Everybody has something wrong with them

Night ride

Had dinner with Mom last night -- chicken tenders and asparagus. A couple came in and sat at a separate table, and I couldn't figure out what was wrong with them. They seemed put-together, and were well-dressed, elegant, even. But everybody there has something wrong with them, and it became clear that she was in charge, and he was asking questions about what to eat next. I rooted for him, and when he insisted on the strawberry shortcake dessert when she was saying no to it, I wanted to give him five.

For Mom and me it was one of those nights when we had nothing to say to each other. She started to introduce me to the couple, but then didn't pursue it, thankfully. By not talking, I wondered, Why am I here? But just sitting with her is part of it.

Over at the other end of the room, the tall man with the impish, beautiful face wasn't eating dinner, or had eaten little. The aides talked among themselves reassuringly. "He ate a good breakfast and lunch," one said.

He wanted out, but, in his wheelchair, was trapped by the wheel of a woman's chair at the next table. He asked for help, but the aides, eating dinner themselves, weren't ready. "We'll be done in a minute here, Jim. Then we'll get you out." He was OK with that, lowered his head, gave his big smile. I thought there seemed to be nothing wrong with him, except his body.

Then a woman at the table next to his took an interest. "Can you walk?" she asked him. And, louder, getting up and walking close to him, "Can you walk? ARE YOU ABLE TO WALK??"

He couldn't have missed it, but he didn't want to say he couldn't walk. He wouldn't look at her, just focused on the aides, as if to tell the woman, if I want your help, I'll ask for it. 

Then she went at the aides: "YOU'RE NOT GIVING HIM ANYTHING TO DRINK."

"He doesn't want anything to drink," said an aide.

"LIKE MILK!" the woman said.

When we finally left, they'd reached a stalemate.

We went to Mom's room and went through the mail. Bills, solicitations. I think it's taking bill-paying off her hands she's most grateful for. "I'm so happy for you," she said.

We wandered out to the hall, thinking we'd go up to Cranberry, but the elevator was out, and then her aide caught up with her and said it was her shower night. We killed a little more time, Mom wondering where she'd sleep, where I would sleep, who she would have to pay. I had her lie down in her room till it was time, pressed my nose to hers, flicked it side to side, and then it was time, and I left.

Sister L and Julie
in the remodeled basement