Is There a Full Moon Out?
I delayed going in to visit Mom yesterday when I spotted Big Bro's name on the sign-in sheet. He'd gotten there about an hour before I did and rather than eat my two McChicken sandwiches in front of him, I went back to the restaurant and took a seat until I had finished. It turns out I needn't have worried: Big Bro had probably not been there at the time; he simply hadn't bothered to sign out.
Mom was half hidden in back of the soiled laundry hampers that took up one side of the hallway. I could see her barco lounger, but, once again, I was struck by how little space she took up. Her legs have been bent in a fetal position fo so long, I don't think she can unbend them.
Although she looked asleep, the slightest touch of the chair alerted her to someone's presence. "Who is that?", she repeated several times. She seemed to recognize my name although not with any great enthusiasm. I could hear her grumble something to the effect of, "Make yourself at home and don't bother me."
I wondered whether she would know the chair was moving, if I decided to take her outside to the courtyard. She did as soon as I moved it an inch. "Where are you taking me?"
"Don't you want to go outside?"
"NO!!!", she roared back.
I decided to ignore her. I'd already been through the most painful visit I have yet to have with her and it didn't seem to be gearing up to be any worst than that. So, I wheeled her into the elevator despite her protests.
"I told you to get away from me!", she started yelling and chopping at her lap with her hand. The staff paid no attention at all; they had heard far worse from otrher patients. And, so have I. Mom is behind the curve when it comes to yelling and cursing. In fact, despite the fact that this was her fourth Memorial Day weekend in captivity was last week, I've never heard her utter a single curse word.
Because it was Sunday, there were an unusually high number of families out in the courtyard. Many of them were expecting the Elvis Imitator or some other form of entertainment at the usual mid-afternoon hour. However, word slowly filtered through the crowd that the talent had cancelled due to transportaion problems. Mom and I usually camp out as far from the kareoke machine as possible, since it makes it all but impossible to hear what she is saying - when she does say something. But, I didn't want to risk angering her further by a bumpy trip to the far side of the garden. So, I parked the barco lounger beside the sliding door of the nursing home entrance.
The Elvis Imitator's cancellation was a lucky break. The only consistently annoying sound was the rush of the sliding door itself which was never closed for more than a minute before some came in or out. But, that was a minor detail considerinng that Mom probably was not aware of it. Instead, I could tell she knew she was outdoors. The landscapers had planted some marigolds in different places around the courtyard - a little early in the year, in my estimation - but, their pungency was not altogether unpleasant. Mixed with the lavendar bushes that line the back fence, a bouquet of fragrances presented themselves for Mom's amusement and bemusement.
There was an Italian-American family - mostly old guys in their seventies - across the patio from us, about thirty feet. I asked to borrow one the empty chairs from their table, and they answered, "Sure. If you can carry it, it's your's." It was made of thick threads of wrought iron and was in fact pretty heavy.
About a half-hour later one of the gentlemen - evidently a visitor - prepared to leave and when he came close, he paused by Mom and me and paid his respects. I think he wanted to make up for what might have come across as a brusque manner when I asked to borrow the chair. He inquired about Mom and said how hard it is to see a loved one suffering. He complimented me on by dreadlocks and asked me where I was from. When I said, "Brooklyn", he went into a story - the details of which I've forgotten - about himself and some friends when they were teenagers. I think he said, it took place in Crown Heights. In fact, he mentioned the intersection: I think it was DeKalb and Cleveland Avenue. It was an adventure of some sort and, in any event, seemed to have a happy ending.
He sneezed a couple of times into the palm of his hand and I offered one of the napkins I had from my McDonald's meal. He took it gratefully and blew his nose into it. Afterward, without thinking, I offered my hand in a goodbye shake. I probably should have washed it immediately.
I'm not sure how much of the conversation Mom had heard, if any, but she did cock her head in our direction a couple of times. A little while later, I asked her whether she was ready to go back inside. "Not right this minute.", she replied.
Mom was half hidden in back of the soiled laundry hampers that took up one side of the hallway. I could see her barco lounger, but, once again, I was struck by how little space she took up. Her legs have been bent in a fetal position fo so long, I don't think she can unbend them.
Although she looked asleep, the slightest touch of the chair alerted her to someone's presence. "Who is that?", she repeated several times. She seemed to recognize my name although not with any great enthusiasm. I could hear her grumble something to the effect of, "Make yourself at home and don't bother me."
I wondered whether she would know the chair was moving, if I decided to take her outside to the courtyard. She did as soon as I moved it an inch. "Where are you taking me?"
"Don't you want to go outside?"
"NO!!!", she roared back.
I decided to ignore her. I'd already been through the most painful visit I have yet to have with her and it didn't seem to be gearing up to be any worst than that. So, I wheeled her into the elevator despite her protests.
"I told you to get away from me!", she started yelling and chopping at her lap with her hand. The staff paid no attention at all; they had heard far worse from otrher patients. And, so have I. Mom is behind the curve when it comes to yelling and cursing. In fact, despite the fact that this was her fourth Memorial Day weekend in captivity was last week, I've never heard her utter a single curse word.
Because it was Sunday, there were an unusually high number of families out in the courtyard. Many of them were expecting the Elvis Imitator or some other form of entertainment at the usual mid-afternoon hour. However, word slowly filtered through the crowd that the talent had cancelled due to transportaion problems. Mom and I usually camp out as far from the kareoke machine as possible, since it makes it all but impossible to hear what she is saying - when she does say something. But, I didn't want to risk angering her further by a bumpy trip to the far side of the garden. So, I parked the barco lounger beside the sliding door of the nursing home entrance.
The Elvis Imitator's cancellation was a lucky break. The only consistently annoying sound was the rush of the sliding door itself which was never closed for more than a minute before some came in or out. But, that was a minor detail considerinng that Mom probably was not aware of it. Instead, I could tell she knew she was outdoors. The landscapers had planted some marigolds in different places around the courtyard - a little early in the year, in my estimation - but, their pungency was not altogether unpleasant. Mixed with the lavendar bushes that line the back fence, a bouquet of fragrances presented themselves for Mom's amusement and bemusement.
There was an Italian-American family - mostly old guys in their seventies - across the patio from us, about thirty feet. I asked to borrow one the empty chairs from their table, and they answered, "Sure. If you can carry it, it's your's." It was made of thick threads of wrought iron and was in fact pretty heavy.
About a half-hour later one of the gentlemen - evidently a visitor - prepared to leave and when he came close, he paused by Mom and me and paid his respects. I think he wanted to make up for what might have come across as a brusque manner when I asked to borrow the chair. He inquired about Mom and said how hard it is to see a loved one suffering. He complimented me on by dreadlocks and asked me where I was from. When I said, "Brooklyn", he went into a story - the details of which I've forgotten - about himself and some friends when they were teenagers. I think he said, it took place in Crown Heights. In fact, he mentioned the intersection: I think it was DeKalb and Cleveland Avenue. It was an adventure of some sort and, in any event, seemed to have a happy ending.
He sneezed a couple of times into the palm of his hand and I offered one of the napkins I had from my McDonald's meal. He took it gratefully and blew his nose into it. Afterward, without thinking, I offered my hand in a goodbye shake. I probably should have washed it immediately.
I'm not sure how much of the conversation Mom had heard, if any, but she did cock her head in our direction a couple of times. A little while later, I asked her whether she was ready to go back inside. "Not right this minute.", she replied.