Rosalie Revels
A tribute to my Queen Barbara:
Today with a heart full of love, a few tears, and—if I’m honest—a little bit of rice cake dust still in my pocket. Because if you knew Barbara, you knew that snacks were sacred, and sharing them was her love language.
When I first met Barbara, I thought I was ready. I had her care plan, the patience, the shoes with good grip. But nothing—and I mean nothing—prepared me for the whirlwind that was Barbara on Day One. She rolled through the facility like a tiny tornado with a mission, and I was the poor soul trying to chase her down, catch my breath, and maybe, just maybe, convince her to sit still for five seconds. I wanted to quit that day. I really did.
But then something happened.
Barbara let me in.
Not just into her routine, but into her world—a world that was vibrant, unpredictable, and deeply beautiful. She had a mind that danced in ways most of us couldn’t follow, and a heart that remembered how to love, even when names and dates slipped away. She shared her stories, her quirks, her plate at every meal. Literally. She’d push it toward me and say, “Here, taste this.” And I did. Every time. Because that was Barbara’s way of saying, “You’re with me.”
And I introduced her to rice cakes. A humble snack, yes—but to Barbara, they became comfort. A little crunchy peace offering when the world felt too loud. They were our secret weapon. Our little ritual. And somehow, they became her favorite.
Over time, our bond grew. We laughed. We cried. We rolled—sometimes literally—through the days together. And in that journey, I didn’t just gain a client. I gained a friend. I gained a family. I gained Barbara.
She had this phrase—her signature line: “Let’s go, let’s go, c’mon!” And she meant it. Whether it was time to move, time to eat, or time to escape the boredom of us slowpokes, Barbara was always ready. Always urging us forward.
So when God called her home, I thought—maybe Barbara just got bored with us. Maybe she looked around, saw us all standing still, and said, “Let’s go, let’s go, c’mon!” And off she went. Rolling into heaven with that unstoppable energy, probably pushing her plate toward an angel and saying, “Here, taste this.”
Barbara, thank you for letting me in. Thank you for your beautiful mind, your thoughtful heart, and your rice cakes. I’ll miss every moment. But I’ll carry your spirit with me—especially when I hear those words echo in my heart:
“Let’s go, let’s go, c’mon.”
Rest well, my friend. You’ve earned it.
Eternal Love,
ROSALIE REVELS❤️
