by Kathy Brasby | Feb 13, 2015 | Seasons
Fred knocked lightly on the door before leaning into the room. “Mama?”
Then he saw me sitting beside my mother’s bed. “Oh, excuse me. “
His mama and my mama were roommates at a long-term facility. His mother had the coveted half of the room near the window so he had to walk through our space to get to his mother.
“You’re fine,” I assured him. I was reading a book while Mom slept.
Fred was tall with more salt than pepper in his hair. About my age. I’d already noticed that most of the visitors were about my age.
For most of us, our mamas -and a few papas- lived here. This is our time of life.
“She’s sleeping.” Fred could see his mother in her bed. “Maybe I’ll come back later.”
“Don’t worry about that.” The voice was my mother’s. She looked at Fred. “We can sleep anytime. She can’t see you anytime.”
Fred still hesitated. Mamas train us well. Who wants to awaken a napper? We learned that with younger siblings a millennium ago.
My mother glanced at me and then at Fred again. “She will be disappointed. I would be. She wants to see you, ” she said.
Even at our age, Mama still gives good advice. Fred nodded and then tiptoed into the room.
Maybe he tiptoed so that he didn’t wake his mother before he woke her.
“Mama?”
I could hear a slight rustle. And then “Ooooh. Fred. It is so good to see you. I am glad you came. How are you?”
“I’m good.” I could hear Fred drop into a chair.
Mamas still know best.
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Kathy Brasby | Jan 30, 2015 | Seasons
Harry dialed his son. “The neighbors came over to scoop off the front walk.”
His son, Dean, lived across town and hadn’t made it out yet. “Oh, good. Thanks, Dad.”
“Just wanted you to know.” Harry hung up. Within minutes, Dean got another call. This one was from his sister.
“Dad says you didn’t scoop off the front walk.”
“Well, the neighbors did it. When did he call you?”
“Just now.”
Dean calculated. His father must have immediately dialed his sister after calling Dean. In fact, while Dean talked to Sharon, his phone buzzed with a new call. It was Harry.
“I better see what Dad needs now,” Harry told Sharon and switched the call to his father.
“Yeah, Dean, I wanted you to know that the neighbors also scraped off our windshield. But I don’t think we’re going to church anyway. It’s cold, you know. I just wanted you to know.”
Harry could no longer scoop snow or carry out his own trash but he could dial his phone. His children had given him a cell phone and it proved to be Harry’s new hobby.
He called all his children regularly and passed on news from one to another. Harvesting news and passing it on the the rest of the family became his daily goal.
Harry had a new purpose and it involved his favorite people: his family.
Like this:
Like Loading...
by Kathy Brasby | Jan 23, 2015 | Seasons
My dad once rescued an angry mama cow by luring her into a runway where she thought she could mash him flat as a Gumby toy. He let her stay close to his heels until he reached the door into the barn.
Then he grabbed a fencepost and vaulted onto the top railing while the cow’s momentum carried her into the stall where she could tend her newborn calf sheltered from the blizzard outside.
That memory of a lithe and strong man of resource has held firm in my mind as I watched his abilities wither along with his body.
The family woke up to Dad’s challenges when he set his pickup engine on fire. Dad was a master mechanic and even in his 80s he wasn’t afraid to crawl under the hood and adjust a carburetor.
Something went wrong. Something that wouldn’t have gone wrong 10 years before.
The fire scorched the pickup engine and underside of the hood.
Dad was nearly in tears for his clumsy mistake.
We were nearly in tears at the thought of a fire stealing him away from us.
We could have grounded him, taking away his vehicles and finding ways to keep him tethered to a recliner and television.
We didn’t.
We became very interested in his projects. We hung out with him as often as we could, turning a wrench when he started a repair. We listened when he discussed maintenance.
Just like Dad had rescued that angry cow even though she didn’t know it, we had to do the same for Dad.
He’d taught us to solve problems creatively. If he could vault the fence to save a cow, we searched for ways to save him from himself.
Like this:
Like Loading...
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 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...
