Aegis: "There's Her and There's Me. But There's No You."

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Dear Kathy and Suzy,

            This wasn’t Mom’s best day—or maybe it was the time.  I got to Aegis around 1:40, later than usual, and she was in the dining room looking grave.  When I greeted her she pulled me down and whispered, “Everything’s going wrong today.”  I asked her whether she’d like to leave the table and go somewhere else to tell me about it, and she said yes. 

            As she went by Carol’s room, 123, she said, “The person in 123 is very smart, but the person—“ and then she saw Joy. 

            She walked over to Joy and said, “So how do you like your new home?  Are you all right?”  And Joy sort of nodded.  Mother took her by the hand and walked her back towards the dining room.

             “Where’s her room?” Mom asked one of the aides, and the aide said, “Thank you.  I’ll take her to your room.” 

            But I could tell that Mom felt responsible for taking care of people, and there were just too many people, too many needs. 

            At one point she said, “How can I do my thing?” 

             I said, “You mean take care of your responsibilities?” and she said, “Yes!” 

            I could almost feel that I was walking through this nightmare with her, and no matter how hard she tried, there was always someone who needed her help who couldn’t be reached—and what did they need anyway?  What was the thing she was responsible for?

            Walking back to her room, she once again saw someone in need, Frank, whose son-in-law was with him.

             “He’s the one I’m concerned about!”  Mom said. 

           

            I told the son-in-law that Mom was trying to take care of her responsibilities, but she wasn’t quite sure just what they were, and he said he didn’t know either.

            Then at her door, Mom saw the envelope I was holding—something I’d put in the car to mail—and she tried to open it.  When I explained that it was something I was going to mail, she said, “Well, put it away!  No, not there.  Leave it out in the hall on the desk.”

            Then we went in her room, and Kay was on her (Kay’s) bed.

            “This is my second oldest daughter,” she told Kay, and Kay said, “Nice to meet you.”

             I don’t remember what else was said at that point,  but Mom got her “I’ll Be Seeing You” songbook and said she had to take it to the piano.  I told her I needed to use the bathroom, and then I told her I was going to put on some lipstick.

“I don’t think you need that,” she said.  “It’s too bright.”

I told her I liked color, and she let me keep it on, painted hussy that I was.

           Once again I could kind of feel the movement of a nightmare…something had to be put in a certain place…She had to get the piano music to the piano.  But Mom didn’t want to play.  She wanted to take care of her “thing.” 

           We went back to her room, and this time Kay was sitting on her (Kay’s) chair, and Mom said something like, “Why are you here?  Why aren’t you out?” 

I thought those were Kay’s lines, so I was startled.

“But, Mom,” I said.  “You’re roommates, aren’t you?”

And Mom said, “We used to be.”    Then she said something like “This is your bed.  And this is my bed.”

            Then  Kay, instead of saying, “I want you out of here, and I want you out now” said, “For you as a favor I’ll move,” and she went to her bed. (Then I knew Mom had to be dreaming.) 

            Once again I said, “You two share this room,” and Mom said, “Well, there’s her.  And there’s me.  But there’s no You.”

            I said, “You mean my being here confuses you?”

            “Yes!” She said.

            “Do you think it would be better for you if I left now and came another time?”

            She said, “I think that might be better.”

I told her I was sorry she felt stressed out today and wished I could do something to help her.

            “I wish you could too, but I love you anyway.”

            So I told her I loved her, and then I showed her the photos that were in the envelope I’d brought inside that was really for Jackie Lyall, whose birthday is July 14.  She looked at the pictures inside—most of which she’d seen before or even has in her album, and with each one, she said, “That’s nice.  That’s nice.”

            Then I told her I loved her, and we hugged.

            Going by the sitting room, I saw Franz and Bobbie sitting together, where they’d been earlier, with Bobbie reciting “The Lord is my shepherd” psalm and Franz putting his hand on her thigh. 

            When I walked by, I said, “Hi, Franz!  Hi, Bobbie,” and they said hi back and asked in a very concerned way, “How are things going?”

            I said, “Well, my mom’s having a hard day,” and they said, “We are too!”  And I had the definite feeling that we all knew we were in this  together!

            Mother’s been tired from time to time, as with Kathy’s visits, when Kathy tried to deliver the chocolate shake.  But I think lately she’s been in a pretty good frame of mind.  Today she was definitely stressed out.

            I’ll be leaving for Oregon in a few hours, but I’ll be back to see Mom on Saturday, July 16—very close to Kathy’s birthday!  How would you like to celebrate—I mean, besides with a better report on Mom?

            Love,

            Tina