Mr. Halvorsen hadn’t spoken since early December. The staff called it “sunsetting”—a gradual fading away. No visitors, untouched meals. He sat by the window in his wheelchair, staring at the parking lot as if expecting someone who’d forgotten him.
Then Sunny, the golden retriever therapy dog, arrived. The others lit up—but Mr. Halvorsen didn’t even blink. Still, Sunny sat by his knees, and he reached out, trembling, and softly murmured, “Had a dog just like you. Named her Mags.”
It’d been 42 days since we heard his voice.
Now he looks forward to Sunny’s Thursday visits and even shares stories—about Mags, fishing trips, soaked boots, stolen sandwiches. But today, his daughter wanted to move him to a “cheaper facility” that doesn’t allow animals.
I’m Rose, and I’ve watched him fade over five years here. I knew moving him would snatch away the one thing bringing him back.
We met Thursday as usual. After Sunny left, I told him about his daughter’s call. His hand froze. “She doesn’t understand—never did,” he said.
“Mags… kept me going after Margaret died. She stayed by me even when Claire stopped talking to me. When I lost everything… until I didn’t.” His voice cracked. When asked what happened to Mags, he answered, “Old age. Same thing happening to me now.”
That night, I called Claire—not as a nurse, but as someone who cared. I told her how Sunny brought him back to life. After silence, she whispered, “I didn’t know.” I said, “Maybe you can help keep this piece of him alive.” She agreed to help.
Two weeks later, Claire arrived at the facility during Sunny’s visit. He looked up, softly, “Claire.” She knelt, tears in her eyes, whispered, “Hi, Dad.” They sat in silence—mending what was broken. She told me she’d arranged for him to stay and for Sunny to visit anytime.
Months later, he’s emotionally stronger—not just eating, but sharing stories, even laughing. One afternoon he called, “Rose?” I turned, and he thanked me: “For not giving up on me.” I smiled: “Never.”
Small acts—like a wagging tail, a listening ear—can reignite hope. Love matters, and it’s never too late to try again. ❤️