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.

Naps

Mother sleeps more and more it seems.  Part of this is the schedule at her nursing home.  After lunch, most of the residents take a nap.  Mother used to skip this ritual altogether, but lately, I find her curled up on her bed sound asleep under one of her fuzzy throw blankets. 

She loves her bed.  If we've gone for a walk around the building or outside, she is always excited to see her bed, and she asks if she can lie down on it.  If she can't find her bed, any bed will do.  More than once I've found her in other rooms and in other peoples beds. Sometimes someone else is in her bed. The home can be a bit like Goldilocks and the Three Bears;  you find a bed that is "just right" and take a nap.

Today, I put laundry away and worked around her room thinking she might wake up.  I found lemonade in vase with the artificial flowers - she had "watered" them - and her wall hanging was on the floor.  She had pulled it off the nails and had chewed the corner of the hanging.  There was also a straw hat on her bed.  If she were a teenager, I would wonder what kind of party and been going on.  But, alas, it is only her poor scattered brain working in ways we can't understand. 

After I had puttered around her room for a while, she did awaken.  I asked if she had had a nice nap.  "I did until you woke me up!" she mumbled and turned over.  That was my cue to leave.  Sometimes nap time is sacred and should not be disturbed and no questions should be asked.