Visiting Mother

It is cold here and threatening snow or rain or ice, but in the nursing home it is a constant 72 degrees.  Even in the toasty rooms, Mother huddles under her blanket.  It is as if she can feel the cold, wet weather approaching. Or maybe it is just the loneliness.

When Mother sees me, she always starts calling my name over and over.  I hustle out of my coat and sit beside her on the bed as fast as I can because she calls my name louder and louder until I am at her side and patting her back.  I kiss her head and she is happy.  Today I have brought three Clementine oranges for her.  The bright orange peels fall into the trash can as she yells, "Hurry, hurry!"  The sweet orange fragrance only increases her urgency to get a section into her mouth.  I have to make her sit up to eat, and by holding the oranges away from her, she is willing to sit up to get them.  So I pass her a section at a time as I sit beside her.  She ummmms and the juice runs out of the corner of her mouth.  More.  I peel and she eats until they are all gone.  Even then she looks at my hands to see if I might still have one more section for her.  It takes a couple of times of telling her that they are all gone and showing her my empty hands before she is satisfied that she has eaten the last of the oranges.

We walk down the hall to look out the window.  Beyond the wooden privacy fence we can see the woods.  "I love the woods," she says.  She smiles and for a moment she remembers.  I don't think she remembers her woods, but she still knows that she loves the woods and nature.  It is a peaceful moment.  As we turn to walk back down the hall she asks,"Where are we?"  I tell her she is at the nursing home and it is where she lives. "I live here?"  She is amazed, but then sees her bed and her room and she remembers them.

Mother gets into bed by putting her forehead down on the bed first then crawls in on her knees and  finally flops over onto her side.  It looks awkward, but she makes it every time.  Now she wants to be covered again, and we go through the ritual of the back rub and the singing.  One song makes her sad, so I find a happy song to sing and just as quickly as she was sad, she is happy again.  Lassie Come Home is on the TV, and Mother starts calling for Lassie over and over saying how much she loves Lassie.  But Mother never even liked dogs.  Not even a little. Something about the story pulls at her heart even now.

Her eyes begin to flutter, and she is ready for a nap.  I kiss her and tell her I will be back later.  Telling her I will be back tomorrow seems impossible for her, so I tell her I will see her later, and she is satisfied.  More kisses.  More tucking her in as she cuddles and chews on her new stuffed animal.  She smiles the drifty smile of coming sleep.  See you later alligator.  This time she doesn't answer, and I make my way down the hall and toward home.