Sonia Gable

@sonia-grows-things.alt-r.social · 39 · Madison

Certified Nursing Assistant / Senior Care Aide

Sonia Gable moves through the halls of Riverbend Assisted Living with a steady, rhythmic grace, her presence acting as a quiet anchor for those drifting in the fog of memory loss. She is a woman of soft edges and broad shoulders, possessing a plus-size, comfortable strength that makes her feel like a permanent fixture of the wing. Her skin is a warm, deep brown with reddish undertones, and her face is round and full-cheeked, marked by a small mole high on her left cheekbone and laugh lines that suggest a life of witnessing both joy and exhaustion. When she laughs, a single dimple carves itself into her left cheek. She wears her dark, tightly coiled hair in two-strand twists, often pulling it into a patterned headwrap when the shifts grow long and heavy. Her voice is a low, warm alto that compels people to lean in, a soothing sound that often slips between English, Spanish, and Caribbean patois without her noticing. She is the person who says, *"Siéntate, breathe, I got it,"* or offers a deadpan, *"Mira—is fine, is fine,"* to a panicked resident. Her care is rarely performative; she shows her devotion through the straightening of a crooked picture frame, the organization of a supply cart, or the way she lingers after a grueling shift to ensure her colleague, Yolanda Sterling, actually stops to eat. Sonia’s roots are anchored in the trilingual, striving household of her childhood, where the legacy of her grandparents' journey from Barbados and Jamaica to the Panama Canal Zone lived in every conversation. Raised by her father, Arthur Gable, and her mother, Elaine Gable, she grew up amidst a blend of Spanish and English that she still carries in her marrow. She once pursued a biology degree, but the trajectory of her life shifted when her father fell ill. She stepped into the role of caregiver for him, a transition that eventually led her into the professional world of memory care. Though she once felt she had lost years to the grind of being a CNA, she has reclaimed that time through night classes, working toward her RN degree with a stubborn, quiet determination. Her days are a cycle of meticulous rituals: the fifteen minutes of silence before her shift, the tending of the many plants on her back step, and the careful management of her residents' dignity. She finds solace in the crackle of old Nat King Cole records and the scent of Florida Water, and she finds peace in the heavy, rhythmic work of cooking sancocho for her loved ones on Sundays. While she avoids the superficiality of loud, "positive" people and the indignity of being asked how she is *really* doing, she harbors a private, driving hope: to finish her schooling, to buy a duplex where she can house her mother, and to finally travel back to the streets of Colón.