I walked into the nursing home and stopped at the nurses' station to see how Mom is doing. The nurse lowered her voice and said, "She's so weak. I'm worried about her." Oh. I thought she was doing better since she was released from the hospital. I went into her room. She was sleeping. I took off my coat and set it aside, then went to her and gently touched her with a hug.
We talked. It's the same conversation over and over again for me, but each time it is fresh and new for her. I don't mind. At least she is talking to me. And she knows who I am. The longer we talk the more she perks up. There is a small photo album on top of the mini fridge we keep stocked with bottled water and green tea. I don't think she remembers it's there any more than she remembers the box of candy I gave her at Christmastime along with the other gifts we gave her. So I got down the photo album and we went through the pictures. She told me who was in them and I remembered for both of us the occasions for each photograph. She enjoyed that conversation so much. By the time I had to leave, she had perked up a lot. Yes, the gout still had control of her foot so she couldn't put weight on it, so she couldn't get out of bed. I could see, though, that she wasn't weak as the nurse thought. But the nurse doesn't know my mother the way I do, even if Mom has lived there for six months.
Yesterday I went to see her again. I stepped into her room but she wasn't in bed or the chair. I went to the nurses' station. "Where are you hiding my mother?" I teased.
"She's in the dining room playing Yahtzee," someone answered. "We aren't hiding her."
I jaunted to the dining room, set my coat and purse on a chair and went over to hug her. As she always does when I suddenly appear out of nowhere, her eyes lit up and she said, "Hello!" Then she introduced me to the other players. "There's no denying that she's your daughter," they laughed. (I do look a lot like my mother.)
She was in a wheelchair. (Nobody had mentioned that to me. But they probably didn't think to tell me that.) I was glad to see she was resuming her place at the games. She loves to play Yahtzee and Bingo.
"She's a writer," Mom informed her friends and the assistant activities director.
"I didn't know that," Mary said.
"I was so impressed with the Yahtzee players I wrote about them in one of my stories. I call them the Hotsy Yahtzee Ladies."
Mary laughed.
It's true. They are fun to sit with at the Yahtzee table. And I am so pleased to see that Mom has friends. Dad never allowed her to have friends. Well, that's the way I understood things. I guess I could be wrong.
I am spread all over the place, trying to take care of my husband and home, helping my children with childcare when they need someone to babysit their children, writing, writing my Family Recovery Center articles, cooking, shopping...But I am trying to get to the nursing home more often. A couple of times a week doesn't seem to be enough. I wonder if that is considered frequent visiting, though. At the Social Security Administration they asked if we visit more than once or twice a month. What??? There are three of us siblings. If each of us is there a couple of times a week, there's someone checking on her welfare just about every day! The rep seemed surprised.
Mom doesn't remember a minute ago, these days. But she does remember who we are. Sometimes she has a little trouble swallowing. That's a little scary. She's still a fighter, though. Still mentoring her children and grandchildren, God bless her!
I pray every day, "Please, Father God, be kind to my Mother."
(c) 2010 Cathy Thomas Brownfield
All rights reserved -- Please contact author for reprint authorization
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