Funny Valentine

Yesterday I wore a crucifix necklace but almost fainted pulling on someone’s sock.

And now… the sounds of the nursing home. Lots of coughing… motorized wheelchair gears, shifting to peek in at me in my little office chair. Aids yelling who they showered or wiped… the nurse’s cart they so often confused with the food wagon wheeling down the hall. And the smell… it was unChristian of me to keep harping on it- but when the elderly cannot bathe or refuse to… oh Lord.. give me grace.

Here I was, back at it again. The computer reflected sunken eyes and a goldish name tag magnetized to the red cable-knit sweater I’d pulled off my bed. It was taking me awhile to feel chipper this morning. Flashbacks of my partner’s 4 o’ clock alarm still going off in my head- “Are you waking up now? I haven’t even gone to sleep! Aaaaagh!”

I’m not ashamed to admit that I no sooner sat down in this windowless room than returned a greeting from Virginia in a whisper and searched for a place to hide. If your policy is to have an open door- at least build a trap door for when you’re on 3 hours of sleep or burnt out in general slapping yourself into a smile.

Ginny has a bar in her leg. She used to pull 24-hour shifts as a cook in a truck-stop diner. I read her insurance mail to her. She likes bright colored puzzles and she says hello to the dementia patients. One of them is her best friend.

Lottie is me in thirty years. I threw (well… we threw) her an art show in the home and displayed her religious visions and fever-dream drawings. She prepared a speech. She wrote poetry when we put something called Pick-a-Poem on the calendar. She always tells us she has to rest her throat- but she shows up to ask for art supplies at 8am in full makeup and a sun hat.

Then there is Bo- who breaks my heart and tells 2-hour stories I can’t seem to find a way out of. He played the trumpet all over Detroit and Toledo with big bands but remained single. When his vision got bad, I guess his family put him in here. Sometimes his nails are 2 inches too long. Sometimes he doesn’t know when his diaper shows.

I heard Ruth’s daughter argue with her on the patio last summer, “You’re here because it’s safer.” Which is a load of bullshit. She fell to her knees yesterday- she had a stroke, she didn’t become someone else.

Wilma’s picture before her stroke is on her side table. She can only communicate with her eyes.

My friend that smelled like sour milk all the time, who was working on reading at 45 at a second-grade level got shipped off to some other facility when they found a lump in her lung. I used to get cramps in my hands between avoiding pushing the armchair buttons while holding her book. She knew how to laugh. But she mostly cried.

People talk a lot about poop here. And if they’re not saying it outright they dress it up as a BM… I hear the family members even asking over games of RUMY… “Dad, did you poop today?” as I bite into my salad and wish for anywhere else but this.

“Some days are diamonds. Some days are pearls”.

I’m wearing both this morning. Well- I lied. The pearls are fake.

I’ve sat with people who were dying. Knowingly and unknowingly.

I remember saying, “I think Patricia is in pain…!” And being met with, “Everyone’s in pain here.”

Shit.

Last week, I walked right into someone’s room following the sounds of aching sobs. But when I got to the bed, a hollow face looked up and a chill ran over me. “Please don’t leave,” was what I could make out. So I found a folding chair.

When I started here, I played the sticky piano over breakfast or lunch. I brought costumes and top hats and ribbon sticks to spin… I made individual invitations to have coffee or cocoa in the Activities Room and people came and they laughed… and they got their teeth pulled and they died.

When I started here we had parties on the patio and chased people down the driveway who thought they lived across the street and played Perry Como and listened to questions like, “Does anyone remember how we got here?”

I sat with braless women at the mall’s food court. I went to the orchard and rode the bus with bales of decorations. Searched in the attic for the tops of Christmas trees. Stayed at Red Lobster too long and played lunchtime hooky. Shifted feet anxiously when it took 3 of us to pick up New Year’s balloons…

Have you ever painted someone’s nails pink where you could still see dirt and poop? It makes you not love the color pink anymore…

Have you ever wondered why no one wants to get out of bed? Or wasted an hour talking to someone on pain pills? Or heard stories of no-one-loves-me-because-I-have-no-money. Or tried your hardest not to think about the infested fabric on the chairs?

I have. But, it doesn’t matter. Because this is a ride that ends in the ocean. And at first, I was optimistic. But today, my heart aches at the thought of passing out valentines.

THE END