The Amish Seamstress Read Online Free PDF Page A

the day we met, he had known what he wanted to do, and he’d been willing to learn and grow in whatever ways it would take to make that happen. I, conversely, had never been that sure about anything, except maybe my friendship with him. And my love for my grandmother, who died when I was little. Otherwise, my entire life had been without purpose or direction.
    A loud bang from the front of the room startled me. The instructor had dropped a large, hardcover book. She bent down to pick it up, and as she returned to a standing position, she locked eyes with me. For a moment I wondered if she’d dropped the book on purpose.
    I returned my pencil to where I’d stopped taking notes.
    She continued talking. “The patient’s safety is always of the highest concern and you must closely supervise…”
    Maybe I wasn’t in love with Zed. Maybe I only felt as if I was because he’d be leaving for college the next day and because, above all, I was going to miss him terribly. I blinked back a tear and stared at my open notebook, realizing I’d stopped listening again.
    â€œAnd that is, of course, one of the biggest benefits of working with the elderly,” Patricia said, though I’d missed the first part of her thought and hadn’t a clue what she meant.
    What I liked most about working with the elderly was hearing their stories. Just yesterday morning I had been taking care of Phyllis, my favorite patient here at the nursing facility, and listening to her talk about being a girl in New York City and going with her grandmother to something called the Russian Tea Room. Phyllis was in her late seventies now but still quite capable, and as we talked I suggested she stand at the mirror and brush her own hair while I cleaned her dentures. So, ya , I guess I did promote independence, even if I wasn’t a firm sort of person by nature.
    The instructor clicked the remote to her computer and a slide of a patient chart flashed on the screen. “When you’re doing home health care, you’ll need to assess your client.” She clicked the remote a second time. “Start with a questionnaire for the patient and family members.”
    I wrote down questionnaire .
    â€œEncourage them to be as honest as possible.”
    As honest as possible. I swallowed, trying to rid myself of the lump that had just formed. Even if I did love Zed—and I couldn’t think what else this overwhelming feeling was—I couldn’t be honest with him. It would ruin our friendship. It would end our friendship. I blinked away another tear.
    â€œIzzy, do you have a question?”
    Startled, I quickly shook my head.
    Thankfully someone else did, although I didn’t hear exactly what it was because I was placing my pencil back on my paper. Next to questionnaire , I wrote, encourage honest answers .
    I’d never been kissed by anyone. Would kissing Zed be like kissing a buddy? Realizing I’d just made a face, I stopped immediately and quickly looked at the instructor. She hadn’t noticed.
    No, kissing Zed would not be like kissing an old friend, not the way I felt three days ago. Not the way I’d felt last night. Not the way, if I was honest with myself, I was feeling right now.
    I’d never even wanted someone to kiss me.
    Until now.
    A noise in the hall distracted me for a moment, but then I focused on Patricia again.
    She said, “When you’re developing short term goals…” I wrote that down but obviously I’d missed something.
    I looked up at the screen. There was a new slide with the title Goal Setting .
    The instructor continued. “Encourage the patient to pursue a hobby—either an old one or a new one. For example, they may no longer be able to travel, but perhaps they can write about their experiences or tell someone who can write them down. Telling stories often becomes therapeutic for patients…”
    I wrote that down too. Which brought