Fade Away

Her hair resembled a bird's nest - hastily put together and held in place by snarls and mats. A pink hat with a veil, secured by a number of black hair clips hung to one side, making her look off kilter and a bit crazed but mostly it was her eyes - they darted here and there in jerky little movements, suggesting fear and possibly paranoia. They're watching, she whispered to me a little breathlessly. It's okay, I told her, You're safe here. She gave me a suspicious look then reluctantly handed me an expired Sears card with mangled edges and the number scratched out. I think this one might be old, I told her softly, Do you have another? She reluctantly produced a current Visa card and watched intently as I ran it through the machine, then wiped it thoroughly and replaced it in her purse. Fingerprints, she muttered, and DNA. You have to be careful, you know. Her daughter in law appeared at her elbow, a scowling and impatient look on her face and a grim faced child tugging at her skirt. Finally! she snapped, Is she done? I nodded and the old woman, looking as if she might cry, followed the younger one out, her shuffling steps scratching coarsely on the carpet, her eyes downcast. So sad, the nurse remarked as she handed me a chart, She's fading away. I don't they take very good care of her.

The old among us, often the ones in the need of the most care and due the most kindness, too often become unwanted burdens. I think we forget what they have done for us, how much they sacrificed of their own lives to provide for our's. Especially if they are docile and uncomplaining, it's far too easy to neglect and overlook them, treat them just a little roughly, demean them. They get in the way with their helplessness, they slow us down, they no longer contribute. It's less complicated to assign them a nurse or abandon them to a nursing home - all we need do for a clear conscience is pay the bills and drag our children to visit every few months - out of sight, out of mind.

On another day, an adult child arrives with her aging and barely competent mother - she has taken time off from work, rearranged her schedule, made room for the wheel chair, as she does for each doctor visit. She settles the old woman in her chair, covers her thin legs with a quilt, signs her in and then takes a seat beside her. Together they look at magazines and talk softly, the daughter smiling and patiently nodding, even when the questions make no sense. The mother may or may not know where she is or why, may or may not remember what year it is, may or may not recognize any of us, but she trusts her daughter/caregiver and is not afraid.

Being outside these family circles, I can't know what has brought each child and parent to this particular place. Nonetheless, it's a rare day that I'm not grateful to have been spared this cross to bear.