Lady in Waiting

My mother lives in a place called Renaissance Gardens. When I think of Renaissance Gardens, I think of proper ladies in powdered wigs and fancy dresses fanning themselves, surrounded by exotic flowers and spouting fountains.

The Renaissance Gardens where my mother lives does not have such upper crust inhabitants. Instead, there is a woman in a wheelchair shouting, "Help! Help me!!" to no one in particular, and a man who repeats "Awesome!" and seeks a high five from everyone he sees. Some people are slumped over and staring at the floor.

This is a nursing home for people with Alzheimer's and other disorders, who require 24 hour care. There are gardens at Renaissance Gardens, but the residents rarely go outside to see them.

The patients here participate in activities like a virtual visit of Paris or Touring the Louvre. They play Jeopardy and have sing-a-longs of Broadway show tunes.

Most times when I visit Renaissance Gardens, my mother and the other residents are in their wheelchairs in front of the television. Their eyes are not looking at the screen, but at some random spot on the rug or the arm of their wheelchairs.

Today when I walked into the activity room next to the dining room, I scanned the back of the heads of the patients to find my mother. One woman looked like her and I had to stare at her a few times to make sure that my mother's appearance hadn't changed drastically. No, that wasn't my mother, just someone who resembled her.

I walked to her room, and she was laying in her bed. I thought she was asleep, but she wasn't.

"Hi Mom! Happy Birthday!" I said. "Happy Birthday!" my mother repeated. She often mimics what is said to her and doesn't initiate much conversation.

I showed her the flowers I brought for the occasion. "Beautiful!" she exclaimed.

For the next two hours I held her hand, rubbed her back and told her she was the best mother. I tried to choke back tears. It's difficult to see your mother making raspberry sounds and repeating, "Da, da, da, da, da, da," periodically grimacing and growling.

When I held her hand, she scratched me with her fingernail. I pulled my hand away for the moment, but then held her hand again.

I sang to my mother. Usually we sing in the activity room with the piano, but today there was no musical accompaniment. I sang, "Lullaby of Broadway" and my mother's favorite, "New York, New York." She hummed some of the tunes and sometimes she sang along. I can always get her to sing a few words of "42nd Street". I sang one last song, "Happiness" from the show "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown". I started to cry, and I had to stop singing. This song always makes me sad because I remember my mother taking me to see that show when I was a little girl.

My son Trevor has a hard time visiting his grandmother. He is a sensitive boy, and he often tears up when he sees her. Today he was strong and kissed her and wished her a happy birthday. I felt proud of Trevor because he helped some of the other residents and visitors in the nursing home.

My daughter Esther doesn't really know that my mother is sick, and she likes to make silly noises with her. They like to make each other laugh and they both give each other air kisses. Esther doesn't feel sad when she sees her grandmother.

When it was time to go Esther said, "I want to stay!" She was having a good time joking with the nurses and waving to the patients.

I felt suffocated by the stale smell of feces and I had to leave. I was relieved when I got outside and breathed the fresh air.