by Kathy Brasby | Jan 16, 2015 | Seasons
“Mom, I have exciting news about our house.” Carol sat down on the edge of the bed, putting one hand on her mother’s wheelchair. “We finally got the living room re-decorated. New paint. New carpet. New drapes. I can’t wait to show you.”
Her mother stared at the white wall of the small nursing home bedroom, her eyes half closed. A late-afternoon shadow creeped across the wall.
“Mom?” Carol leaned forward and her mother stirred.
“That’s nice,” Mom said. “Did I tell you about those people who visited me last night? They said this was my last night. I don’t know what they were talking about.”
Carol’s shoulders drooped a bit. “Last night? What do you mean?”
“They meant it was my last night and then—“ Mom pointed upward.
“Well, you’re still here so I guess they were wrong. Who were they?”
Mom shook her head. “I don’t know. I heard them out in the hall talking. They said last night was my last night and then they’d put someone else in this room.”
“Do you think you were dreaming?”
“I don’t think so. I heard them.”
Once Carol had shown her mother every new change in her life. The new drapes. The new towels. Even the new recipe.
But that mother was gone, leaving this one in her place who could barely distinguish dream and dialogue. Carol watched the afternoon shadow creeping across Mom’s face. She wanted to push it away.
Instead, Carol put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re still here. I think you had a bad dream. Really.”
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Kathy Brasby | Jan 13, 2015 | Stories
One summer I blended a bright idea about how to get more mail with a chain letter opportunity and sideswiped a poor teenage girl.
I was 14 at the time and wanted to bring mail into the house that was addressed to me. So when I ran across a 4-H list of places I could write for free stuff, I wrote.
I got a cardboard chart illustrating how to tie 10 different knots. I got a full-color brochure explaining why Angus were the better breed and another brochure touting Herefords over Angus. But the key piece to my story was the free postcard with a close-up shot of a goat with a big green ear tag.. Yeah, compliments of the ear tag company.
At about this same time, my mail included a chain letter. This one promised the chance to get fun postcards from all across the company.
All I had to do was send a postcard to the first name on the list, add my name to the bottom, and send the letter out to several friends. I did the calculations. By the time my name got to the top of the list, I had a chance of 18 postcards.
Why not give it a try once?
After all, I had a free postcard.
So I mailed the ear-tagged goat to the top name on the list, a girl who lived somewhere in Oregon.
And I sent off my chain letters.
I never got a postcard. Nada. None.
I never did another chain letter. And I’ll bet the poor girl who got the smiling ear-tagged goat didn’t either.
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Kathy Brasby | Jan 9, 2015 | Seasons
The day that Sam went searching for his pajamas in the attic, Jody thought it was time to have a talk about forgetfulness.
“I think you ought to visit a doctor, just to get a diagnosis on this confusion.”
He cocked his gray head to the side like he had done a million times in her life. He was digging in for the long fight. “I’m not forgetful.”
“Well, sometimes you are.”
“Prove it.” He hadn’t moved his head yet but his chin was pointed toward her. Once it had been the signal to take cover.
But not this time.
“Remember the time you couldn’t find your back brush? And it was hanging in the shower where it was supposed to be.”
His eyes glazed for a moment and then sharpened. “Everyone forgets things sometimes. You forget things, too.”
She didn’t want to do this. “Not like that.”
“Give me a test.”
“All right. Do you think you can count backwards from a hundred by threes?” Jody had read that test in an article somewhere and figured it was worth a try.
“Of course I can. One hundred. Uh, ninety—“He drew in a long breath. “I don’t want to do it right now. But that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong. You can’t do it either.”
She could and she proved it. “Please, Dad. I just want to see if there’s something to help you. That’s all.”
“You think I have Alzheimer’s, don’t you”
“I really don’t know. That’s why I’d like a diagnosis.”
“Well,” he tossed his head back now. “I don’t. I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to get that. So I don’t.”
She gave up.
He lived two more years and never visited a doctor about his forgetfulness.
Jody didn’t learn how severe the dementia was. But in his last days, Sam still knew every family member who visited him.
For Jody, that was enough.
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Kathy Brasby | Jan 2, 2015 | Seasons
Della had positioned her wheelchair near the front door of the nursing home, searching each face that entered until her son finally made his way into the lobby.
“Bobby!” She grabbed the wheel of her chair and propelled herself into his path. “We need to talk.”
Bobby stopped in mid stride. “Uh, OK, Mom. Is there a problem today?”
He stopped by every day on his lunch hour and he kept up on her issues and conditions.
“We need to talk.”
He pushed her wheelchair to another room for some privacy and settled on a chair in front of her. “So what’s up?”
“Do I have any money?” Della leaned forward, her eyebrows bent.
“Yes. Dad made some good investments over the years. You’re doing OK.”
Della nodded. “Can I afford some new socks?”
Bobby glanced down at her feet, clad in fuzzy purple socks. “Do you need socks?”
“I don’t have any that fit. But if we can’t afford it, I can wait.”
His mother had once been the queen of proportion. Socks, once upon a time, barely registered on her concern meter. Things had changed.
But if socks were important to his mother, they were important to Bobby. He ventured into the sock aisle to scout out the selection. Maybe warm striped ones this time.
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Kathy Brasby | Dec 30, 2014 | Personal
Late on Christmas day several years ago, we bundled our family into the car and headed for a ski trip in the Colorado mountains.
The gift-giving had been trimmed back so that we could enjoy this ski outing but my husband wanted to do something special for the family on our travel that evening.
“Let’s stop at that nice steak house on the interstate,” he said.
So we did. They were closed. It was, after all, Christmas day.
Hmmm. We hadn’t thought of that so we continued to the next town and pulled in, thinking the Chinese restaurant there might work well.
Closed.
We were starting to get a clue, finally. But we had five kids in the car and the Christmas cookies were wearing off. They were restless.
“Let’s try a fast-food place.” My husband had set his heart on a special mealtime family gathering but his stomach was growling, too.
Closed.
Grocery stores were closed. Walmart was closed.
We were about to take stock of the energy bars that might have been left in coat pockets when my husband spotted a 7-Eleven convenience store open.
We turned the kids loose. “Find something to eat.”
Because there’s virtually nothing healthy in a snack place like that, the kids were not bound to a balanced meal. They grabbed chips and popcorn and gallons of fountain drinks.
Their parents have felt guilty for years for not having enough foresight to avoid such a disappointment. We wanted to give them a nice steak dinner but instead offered candy bars and peanuts.
But I have been assured by our older son not to worry.
“I got a fistful of dill pickles,” he said. “Best Christmas dinner ever!”
Like this:
Like Loading...
