The other day one of our residents passed away. As always this is tragic, not only to the family and to the people that work here, but also for his fellow residents in the ward.
I was talking to one of the residents outside the ward, when the "graveyard angels" (as I like to call them) came to fetch the body. They are not very subtle in their job, as they throw this Royal Purple throw over the bodies as they wheel them out and man and mouse knows what's going on. I tried to stand in front of Mr B, so that he wouldn't see what was happening, but unfortunately I misjudged the size of my body.
Mr B sounding a little bit distressed now: "From which ward is that dead body?"
OT: "From your ward, Mr B, I am so..."
Mr B: a big smile spreading over his face "But I am busy talking to you, so that means...that is not me!"
OT: "No, it's definitely not you, Mr B"
Another lady from the ward walking by...
Mr B: sounding extremely happy now "It is not you either!"
I guess even in the gravest of situations, we can always find something to be grateful for...