by Kathy Brasby | May 15, 2015 | Seasons
My mother lived with us for a couple of months after her stroke before complications forced her into nursing home care.
But during that time with us, I was responsible for transferring her in and out of bed, to the toilet, and into the car.
And I took good notes. Here are a few little adventures we had:
During our evening routine, as I helped her put on pajamas and get ready for bed, I jigged when she jogged and bumped her cheekbone.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, “that’ll just knock off that double chin.”
One night, at 1 a.m., on my third trip into her room to help her get to the toilet, she peered into my eyes.
“You look tired,” she said. Always a mom.
It was after midnight when I answered her call.
“I need you to put me into bed,” she said.
“Mom, you are in bed.”
“Oh, I am?” She looked down at her body.
“Do you want to go to the bathroom anyways,” I asked.
“No,” she said. “That was all I needed.”
One afternoon I helped her transfer from her wheelchair into a recliner in the living room. We’d done this a number of times but something slipped this time. She landed in the recliner and I landed on top of her.
“Well,” she said, patting my shoulder like I was a child sitting on her lap. “We didn’t do so well that time.”
One afternoon she took my hand with concern in her eyes. “I’m worried that I can’t afford all this.”
I smiled at her. “Dad did pretty well planning for you. I think you’ll be OK financially until you reach 110.”
“And then what?” she said.
Caretaking involves many skills but one of them is making memories.
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by Kathy Brasby | May 8, 2015 | Seasons
As the competition was coming to the finale, Chuck glanced up at the clock.
“Will we be done in time for lunch?” he said. His eyes traveled around the room where several residents sat in wheelchairs. The sun poured into the room through several large windows, warming things up enough that some residents had dozed off.
Sharon laughed. She was leading activities this morning and held several colored balls in her hands. “Here, Clara, let’s finish up this game. Roll your ball close to the target.”
Clara shifted her jaw from side to side as she considered her target and then pulled her arm back. She sent the ball shooting across the floor, bouncing off another wheelchair on the other side of the room, before resting under the coffee table by the large sofa.
“She loses,” Chuck said. “Now let’s get to lunch.” He didn’t wait for Sharon to confirm things. He charged down the hallway toward the dining hall.
“Yep, it’s time for lunch,” Sharon said. She starting gathering the balls scattered across the floor. “Who needs help getting there?”
Some residents gripped the wheels of their chairs and began slowly propelling their way down the hallway.
“I wouldn’t turn down some help,” Clara said.
Sharon rolled Clara’s wheelchair into the dining hall and helped her get settled at a square table.
“Please be careful of my foot,” Clara said so Sharon bent over to see where the wheelchair footrests hit the table’s legs. And then she noticed that Clara had a bit of toast on her chest.
“Here, let me get that for you,” she said, scooping up the morsel. “It looks like you may have dropped something from breakfast.”
Clara glanced down and then cocked her head. “Well, there went my snack.”
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by Kathy Brasby | May 1, 2015 | Seasons
Maude hoisted a wicker basket heavy with wet clothes onto her hip and headed out the back door for the clothes line. She wasn’t going to tell Lilly where she was going.
Lilly was still washing breakfast dishes and Maude was restless. Even if Lilly had asked her to rest after breakfast, who wanted to do that? It was hard to sit still when her hands itched for work.
Maude hurried as fast as her old legs could carry her, before Lilly could call for her to stop. Lilly didn’t understand.
Lilly needed her help. With that brood of kids, she worked hard all day long.
And she was too stubborn to let Maude help.
Maude looked across the yard. Where was the clothes line? She hadn’t been visiting long enough to spot it immediately. Oh, there it was.
She dug wooden clothes pins out of a bag hanging near one of the poles. First, she’d hang all the boys’ pants. Then the socks.
The basket emptied slowly and the sun seemed a little closer when she finished the job. Maude ran the back of her hand across her forehead. It was going to be a hot one.
Lilly hadn’t caught her yet and the job was done. Maude hoped she would be pleased with the help.
Time to head back in. Judging by the sun, it was probably time to start making dinner.
Maude hoisted the basket onto her hip again and turned. What in the world? She turned again and squinted her eyes.
The river in the valley below looked different. The entire valley had shifted. She turned again. Where had the back door gone?
She was lost.
She chose a direction and headed off. Before long, she heard a call.
“Mom! Mom! Where are you going?”
It was Lilly, behind her. Maude turned around. She’d known Lilly would come for her. She waved her arm and Lilly ran to her.
“Where were you going?”
Maude shrugged her shoulders. “I had to find a new way home. The river moved.”
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by Kathy Brasby | Apr 24, 2015 | Seasons
Sometimes our elders have the wit of children when the spotlight is on.
That old television show, “Kids Say the Darndest Things,” has nothing on a senior citizen’s group.
We were sitting in a big circle in the activities room at the nursing home with each person answering questions. Queries included “Tell us a nursery rhyme” and “What is your favorite food?”
Laura, who was leading the activity, glanced down her list of questions on the paper in her hand. “All right, Irma,” she said, “Tell us what your favorite class was in school.”
“Arithmetic,” Irma said.
“Music,” Jim said.
“Social studies,” Dora said.
“Geography,” Lila said.
And then it was Sadie’s turn. Her eyes lit up as Laura stepped in front of her.
“So what was your favorite class in school, Sadie?”
Sadie’s eyes twinkled. “My favorite class was three o’clock! My only trouble was that I was still five miles from home.”
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by Kathy Brasby | Apr 17, 2015 | Seasons
Lola had already staked her spot in the front row before the singers arrived because she knew them and planned to catch up on life.
They were, after all, on the outside while she was tethered to her walker and assisted care. She was anxious for news.
They came in late and she settled in her chair, knowing she’d have time afterward for some news.
This was a weekly hymn sing in the nursing home and the group made their way through a dozen hymns before the singers closed out the morning’s entertainment.
“Susan,” Lola called out as Susan and the others gathered the hymnals. “Susan, you all need to talk louder. I couldn’t hear a word you said.”
“Really?” Susan came over to the table. “Not a word?”
“Nothing. I think you need to bring a microphone or something. You all have such soft voices. I couldn’t hear anything!”
Tess joined Susan at the table. “We have soft voices? I’m so sorry.”
Then Susan brightened up. “Lola, did you put in your hearing aids this morning?”
“No,” Lola said. “I need new batteries. Why?”
Susan and Tess smiled at each other. “Oh, just wondering.”
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by Kathy Brasby | Apr 10, 2015 | Seasons
Shirley was studying the lawn outside her window when her daughter arrived.
“Good morning, Mom,” Janice said. “How are you?”
“I’m looking for my little boys. They were outside the window a little while ago. And I think they just came in here.”
Janice scanned the tiny room that Shirley shared with Mabel at the nursing room. What little boys?
She asked and Shirley laughed. “Can’t you see them? Sometimes they hide, I guess.”
Janice saw no signs of little boys. So she leaned down and wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders, leaning her cheek against Shirley’s cheek. “It’s good to see you, Mom.”
Shirley patted Janice’s hand and gave it a tender squeeze. And a second little squeeze.
“Bring him up here,” she said to Janice.
“Who?”
“My little boy. He’s behind me. Bring him up here. I want to see him.”
Janice glanced around again and then felt Shirley squeeze her hand again. “Mom, that’s my hand.”
“Your hand?” Shirley said. “Hmmm, I didn’t want your hand. I wanted my little boy’s hand.”
Janice sighed. ”Well, it was mine.”
Shirley leaned her head to one side. “I don’t mind your hand.” She patted it gently. “But you’ve messed up my story about my little boys.”
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