A Perfect Day to be Old (Was Fifteenth Sunday of Pentecost 2010)
I didn't stay very long at Coffee Hour. I did see Wesgirl who gave me a heads up about another alum from our college who just happened to be wearing the school colors, red and black, to Mass. I doubt if it was on purpose, but I kidded him about it. He looked all of sixteen years old. Everyone does.
When I got to the nursing home the idea hit me that there would not be too many more days of bright sunshine left in the year. The center has a very inviting patio which I pass virtually every other evening on my way to see Mom. In no time at all I had her wheeled out in her portable barco lounger, tucked snugly in white sheets and an afghan throw.
I could not remember the last time she was out of doors for any extended time, other than waiting for the car to arrive between clinic visits.
It was a perfect day to be old. The white hospital sheets reflected the suns rays while Mom's coffee colored skin seemed to glow with renewed radiance. I'm not sure she was completely aware of her surroundings, but, once or twice she opened her milky eyes wide in wonder. I tried talking to her but she wasn't yet completely alert.
Instead, her jaw slackened, her brow unfurrowed and she was snoring gently with me there holding her hand. A pair of sparrows hopped around the courtyard, completely oblivious to us. When I looked up at the sky, it was through a canopy of pin oaks rising behind the fence next door. I could see squirrel's nests tucked into the elbows of the trees.
We stayed for about forty-five minutes. I t would have been longer but for the fact that I pushed my luck by unveiling Mom's injured foot; I thought the sunlight would be good for it. But, something in the dressing had attracted an unwanted guest: a yellow jacket. It landed on the bandaged foot and the more I waved it away, the more determined it seemed to examine its contents, even after I replaced the afgan over it. Rather than go toe-to-toe with an angry hornet, I wheeled Mom back inside, hopefully to return another day.
When I got to the nursing home the idea hit me that there would not be too many more days of bright sunshine left in the year. The center has a very inviting patio which I pass virtually every other evening on my way to see Mom. In no time at all I had her wheeled out in her portable barco lounger, tucked snugly in white sheets and an afghan throw.
I could not remember the last time she was out of doors for any extended time, other than waiting for the car to arrive between clinic visits.
It was a perfect day to be old. The white hospital sheets reflected the suns rays while Mom's coffee colored skin seemed to glow with renewed radiance. I'm not sure she was completely aware of her surroundings, but, once or twice she opened her milky eyes wide in wonder. I tried talking to her but she wasn't yet completely alert.
Instead, her jaw slackened, her brow unfurrowed and she was snoring gently with me there holding her hand. A pair of sparrows hopped around the courtyard, completely oblivious to us. When I looked up at the sky, it was through a canopy of pin oaks rising behind the fence next door. I could see squirrel's nests tucked into the elbows of the trees.
We stayed for about forty-five minutes. I t would have been longer but for the fact that I pushed my luck by unveiling Mom's injured foot; I thought the sunlight would be good for it. But, something in the dressing had attracted an unwanted guest: a yellow jacket. It landed on the bandaged foot and the more I waved it away, the more determined it seemed to examine its contents, even after I replaced the afgan over it. Rather than go toe-to-toe with an angry hornet, I wheeled Mom back inside, hopefully to return another day.