room.

I’ve been intentional about not handing dad easy answers — I want to work his brain, push him to find things on his own. Tonight I noticed he was struggling to recall his own name. And honestly, when you think about it, how often does a 75-year-old actually get called by his real name? He’s dad, papa, lil brother, captain blow dry — the list goes on. But his name is Leon. So instead of giving it to him, I told him to pay close attention to what the nurses and people around him were calling him, and see if it sounded right. Then I walked away from it. And it got me thinking — we take our own name for granted, but how many names are you actually called in a lifetime? Dad, papa, lil brother, captain blow dry, honey, buddy, boss — the list is probably longer than any of us realize. The name on your birth certificate might actually be the one you hear the least. And here’s a little gem worth sitting with — Leon spelled backward is Noel. And Noel, rooted in the Latin word natalis, means birth. A man working hard to rediscover himself, just weeks after Christmas and six days after a stroke, and his name spelled backward means birth. If that’s not a sign, we don’t know what is.

Twenty or thirty minutes later, he heard a nurse call his name. He turned and looked right at me and said — “Leon.” I gave him a high five on the spot. He loved it so much he said it again, then held his hands out and said, “high fives.” So I smacked him another one. That moment was everything.

After the room transition and assessments wrapped up, I realized he hadn’t eaten since I arrived. I asked the team about dinner and got him taken care of. He had apple juice first — and he went after it like it was a cold corona after a long day of yard work in July. Then came the real event: sugar-free, dairy-free orange sherbet. His first ice cream since the stroke. He ate it like it was New Year’s Eve 1999 and the world was ending at midnight.

Full heart!!!