Mother and Murder as a Matter of Fact

May 15, 2011  Mother and Murder as a Matter of Fact

Dear Kathy and Suzy,

                I was too tired to write earlier, but I feel good because Mom seemed better today, in spite of her first comments about the murders she’d committed earlier. 

            She later made another comment about “before I got arrested and put in jail," but it was without much anguish—just matter of fact.  (When I told Javier she was doing much better this week, he told me how happy he was to hear that and said she’ll feel even better when she stops killing people.)

            I went later, as I plan to do—arriving just before noon. 

            Mom asked me if I’d heard, and then she whispered that she’d murdered some people.  Had I read about it in the newspaper? 

            She didn’t think the ones she hadn’t killed yet would want her in the dining room.  In fact, she said, “They’ll move away like a tidal wave” or something like that. 

            But Divina and I encouraged her even though she refused to wear the shirt with the bunch of lavender/asparagus on it.  (“Jesus!  God!  Nothing fancy!  Don’t you see?” ) 

            We convinced her to cross that threshold, and once she did, she was so much better!  (Maybe better was an act, but better to have better an act than not to have better at all, and I think she starts feeling better once she starts “acting” the way she thinks she should.)

            She did comment on my fancy earrings and expensive clothes.  She was also concerned about your Aunt May, Kathy, and all the money she had spent.

            Carol came by our table and we greeted her and offered her a brownie, half of which she took, and after she passed, Mom said, “Not a muscle in her face changed.” 

            I agreed and asked Mom why she thought that was so, and Mom told me that there was a man (Erik)—the man with the cap, and he had been trying to get Mom to go to bed with him, and even though she’d never done it and had always said, “Nothing doing,” Carol might be jealous. 

            I suggested that Carol might not be feeling great, and Mom said, “Yes, I don’t think she’s reached the goals she’d hoped to reach,” and when I asked her what goals she thought those were, Mom said, “Maybe getting better grades.”

Later she commented on Erik’s blank look and said, “He’d like me dead and buried.”       But when he came over to our table, Mom said, “My daughter has been trying to catch your eye.  Because you’re very, very, very, very…”

            (That kept us in suspense for a while!)

            “Very much the lady’s man.  I always see you with a beautiful or charming lady on your arm.”

             Erik looked a little perplexed, as if he were trying to see that too but couldn’t quite.

            Ada was upset because when she was pushing the wheelchair for one of the residents, they told her not to.  She thought she’d already been instructed to push it, and she hated being told one thing and then the opposite. 

            We invited her to sit with us, and we had a nice, brief talk. 

            Then May came along, and when I said, “Hi, May,” she said, “Hi.  What’s your name?”    That was the first time she’d ever spoken to me except for Tuesday, when she said “Thank you.” 

            She sat down and talked with us for about 10 minutes. 

            She addressed Mom by Nadine, and Mom said, “You remembered my name” with pleasure  rather than fear that she could then testify against her in court, and May said, “Of course” without adding that her name had been splashed all over the newspaper. 

            May told me, “You look like someone I know,” and Mom said, “Me!  Look no further!”  May told us twice about being from Long Beach and the walks they used to take to the ocean. 

            Mom identified me as her second oldest and then told May about her daughter in Illinois and her other daughter in San Anselmo.  (She asked me for help with the places.)  She also told May about David’s being in a place “not unlike this place.” 

            May said she thought this was a terrible place because there were no locks, as they noticed right away, and she lost sixty-five dollars when she first came here.  She also lost her partial, which she’d put in one of those solutions.  What was it called?  Polident? 

            Mom said, “Yes, something that cleans them while they sleep.”  

            Mom asked whether there were any children in her neighborhood, and when May said there were, Mom said, “Well, maybe you should have a hidden-teeth party, and invite the kids in.  (Like an Easter Egg hunt?)  They might turn the place upside down, but at least they might find the missing partial.”

            Kay’s daughter Diane was there, and Kay came by our table as Diane was leading her out. 

            “I owe you,” Kay said, and Mom was really gracious. 

            “Do you?  Or maybe I owe you?” 

            Kay looked confused, and Mom said in a very friendly, reassuring way, “Well, we’ll figure it out.” 

            Mother commented that May’s hands looked like the hands of a twenty-four-year-old, and then she showed May her middle finger and said, “Be glad you don’t have one of these.” 

            All and all it was a nice conversation, and I think Mom was in the bathroom when Dianne whispered to me that her father’s/Kay’s husband’s photo was missing, and she didn’t want to go through Mom’s things to look for it. 

            I started looking, and then Dianne found it in Kay’s purse! 

            Mother said several things that were really sharp-witted, and when I commented on one, she said something like, “Not brilliant, but not a bad offering for a woman almost ninety.”

             I was with Mom about 1 ½ hours (like Nan yesterday), and it was really enjoyable.           Having conversations between Mom and the other residents was a new thing—I mean, someone besides Ada.  (I took her on a short walk in the garden when Mom declined to go, partly because Kay was ordering her out of the room.)

            I felt good about Mom today because she seemed pretty happy and bright—and taking all the murders she’d committed in her stride.

            Love,

            Tina