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“Oh, I’m sorry, Poppy. My ears aren’t what they used to be. What time is it?”
Leaning back on my heels, I exhale a relieved breath. She seems articulate today. Maybe I’m making too much of some of the confusion I’ve witnessed. “Oh, it’s early. I must’ve caught you during your mid-day nap. I had the day off and thought we could have lunch.”
“Oh, that’s a wonderful surprise.”
As I stand before her, I take a look about the room. Very little changes in her humble abode between visits. A few small books are stacked on her nightstand with a large magnifying glass resting on top of them. Her twin bed is draped in a colorful patchwork quilt she made years ago as opposed to the generic hospital-grade linens covering her roommate Agnes’ bed. A small potted plant sits on the bottom shelf of a corner table that’s showing evidence of neglect. Walking over to the frail thing, I pluck the plastic stake and read the card.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Love,
Ian, Rita, Anne, Henry, and Baxter
Smiling, I return the card to its holder and bring the plant into the bathroom for a little pruning and a drink of water. I can’t help wondering if it’s had much since he sent it over a month ago. Not sure how I hadn’t noticed it until now. “It was nice of Ian to send you this,” I shout over the running water. When she doesn’t reply, I turn off the tap and question whether I should repeat my statement louder or just let it go.
“How’s Dan?”
My feet stop in their tracks, and I stand slack-jawed in the doorway. Why would she ask such a thing? My mother is well aware Dan is dead.
Dementia is a peculiar thing. Some patients may retain long term memory until their disease progresses to the point they can no longer participate in meaningful conversations or activities. Others have intermittent confusion. With Mom, the obvious changes present themselves at night. During the day it’s difficult to determine if her disorientation is due to her poor hearing or forgetfulness. She’s never been confused about the people in her life. And she’s certainly never seemed unaware Dan or my father were no longer with us.
“Who?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“Stan,” she screeches. “He’s the nice old man that lives next door to you with the garden. Right?”
My shoulders relax, and I try to recover from the second scare in ten minutes. “Oh, yes. Stan seems to be fine. His yard is beautiful. I’ll have to bring a picture of it the next time I come.” I return the potted plant to its home and sit on the edge of Mom’s bed. “Do you know what they’re serving for lunch today?”
“It’s meatloaf. And if you aren’t looking to lose a tooth, you may want to reconsider,” a familiar voice echoes from the doorway.
“Hi, Agnes. It’s good to see you.”
“Well, pardon me if I don’t return the sentiment. I’d much rather send you a postcard from Fiji.” She looks at her watch mockingly. “Surprised to see you. You get laid off from your fancy job?”
“No.” I laugh. “And trust me. There’s nothing fancy about it. I have to work all weekend, so I have today and Friday off.”
“Well, word to the wise. From now on, when you come for lunch, bring it with you. I think they must be short on beds.”
I chuckle, almost afraid to ask what she’s referring to. “What do you mean?”
“If you didn’t lose a tooth on that hockey puck they call meatloaf, you might gag on the boiled Brussels sprouts. Who boils Brussels sprouts? I think they’re trying to kill us.”
My gaze returns to my mother, who’s wearing a noncommittal smile. I recognize it as a pleasantry she gives when she has no idea what’s being said around her. Probably just as well.
“Perhaps you’ll get lucky, and they’ll just make you a salad and some canned peaches.”
I giggle. “Yes. Maybe.”
“Poppy.” My mother’s soft hand drops down over mine. “Are you seeing anyone?”
I notice Agnes leaning in like she’s awaiting an answer. I should be ready for this question. She asks it often enough, and I’m pretty sure the repetition isn’t memory-related, more hopeful inquisition.
“No. I’ve had a few dates.” Lies. “But it’s harder to find a match at my age. Not to mention, they have big shoes to fill.” I need to let go of the thought I’ll ever find someone who makes me feel as I did with Daniel. That qualification is not fair to them or to me. Any future relationship will be different. That’s all there is to it.
“Well, you know what they say?” Agnes says as she puts her walker by her chair and takes a seat.
“No. What do they say?” I ask with trepidation.
“Big shoes, big—”
