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I cross to the bathroom. After I’m dressed I sign the release papers and nod and agree with the doctor about allergy tests that have been set up for me, not being alone for the next twelve or so hours, and not getting behind the wheel of a car.
Once I’ve been discharged, we start for the exit, but I remember I was supposed to see my mother tonight so I could prepare her for the trip to visit a retirement village later this week, and she happens to be in this very hospital. Visiting hours are long over, but I want to check in with the nurse to see how she’s doing before we leave.
“Hey, Miles, you’re here late.” Stephanie, the night nurse, who I’ve met on several occasions since I mostly stop in after work, tips her head to the side. Her gaze shifts to Kitty and then back to me.
I motion to my face. “I had a bit of a thing.”
At the furrow in her brow, Kitty pipes up. “He had an allergic reaction. Possibly to a cat. At least I’m hoping it’s the cat he’s allergic to and not me.” She laughs, like she’s surprised that those words came out of her mouth, and her cheeks turn pink.
“I don’t think it’s you,” I tell her and turn my attention back to Stephanie, who looks amused. “Anyway, I just wanted to check in and see how my mother’s day was. I’d planned to visit, but obviously that didn’t happen.”
“She had a few lucid moments. She asked about you, actually. She remembered you were supposed to stop by.”
I nod and rap on the counter once before I jam my hand in my pocket. “I’m sorry if that caused you any issues, my not showing up.”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Should I let her know that you’ll be by tomorrow if she asks?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
On the way to the car, I call Joe and Mark to let them know I’m on my way home. I reassure them I’m okay and that I can manage Wilfred tonight. I fold myself into the passenger seat of my Tesla and press Home on the GPS. “I’m sorry I monopolized your entire night.”
“I would have watched reruns of Two and a Half Men if I’d been at home, and I can pretty much recite every single line down to the laugh track, so you saved me from lip-syncing to an old TV show.” She pulls out of the spot and heads toward the exit.
“Why reruns?”
“My mom likes to watch it. It was my dad’s favorite show.”
“Was? What happened to your dad?” This isn’t the first time she’s referred to him in past tense.
She keeps her eyes on the road and her grip on the steering wheel tightens briefly. “My dad passed away when I was a teenager.”
That familiar pang makes my heart sore for a second. “Oh man. I’m so sorry. Was it unexpected?”
“He had a massive heart attack. We didn’t get him to the hospital fast enough,” she says softly.
“That must have been hard.” And explains why she was so intent on getting me to the hospital as quickly as possible, and staying the entire time, and driving me home. Another reminder that I’ve been a jerk to her, and here she is, taking care of me anyway.
“It was. Sometimes it still is.” She glances at me for a second. “Losing someone you’re close to is . . . like having a piece of your soul go missing that you can’t ever get back.”
“That’s an astonishingly accurate way to describe loss.” I rub at my chest, the ache making me want to . . . do something. Like hug her. Soothe us both, maybe.
She hums her agreement. “I imagine it’s equally difficult to have a parent with dementia. It would feel like a loss, but the person is still there, they just can’t access their memories anymore. It would be both frustrating and painful. They look like the same person, but they’re not really there anymore.”
This time I’m the one who makes a sound, and I give voice to the worries that have been plaguing me since my mom went into the hospital. “Lately my mom has been talking to me like I’m still a kid. It’s like her brain is stuck in the past. Maybe if I’d tried harder with her, it wouldn’t be this bad.”
Kitty reaches over and squeezes my hand before quickly with-drawing. “Don’t do that to yourself, Miles. You can’t hold the blame for her memory failing her.”
I wonder if she’d say that if she knew the entire truth. “Sometimes it’s hard not to play the what-if game, you know?”
“I do.” She smiles faintly, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the road.
“Anyway, if I keep up with this introspection, you really are going to have to up your rates and charge me like a therapist.”
