Coffee Chats with Donna: I Should Have Brought a Notebook

Today’s coffee delivery was a small Dutch Bros Americano with vanilla and cream.

And I have an update: my friend has a name.

Donna Woods.

She’s the woman I’ve been getting to know while visiting my mother at the skilled nursing facility. Our previous conversations have covered burgers, sweet tea, prosthetics, and enough pets to require a separate address book.

Today, the conversation continued. My ability to keep up did not.

I learned that her husband was a trash collector and later built a Toys “R” Us. Before I could get all the details, we had moved on to pecan ice cream, a strawberry shake, coffee and donuts, and Pensacola, Florida.

I believe that was the order. There may have been a connecting flight I missed.

I was still mentally standing in Toys “R” Us while Donna was already ordering dessert.

She had to be talking 200 words a minute. That’s my unofficial estimate. I didn’t have the equipment—or the processing speed—to verify it.

But I was enjoying myself.

I’m learning that I don’t need to capture every detail to enjoy a conversation with Donna. I can listen, follow what I can, and accept that I may leave with questions about how we got from trash collection to a strawberry shake.

Then Donna had things to do.

The 11 a.m. Coffee Chats were coming up, and she was rounding up people. She was meeting new residents, saying hello to nurses, and making sure people knew there was somewhere to go and someone to talk to.

I don’t know whether she has an official role in organizing any of this. From what I saw, she wasn’t waiting for a title.

Donna was working the room.

Watching her, I got to see another side of the friend I’ve been writing about. I’ve talked about the importance of stopping to listen and making time for people. Today, I watched Donna doing her own version of showing up: greeting people, introducing herself, and inviting them into a conversation.

She had a full social schedule, and she appeared ready to help everyone else acquire one.

I came into the facility because my mother is there. Along the way, I’ve found myself looking forward to these conversations, too. Each visit, I learn a little more about Donna—and see a little more of the community around Mom.

Today, that community included an enthusiastic recruiter and an 11 a.m. coffee appointment.

Next time, I may bring a notebook.

Although at Donna’s pace, I should probably learn shorthand first.

More Than a Visit: Prosthetics, Pets, and Another Conversation

This morning, on my way to see my mom in the facility gym, I passed my friend—the woman who had already given me the rundown on burgers and sweet tea.

Today, I got to learn a little more.

She told me her son had a toe amputated in 2022 and is on his fourth prosthetic. I’m on my fourth, too. His socket has a dragon on it. Mine has a New York Yankees logo.

Different approaches to intimidation.

When I first stopped to talk with her, I couldn’t have guessed we would eventually find that connection. But that’s what I’m enjoying about these conversations: I keep learning something I didn’t know about the person in front of me.

There was also a chocolate Lab named Maverick in one of the business offices. I don’t know his official job title, but I’m comfortable assuming he’s in management.

That led to learning about the cats and dogs my friend has had over the years. There were enough that I can’t remember them all for this post. I would have needed a notebook, a family tree, and possibly Maverick’s administrative assistance.

Yesterday, I wrote about making time to visit and listen. This morning, I got to continue the conversation.

I’m starting to know this woman beyond the fact that we happen to be in the same room. I know where she likes her sweet tea. I know a little about her son. I know we have something in common that I never would have discovered by simply saying hello and walking past.

And now I know she has a lifetime of pet stories.

My mother’s recovery is what brings me into that facility. Along the way, I’m getting to know other people whose lives are unfolding there, too.

I don’t remember every detail. Thankfully, I don’t think friendship comes with a quiz.

But I’m glad I stopped. I’m glad she had more to tell me. And the woman I first described as another resident is now someone I call my friend.

I Brought the Coffee. They Brought the Conversation.

As I’ve shared, my mother has had two strokes in three months. She’s now in a skilled nursing facility, with the goal of getting to assisted living and eventually becoming mobile enough to get to Thailand.

One step at a time. Literally.

Before heading to an afternoon recovery meeting, I stopped by and found her eating lunch in the day and activity room with several other residents.

I brought her Dunkin’ coffee because the world runs on it, and medical facility coffee usually makes me question whether running is still an option.

While I was there, I found myself thinking about my old call center training days.

In a previous life, I would role-play phone calls with my classes. I played the aggressive caller, the caller with an accent, the soft-spoken caller, and the caller who was older than me.

For that last role, I would talk. And talk. And talk. And talk.

I could turn a simple account question into a scenic tour with absolutely no estimated arrival time.

But I did it for a reason. I wanted my classes to understand that a phone call might be about more than whatever appeared on their computer screen. For someone who didn’t get many visitors or have many people to talk to, that call could be a welcome chance to connect.

I wanted them to hear the person, even when the conversation took the long way around.

Today, I was reminded of that lesson.

I met a woman who told me she had lived in Pensacola, Florida. I learned that her favorite burger was from McDonald’s and that the best sweet tea came from Bojangles. And that was just part of the conversation.

I arrived with coffee and left with restaurant recommendations. A productive visit by any reasonable standard.

I don’t know how often she gets visitors. I don’t know whether she had already shared those stories that morning or had been waiting for someone to tell.

I just know she wanted to talk, and I had the chance to listen.

It made me think about how often I can get caught up in the purpose of a visit—the updates, the next steps, the things that need to get done—and forget to leave room for an ordinary conversation.

My mother’s recovery has plenty of goals attached to it right now. Skilled nursing. Assisted living. Mobility. Thailand.

But there’s also today. Lunch in the activity room. A decent cup of coffee. A conversation about burgers and sweet tea.

I’m sharing this as a reminder to myself as much as anyone else: if I have time to scroll through my phone, I probably have time to use it to call someone.

And if there’s someone older in your life, I hope you’ll make that call or stop by for a visit, too.

I don’t need a perfect thing to say. I can bring some coffee, pull up a chair, and listen.

Apparently, I can also plan my next meal.