Ellen Rosen, Painter

Resident at Westbeth since 1969

In 1985 I had a craniotomy to remove a benign tumor on my hearing nerve at the base of my skull. It was serious, major surgery. I was a single mother. My son was just turning 11. The people in Westbeth, where I lived and still do, helped me. Patricia (Pat) Horan took me to the hospital, she took care of my son, and she brought him to visit me during the sixteen days I was there. Children weren’t allowed in hospitals then. We sat in the hall near the elevators on my floor. Pat took care of my aging parents. The Gamble family took care of my pets. Frederick (Freddie) Waits, the percussionist and drummer, took care of my car. People called me, came to my door, helped in any way they could. There were no cell phones then or internet. People called on your landline or rang your bell. They wanted to help. I belonged to a community, and I felt safe. That was a long time ago. I wish that we were all as connected to one another now as we were then. Times have changed, but we are still a community.

When I was preparing to go into the hospital, I told Frederick that whenever I was sick, I wore one of my ex-husband’s white cotton T shirts because they were warm and comforting, but that I didn’t have anything like them anymore. The night before I went into the hospital, my doorbell rang. I answered it. There was Frederick holding a brown paper bag in his hand. “This is for you,” he said. Inside the bag was a freshly washed, white cotton Canal Jeans T shirt.

Both Pat and Frederick are dead now, but I still have that T shirt tucked in a drawer someplace, and I still have the memories tucked in my heart.