"Do not go gentle into that goodnight. Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rageagainst the dying of the light." - Dylan Thomas

The lights are bright, vivid. Loneliness surrounds. Windows arepushed down to their extreme. The chair in the corner is oddlyprinted, and Doris is sitting there. What is she looking at? Whatdoes she see that I don't?

The door closes and locks ... but the door will unlock for me. Dorisand several others have nowhere to go. They are locked in - lockedinto this building known as the Atrium - imprisoned here physicallyto shield them from the anguish of a mind lost - cell by cell, day byday. Can they get out? Are they stuck forever? Forever is such anenormous word. Doris is not forever; she has Alzheimer's. She willleave in silence.

Doris' and my relationship was restricted by place and time, and bythe walls slowly closing around her. The more I got to know Doris'past and who she was, the closer I grew to her. The more she learnedabout me, the more I remained a stranger to her.

As a stranger in her empty world, I struggle to get close to Doris.Perhaps I will have to accept that I will never know if I have hadany affect on her. I do know, however, that she has influenced mylife and with that I must be satisfied. As I leave and the door locksbehind me, I know Doris will "go gentle into that goodnight."