My father made a special impression on me in his old age, when – at a very advanced age – he lovingly and tirelessly cared for his demented wife, my mother. He visited her daily in the dementia ward of a nursing home and always greeted her roommate, Mrs. K., with exquisite courtesy: "Good afternoon, Mrs. K.," he said toward her bed, bowing his head politely. Mrs. K. always lay in bed, either apathetic, crying, or screaming, her nightgown askance, seemingly completely removed from the world. For me, she was beyond words; for my father, she was an old lady whom he treated with great respect and still greeted before my mother. After all, it was also her room, and he entered her home as a guest. So I learned respect for Mrs. K. from my father and regularly greeted her too when I visited – much less often than my father. Over time, I even grew fond of her. This continued for almost two years until my mother died before Mrs. K.
