Mommyland
It's felt like forever since I visited Mom. Between RC support groups week, Sis's birthday and shopping for a new laptop (all those Trojan horse attacks finally caught up with the old one) a solid week had passed by. I finally geared up to set out to Flushing right after one of my own doctors appointments in Manhattan last Friday. It was the day before the snowstorm and I knew a visit would be next to impossible once the weekend arrived.
My appointment let out nice and early, around 10:30 and the trip to Queens took less than half the time it normally would from home. As a result, as I was crossing to the nursing home side of the street, after the bus let me off, I spotted someone who looked remarkably like Big Bro' walking down the block. But, he disappeared behind the bank building before I could get a good look at him. I often see people from afar who look like people I know and usually I'm wrong once I get close enough to actually look at them.
The only thing throwing me off this time was that the gentleman looked a little older and was walking a little more slowly than I could ever recall Big Bro' doing. And, of course, it was him. I just had not realized how old he had become over the last few years.
He was on his way to visit Mom when he decided to stop by the bank. Apparently, it was a branch that he could use. We agreed to meet up again "at Mom's."
At Mom's.
This will mark the sixth year of her captivity, nearly as long as any time in any apartment we lived in, growing up in Brooklyn.
She was pretty sound asleep when I peeked inside her open door. I had waved a "hello." to a couple of nurses on my way from the elevator bank. Mom has been in this building so long that there are staff who were still in high school when she was first admitted. She has already outlived every patient (except one) who shared the t.v. room that first noisy and rather frightening visit when she answered, "That's good." after I told her I was getting ready to leave.
I pulled out the Kindle and started out with the opening credits to "Gone With The Wind". The drum roll and bugles were rousing enough to waken her gradually without surprising her. Big Bro' walked in just as the screen credits winding down. Then, I switched to some selections from Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" ("Snow", "The Best Things Happen When You're Dancing") and it was at that point, somewhere in there, that Mom opened her eyes.
I was glad that Big Bro' was there because he always complains that Mom never talks when he is there. I quickly turned down the music and spoke as close as I could to her ear without shouting, "We're here!"
I could see that she was moving her lips in response, something she doesn't usually do until hours of listening have passed by. But, I could clearly see that she was trying to say something by way of a greeting. When I repeated what I said, using my name, I could hear her whisper,
"So, you're home?"
I felt perfectly comfortable saying, "Yes, Ma'am."
My appointment let out nice and early, around 10:30 and the trip to Queens took less than half the time it normally would from home. As a result, as I was crossing to the nursing home side of the street, after the bus let me off, I spotted someone who looked remarkably like Big Bro' walking down the block. But, he disappeared behind the bank building before I could get a good look at him. I often see people from afar who look like people I know and usually I'm wrong once I get close enough to actually look at them.
The only thing throwing me off this time was that the gentleman looked a little older and was walking a little more slowly than I could ever recall Big Bro' doing. And, of course, it was him. I just had not realized how old he had become over the last few years.
He was on his way to visit Mom when he decided to stop by the bank. Apparently, it was a branch that he could use. We agreed to meet up again "at Mom's."
At Mom's.
This will mark the sixth year of her captivity, nearly as long as any time in any apartment we lived in, growing up in Brooklyn.
She was pretty sound asleep when I peeked inside her open door. I had waved a "hello." to a couple of nurses on my way from the elevator bank. Mom has been in this building so long that there are staff who were still in high school when she was first admitted. She has already outlived every patient (except one) who shared the t.v. room that first noisy and rather frightening visit when she answered, "That's good." after I told her I was getting ready to leave.
I pulled out the Kindle and started out with the opening credits to "Gone With The Wind". The drum roll and bugles were rousing enough to waken her gradually without surprising her. Big Bro' walked in just as the screen credits winding down. Then, I switched to some selections from Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" ("Snow", "The Best Things Happen When You're Dancing") and it was at that point, somewhere in there, that Mom opened her eyes.
I was glad that Big Bro' was there because he always complains that Mom never talks when he is there. I quickly turned down the music and spoke as close as I could to her ear without shouting, "We're here!"
I could see that she was moving her lips in response, something she doesn't usually do until hours of listening have passed by. But, I could clearly see that she was trying to say something by way of a greeting. When I repeated what I said, using my name, I could hear her whisper,
"So, you're home?"
I felt perfectly comfortable saying, "Yes, Ma'am."