Sunday, May 25, 2014
"I love you little. I love you big. I love you like a little pig.â€ť During my visit to the nursing home that afternoon, I must have heard this sweet, odd rhyme more than a hundred times. I was sitting in the atrium, talking to a distinguished older man I had come to visit. He was a church member, and I enjoyed visiting him. But that particular day we were not sitting there alone. Near us sat a woman, another resident, wearing a nondescript pastel blouse and a broad, broad smile.
Though the woman sat close enough to touch, she expressed no interest in us or in our conversation. She just stared out the window and said those childlike words: â€śI love you little. I love you big.â€ť She repeated them again and again and again. â€śI love you like a little pig.â€ť
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