A pair of dolls. A ring. A Hudson’s Bay card.
And a big, toothless smile. These were among the few things Antonietta Piscitelli possessed when Catherine Wachter met the at a dementia care home in Toronto’s neighbourhood. That March afternoon two years ago, Wachter arrived on the second floor of , her first day as a volunteer.
Antonietta was dancing in a small den to music playing on the TV. As she grooved, Antonietta went up to the residents seated around her, trying to get them to join her. Wachter, a guidance counsellor at a , took Antonietta’s hand and danced into her life.
Catherine Wachter met Antonietta Piscitelli as a volunteer at the senior home where Piscitelli lived in the later years of her life. Antonietta loved to sing, sometimes in , in the home she shared with roughly 20 other in early to middle-stage . Looking at the bare walls of Antonietta’s room, Wachter couldn’t help but wonder who this woman was.
Unlike other residents, Antonietta had no photos and few possessions. It didn’t appear Antonietta had any family; she never saw any . Wachter grew more and more attached to her friend.
Antonietta didn’t have teeth but found it funny, Wachter learned. So every Tuesday when Wachter came to visit, the pair played a game of searching for Antonietta’s teeth, looking under her bed, in her closet, in Wachter’s mouth. Antonietta laughed so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks.
Wachter always visited Antonietta last (because if she started with Antonie.