10 Jeannie - Waiting

Breakfast at the nursing home arrived on a tray with oatmeal and milk sliding about on it. A little card with her name, Sara Stanley. Mom had managed to eat a little every day so far. That was encouraging, but the thought that she was dying still persisted. Eating was good, but it was not a sign of a miracle. It was a gift of time.

Mary raised the head of the bed while I moved the hospital tray over the bed where we could slide it under the bed and across her lap. Mom tried to shift herself to get more comfortable but didn’t have the strength to do it. Mary ended up helping her. After a few minutes, Mom was settled and as comfortable as she could be.

I felt my chest tighten and tears burn my eyes. She looked so small in the bed. Granted, she was always a small woman who came up to my chin. Women in her family were all small. We slowly got taller with each new generation. But now she looked smaller than ever. Her five foot two frame appeared to be half a foot shorter. It was more than her height or lack of in the bed. It was her spirit. She was a tiny version of the mother we all knew who took life by the horns and us along with it.

“What is it?” Mom asked as I slid the tray in front of her. Her eyes moved slowly over the sparse tray. Their usual sparkle was missing and replaced by a cloudy look.

I leaned over the tray. “There is a bowl of oatmeal. Do you want some sugar on it?”

She nodded slightly and watched as I sprinkled the brown sugar from the packet onto the oatmeal. “Add some milk.” Her hand weakly waved toward the carton.

Once the oatmeal was to her satisfaction, I got a little on a spoon at Mary’s nod. Mom took the bite I offered and spent a minute slowly chewing it. It wasn’t the first time I had fed her. Once she had had surgery on her right hand and couldn’t use her left efficiently to do many things. I had helped her eat and get dressed for nearly two weeks. I tried to think of those times which were not as fatal.

She opened her mouth for another bite. The room grew quiet as we both focused on Mom and her breakfast. I was surprised at how well her appetite was. I looked up at Mary and caught her eye.

“This is the best she has eaten in several days,” Mary whispered.

A glimmer of hope flickered inside me. I couldn’t help it. I knew the reality of what was going to happen, but the news was not bad. It was a positive thread that I grasped onto. It made me feel better. It was a way to positively trick myself to be more optimistic.

“What day is it?” Mom asked after swallowing some milk. I wiped her mouth to remove the drops of milk that had escaped.

“Wednesday,” Mary answered.

“How long have I been in this place?” Mom pushed at the tray. She was done.

I wheeled the tray away as Mary washed Mom’s face with a warm washcloth.

“Just a few days.”

I looked over at Mary. It had not escaped my notice that they were not giving her solid answers. If Mom knew the exact truth, it would only agitate her. The less she knew the better. In a way it felt like we were betraying her, but would I want to know that everything was being done to prepare my body for death? I don’t think I would. Why get upset over it when there was nothing to do about it?

Mom began to drift off again, apparently satisfied with Mary’s answer. Her eyelids fluttered closed. Her mouth pursed a little before relaxing. As she settled down, we moved back to our own seats and watched her.

“Is there something else we can do for her?” It was weird to just sit and watch someone die. It was unnatural. It was downright creepy. The woman lay in her bed as her body gave out. Were we to just sit and cheer or sit and cry? What was our role?

“Just make her comfortable,” came Mary’s soft reply.

I sighed. Really? That’s all we do? I couldn’t help the chill that spread across me. Talk about morbid! Why couldn’t we bring a little joy into the room? Was there something wrong with that?

“How’s the house?” Maybe a change of topic would be better for me.

Mom still lived on the old homestead where most of us had grown up. She had never wanted to leave there, wanted to die on that place. It was a place full of memories, and she saw it as hers. Since Mom had been in the hospital for so long, I wondered if anyone had checked on the place.

“It’s okay. I spent the night out there a few days ago. Closer than driving home an hour away.”

I nodded. It made sense. There was no use wasting gas when Mom’s house was only twenty minutes away.

Turning around, I looked out the window. It was mid-morning now. The vast lawn had been mowed. A new day was moving forward while we just sat in this one room as though trying to stop time. A scream rose up within me. Why did we have to stop it? Why?

“Has she been right since Lilly died?”

Mary shook her head and stood up. Walking to the small tray with the water pitcher on it that was brought in while we fed Mom, she said, “I think her mind stopped on the day Lilly passed.”

Lilly and Mom had been sisters who had a very intense love/hate relationship over their long lives. For years, they had barely talked. Lilly had gotten married and then divorced after fifteen years of living with an abusive man. Her divorce had caused a rift in the family even with her own mother. Lilly and Cynthia had both lied to Mom about Dad cheating on her so even Mom would find unhappiness in marriage. Mom had refused and cut off talking to mother and sister for many years. It was only when Granny was dying that they all reconciled.

In the last ten years, they had grown close as sisters should be. Lilly had gotten remarried to a good man who took care of her and spoiled her rotten which might or might not have been a good thing. Mom and her sister began to visit antique shops together and talk every day for hours before they went to bed. Granted, most times were them repeating everything they had said the previous night, but neither seemed to remember. It worked for them. Lilly had died two years earlier from a stroke. Mom had taken it hard. First Dad. Then Lilly. It left only her in that generation. No wonder her mind began to fade. She had not wanted to be left behind. Her mind stopped when Lilly passed.

How had it been for her to be left alone? For the first time, I began to wonder about her thoughts and feelings on it all. What did she feel at home all day by herself with only the phone call from her sister each evening to break the monotony? And then to lose that connection? Each morning, the house was quiet with only the sound of nature and a car or two passing by each day. Only her footsteps moved over the carpet. A trip to town was the big adventure of the week just to get a half gallon of milk.

My sympathy only went so far. I knew she could have had a more vibrant life despite living alone. It was her decision. She had made her bed, and now she was lying in it.

I shook my head to push the angry thoughts from my head. Why focus on all that now? It had been what it had been. We had to move forward. Funny how that involved us all just sitting around doing nothing. I was about to go crazy, and I hadn’t been there a full day yet.

“Are you sure we can’t do anything more for her?”

Mary raised an eyebrow at me. “Not while she sleeps. Just watch her.”

Of course, she would know what to watch for. I wasn’t the trained the nurse. All I could watch was the soft rise and fall of Mom’s chest. The morbidity of it again came to me.

Before I could come up with something else to do or talk about in the uncomfortable silence, the door opened. In walked in our brother, Erick.

Erick was eighteen years older than me and was the one I always adored. My young eyes saw him as the man all other men were compared to. He was the most handsome, the funniest, and the one every girl should want. As I grew up and my innocence faded, I saw his faults, but I still admired him. He was the favored one, and I still worshiped him.

“Erick!” I exclaimed in a soft voice. Quickly, I jumped up and rushed across the room. His arms felt so good. Again, I was transported back to being a young child jumping in the arms of her brother home from the navy.

He smelled as he always did, of woods and a little bit of sweat. If he could have lived his whole life outdoors, he would have. Always out hunting or scouting, even helping others on their farms. He loved the outdoors and thrived in it.

For being in his sixties, he looked great. One would swear he was at least ten years younger. I couldn’t see any age on him until he took his cap off. The hair had more white in it than it had the last time I had seen it and the thin spot on top of his head was much larger and much thinner. So much like Dad that I felt myself start to tear up.

“How ya doing, sis?” He gave me a quick kiss before doing the same to Mary.

“Doing good. Got some rest.”

He nodded. “Good. Traveling sucks.” His eyes moved over to Mom. “How she doin’?”

Mary filled him in as he took a seat on the couch. I stayed standing near the water pitcher and watched the scene before me.

Three of her children were in the room. All three were positioned as far from each other as possible with Mary on one side of the bed, closest to Mom, Erick against the far wall on the couch, and me left by the door. Imaginary walls segmented the room, each of us within our own creation of protection, but protection of what? I knew what mine was, but what was theirs?

I hadn’t missed Erick not going up to the bed. He didn’t touch Mom’s hand. He didn’t lean down and kiss her. It was though he was a stranger visiting us. We all looked like strangers. Maybe we were.