Taran, taran, taran tan tan

Whatever I asked her, she would answer “taran, taran, taran tan tan”. And yet Mrs Luciana understood, and loved, more than words could say.

Sometimes you hear it said that the brain is a wonderful and mysterious machine, and that is exactly the case with Mrs Luciana.

Mrs Luciana had a very particular way of expressing herself: in practice, whatever you asked her, she would answer “taran, taran, taran tan tan”, keeping to the rhythm of music. Now and then she managed to say her name, but no further. Why the brain had memorised that particular melody is a mystery that will remain unsolved. To all appearances these are cases where little can be done, given the barrier to communication. Yet often, not being able to communicate one’s feelings or thoughts does not necessarily mean that one does not understand reality or the things around oneself.

It is extremely hard to say whether Mrs Luciana could understand, but one episode gave me pause. I was taking another resident into the garden and came across Mrs Luciana with her children and her granddaughter.

When Mrs Luciana saw her granddaughter, she bent down to kiss her hand, saying her name in a choked voice. Her eyes and her voice conveyed a great happiness at seeing her again. That is no small thing, since I had never heard her say anything beyond her usual refrain.

Sometimes a simple greeting says: “I have not forgotten you, you are not alone”.

Clearly, with Luciana it was not possible to hold conversations, but often, at the end of my shift, I would stop by to say goodbye. She was always happy when I greeted her — you could tell from her eyes, even though there was no real conversation. Sometimes a simple greeting is a way of telling the other person: “I have not forgotten you, you are not alone”.

Collected by Riccardo Beretta · AVO Concorezzo volunteer