First Visit

When I sat down she looked and her eyes locked on mine and her voice came harsh, high and dripping with sarcasm. “And what is YOUR name?”. When I answered she said, without moving “Isn’t THAT interesting, I have a Sarah.”.

“Yes” I said, “That’s me.”. “I KNOW.” she announced loud enough for the room to hear.

That was it. When I went on to ask how she was her body relaxed, her face fell into a soft focus and she said she was okay, I asked about the food “Oh, it is very good.”. And the people “All kind. No one is pushy.” Then, her speech began to falter, the words were not coming in any sort of order but the tone was conversational. Always a little cold, she was happy for me to go get her another sweater from her room.

On my way, I met with Diane, a truly excellent nurse I had worked with in another setting; she is now there full time and I am so pleased. My mother comes out at night she says, for a snack, to sit by the nurse’s station. She is at her best then, less stimulated, but still “a lost soul”. Sometimes “overwhelmed”. It hurt to hear her described this way but it is how I had also come to see her over time, it is where she is…looking for something she can’t define. A comfort not readily available, a lost sense of self and purpose.

Her side of the room needs something to warm it up, make it more personal. This won’t be for her so much now as for me and for the staff that come to see her. I haven’t decided what to do, can’t be anything breakable, and no thumb tacks. She doesn’t like photographs anymore. Flowers of some sort I think. Maybe a small quilt could be hung over the bed, something for the windows to bring color and light.

I made my first visit last Saturday, a week ago. It is painful. Tomorrow I will go again. For now, once a week will have to do, work days are long and I feel fragile. I try to think she doesn’t know time and so it will work out. I try not to think too much. It will be better, I think, in the spring when I can take her out of doors.