Tonight would have been what my Mom and I would have described as the perfect summer evening.  The air is clean, the sky blue, and the sun is shining.  Last summer most Monday or Tuesday nights would have been something like this:

I would call ahead from work to see what she would like to eat.  Over the summer my Mom was eating about a half a cup of food several times a day.  Her tastes had become very selective so I would call her to see what she felt like having and if she didn’t know I would try to suggest something.  And she knew that I would go to whatever restaurant she was craving just to know that she was eating.  Or if she had food Home Care or I would help make it.  She was able to stand at the counter for short periods of time as long as her walker was nearby.  And she wanted to help as long as she could.

After my 45 minute drive from the city I would park in her spot behind her building and in view of her apartment I would take a deep breath before getting out of the car.  You never knew what each visit would bring.  Would she be okay?  Had she fallen or fainted since I spoke to her last?  Would this be a night at the emergency room?  Everything could change in seconds.

As I reached her patio door I would take another deep breath and look through the glass and see her sitting in her chair watching TV, reading the paper or doing a puzzle book.  And I would breathe a sigh of relief.  And say a prayer that I would say what needed to be said and hear what needed to be heard.

As soon as she saw me she would have a big smile and put away what she had been doing.  And then she would get out of her lift chair and follow me with her walker over to the kitchen table.  She had a wonderful apartment where the kitchen, dining and living spaces were all in one room.  Eating at the table was very important to her.  Being in the hospital so much she loved and understood the freedom of eating at the table.  And it gave her the chance to get up and walk around.  Sometimes she would take a lap around the apartment while I was getting the food ready.

When we were done eating we would decide our next move depending on the weather.  On a night like this we would have been excited to get her in her wheelchair to go for a walk.  Some nights it was just around the block or up the scenic walking path behind her place.  But other times we would go to the closest restaurant and have coffee.  No matter where we went the scenery was always her favorite part.  She said she hadn’t noticed the brightness of the flowers the year before or how green the grass and the trees were.   We would talk about everything.  Sometimes she seemed to pick a decade to talk about.  She was always reminiscing and I indulged her.  After coffee we would head back to her place past the library and down the little hill by the park toward Elm St.  That was our favorite part.  I would usually end up running to keep up with her chair so it didn’t get away from me.  And a few times I did that little run in the rain, once with thunder and lightning chasing us.  But we could usually pick the perfect nights for that walk.

If we couldn’t go for a walk because of weather or if Mom wasn’t feeling well we would just go sit on the bench outside the building’s front door and watch the cars go by.  Talk to the dog walkers and enjoy the evening air.  Or we would just stay inside and play a game of Skip Bo and have a cup of coffee.  If I was there on a Tuesday my sister may stop in after work and join us around the table.  Usually around 8 she would ask me if I would go get her a small Sunday from Dairy Queen, unless a friend had dropped off a yummy dessert.  I would see her eat less and less each Monday and pretend that I didn’t notice.

Home Care would come around 8:30 to get her ready for bed, soon after she would ask if I should be going.  She was concerned for me but I think more concerned that Jeopardy was coming on at 9.  Some nights I would leave by 9, other nights I would stay until Pasith would send me a “hello” or “How is everything” text as a gentle reminder.  And I would just dread leaving not knowing if there would be a next Monday; or if it would still look the same.  We had made it through this one but that was no guarantee of another one.  She would get out of her chair and give me a hug and I would feel her bones and realize how frail and small she was getting.  And she would walk over to the door, watch me leave, wave and lock the door.  Home Care would be back for night at 11.

By the time I got home I was exhausted.  But it was so worth it.