The yin and yang of altruism

Medical students, who really don't sing so well.

A Christmas sing-along Wednesday, an aimless afternoon yesterday, and today a chapel service she seemed to pay little attention to. I followed along in the program with my finger, showing her where we were, but her head was always up, looking at the people, sometimes staring.

I'm not sure that it ever really was the content of a church service that engaged her so much as the hour of quietude, the music, the people, and the social hour. When we were kids, and even older than kids, she used to unwrap candies in the middle of a service -- inflicting the little crinkling of cellophane on, say, a moment of silence -- and pass them out, a sort of acknowledgement that church often lacks sufficient stimulation, and a little sugar, more than the Holy Ghost, will keep your spirit up.

Mom put on her glasses in the middle of the service today -- a spasm of "I should at least try to pay attention" -- and seemed unable to land the glasses on the bridge of her nose, so that when she was done, the center bar of the glasses was cocked over one eye. I hurriedly fixed it, but, just watching her, I felt bad that even this simple act seems almost too complex.

Yesterday we called one of her lifelong friends, and she's pretty good on the phone, something about it clicking for her. But when I tried to explain that I was going to meet Julie and a friend for lunch after church today, it was immediately mixed up with Christmas plans, where I'd sleep, where she'd sleep, where did I live, when were we leaving, how did I find her, who was the friend, how can she get some money, where was her checkbook, what time would I be back, and what would she do all afternoon.

It's that last one that kicks in my guilt. I had no idea what she'd do all afternoon, other than sit in the penalty box chatting confusedly with one of the aides, take a nap, eventually have dinner. All I really knew was that I didn't want to be there for it.