Dessert

Had dinner with Mom and the Cranberry gang tonight. At the table was Barbara, Jim, Ann, Lynn, Alex, me, Mom, Dar and Carol. Between fading comprehension and bad hearing, the talk is often cacophonous. I find it easiest to tune in to Jim, who's always clear and interesting. He told a story once about a recent trip to Iowa, I think it was -- somewhere. He had to be hospitalized, and was alone and bereft. They moved him to Northwestern Hospital in Chicago, and when he got there, a card was waiting for him signed by all the Cranberry residents. He nearly cried as he said this. He didn't know how they knew where he was. It was a miracle, he believed -- the staff were angels.

Mom told me tonight -- two and a half times -- that yesterday she had planned all day to go to an evening piano recital. "But I was too tired and went to bed," she said the first time. And the second time: "But I forgot all about it." The third time I foreshortened it: "I know, you told me."

We had pork with a nice sauce, stuffing with a little zip in it, diced carrots with occasional raisins. Dar somehow got hold of the bag of raisins and offered them around, saying how good they were. And there was much talk about Kathryn, a woman whom I knew well, always happy to see me.  She was bent over at 90 degrees --only sitting did she look unaffected. She pushed a walker, and used to spend a lot of time smoking out in front. She was smart, and, I thought, aware of where she'd fallen to. Now she's gone to what they call "the hospital" -- I think this must be the skilled care unit. "She's depressed," Mom said once. Tonight, they said, they somehow knew she wasn't coming back. It's all very vague, and the staff, or the administrators, tell them they're not to talk about people who are suddenly gone.

Mom said tonight that a man in Cranberry had died. "George, I think," she said. "He never came out of his room." And I told her, when we got to her room, that Mrs. S's son, 51 years old, had died. He was an attorney that Julie knew. Mrs. S bought the apartment Mom had originally planned to move into (before she was deemed in need of assistance). I showed her a picture of Mrs. S in the building directory.

"It was her? She bought my house!"

"It was her son," I said.

"I want to go talk to her."

"No, don't now, please? He just died a day or two ago. She needs to be with her family."

I read her the obit and printed it out. With the obit and the directory in her hot hands, she cast about for a way to get involved. I said, "Go talk to Dar and Carol." But that was too complicated to carry out. "What should I do, what should I give her?" she asked.

"Next time you see her, why don't you just tell her you were very sorry to learn of his death."

We left it at that.

She said at one point, "There's a lot death you hear of here."

But she did enjoy dessert -- Boston cream pie and Caramel Collision ice cream, which she mashed together into a porridge.