an edge to it I recognized.
I reached my pudgy little girl hand up into my grandmother's blanketed lap. My mother nodded encouragingly. Her hands looked like bony claws hovering above the blanket. I tentatively patted one. It was freezing, and the mottled skin felt papery. It made me shiver, but I didn't dare risk the anger of my mother, so I slipped my hand into one of my grandmother's clawed ones. Suddenly she let out a low moaning sound. It sounded to me like a mummy on one of those black-and-white horror films. It was too much. I snatched my hand back and shrank back into my mother's side.
"It's alright, Lily. It's fine. Good girl." A tendril of drool had appeared at the corner of my grandmother's mouth. My mother grabbed a tissue from her purse and wiped it away.
The memory echoed uncomfortably in my mind as I mimicked my mother's actions from decades past. The travel packet of Kleenex I pulled from my purse was identical to the ones my mother had carried constantly. I gently patted away the spittle that had collected at the corner of her mouth. As far as I could tell, she still hadn't recognized me, or even looked at me. I surreptitiously stole a glance at my watch, then mentally laughed at myself a bit for even bothering to hide it. Did I think my catatonic mother was going to chide me for seeming eager to leave?
I sat back in the chair and tried to make myself as comfortable as I could. I had come in that day determined to spend a solid thirty minute visit with my mother. I checked my watch again. Eleven down, nineteen to go.
The place wasn't so bad, really. I mean, objectively. The nurses seemed competent and friendly enough. The walls were a butter-esque yellow with off-white trim, and someone had scattered colorful bouquets of silk flowers and generic nature prints--rainbows, waterfalls and the like--around the halls and rooms in a valiant effort to bring some non-threatening cheer into these people's lives. A perfectly respectable place for well-meaning, middle class people to stow their loved ones waiting to die.
I wondered if my mother liked it here. While still coherent, she hadn't minded the prospect of going into a nursing home. In fact, she had practically relished it.
"Bingo nights and sitting in a sunny courtyard in my bathrobe," she had said. "Sound like something I could get used to. Wouldn't have to worry about what's for dinner, or cleaning the place, or being in anyone's way. At least, anyone who's not paid to take care of me. Yes ma'am, put me in one of those ASAP."
"
I reached my pudgy little girl hand up into my grandmother's blanketed lap. My mother nodded encouragingly. Her hands looked like bony claws hovering above the blanket. I tentatively patted one. It was freezing, and the mottled skin felt papery. It made me shiver, but I didn't dare risk the anger of my mother, so I slipped my hand into one of my grandmother's clawed ones. Suddenly she let out a low moaning sound. It sounded to me like a mummy on one of those black-and-white horror films. It was too much. I snatched my hand back and shrank back into my mother's side.
"It's alright, Lily. It's fine. Good girl." A tendril of drool had appeared at the corner of my grandmother's mouth. My mother grabbed a tissue from her purse and wiped it away.
The memory echoed uncomfortably in my mind as I mimicked my mother's actions from decades past. The travel packet of Kleenex I pulled from my purse was identical to the ones my mother had carried constantly. I gently patted away the spittle that had collected at the corner of her mouth. As far as I could tell, she still hadn't recognized me, or even looked at me. I surreptitiously stole a glance at my watch, then mentally laughed at myself a bit for even bothering to hide it. Did I think my catatonic mother was going to chide me for seeming eager to leave?
I sat back in the chair and tried to make myself as comfortable as I could. I had come in that day determined to spend a solid thirty minute visit with my mother. I checked my watch again. Eleven down, nineteen to go.
The place wasn't so bad, really. I mean, objectively. The nurses seemed competent and friendly enough. The walls were a butter-esque yellow with off-white trim, and someone had scattered colorful bouquets of silk flowers and generic nature prints--rainbows, waterfalls and the like--around the halls and rooms in a valiant effort to bring some non-threatening cheer into these people's lives. A perfectly respectable place for well-meaning, middle class people to stow their loved ones waiting to die.
I wondered if my mother liked it here. While still coherent, she hadn't minded the prospect of going into a nursing home. In fact, she had practically relished it.
"Bingo nights and sitting in a sunny courtyard in my bathrobe," she had said. "Sound like something I could get used to. Wouldn't have to worry about what's for dinner, or cleaning the place, or being in anyone's way. At least, anyone who's not paid to take care of me. Yes ma'am, put me in one of those ASAP."
"
