by Jo Owens
Goodness. I didn’t know you could do that.
Maybe you need to be one hundred and three years old with a Will of Steel.
I guess.
* * *
That makes three. Maybe we’re done for a while.
Janet, this one and…who?
I was counting Camille.
Oh, Camille.
Three good ones, really.
Mmm, not too bad. Mind you, Camille was lying there long enough.
But the actual dying process.
Well, this one takes the prize.
If only it would always be as sweet.
If only we could all die in our sleep.
Amen.
* * *
Tiny’s bed stays empty over the weekend. (I don’t even think of it as belonging to Madame One Hundred and Three Years Old; it’s more like she rented it.)
An empty bed buys me a little time, says Michiko cheerfully, and she buzzes around singing “With a Little Bit of Luck” and “There Is Nothing Like a Dame.” All happy tunes.
It’s almost as though Michi was working magic, summoning sunbeams, because Monday morning, we get an admission, and the first thing our new arrival says is, Well! This looks lovely! We lift up our heads as though the Captain of Our Soul had announced, “Land ahead!”
Yes. I think this will be fine, don’t you, Milton?
It will take some getting used to.
Yes, dear. We were expecting that.
This apparition of practical optimism wheels over to me and extends her hand. I have to shake with my left, and I see her calmly assessing my bum arm. She notices the tube-feed too.
“I’m Ruby,” she says, and I withdraw my hand to point to my throat and shake my finger.
“Well then,” says Ruby, “I’m sure someone will introduce us properly very soon.”
At this, Milton steps forward, shakes my hand and, looking at the writing on my over-the-bed table, says, “May I?” He has to put his reading glasses on before saying, “Francesca, is it?”
I nod.
“Mother, this is Francesca.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she says, and I hope I’m not drooling as I smile back, because her own smile is lovely.
Alice is off somewhere wandering, but with Milton’s help, Ruby solemnly introduces herself to Nana and Mary before reiterating, “Yes, this will do very well.”
The RN comes in.
There you are! We still have some paperwork to do. Would you like to come down to the team centre?
Certainly, Milton and Ruby speak together, and then exchange an amused wink. Their obvious affection for each other lights up my day.
* * *
I wake up in the night because Ruby is weeping. There is an unmistakable odour in the room. I reach for my bell and, a few minutes later, Heather appears. I’m so glad it’s Heather; she is sturdily, steadily, dependably kind. Right away, she knows why I rang. She catches my eye as she flicks the bell off and turns to my neighbour.
Oh dear.
I’ve soiled myself!
Oh, honey. Don’t cry. It happens. I’m sorry, ladies; I’m going to have to turn on the light.
Heather steps into the washroom and returns with a wash basin and a pile of face cloths.
I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for you, sobs Ruby.
For me? Oh, sweetie. This is my job! If I can’t handle a little incontinence I’m definitely in the wrong field. Now, lovey, you need to do me a little favour here. I’ve got your hands clean, and now I want you to keep them out of it; there’s no need to make this worse. I’m gonna whip this gown off…okay, cross your arms over your chest…perfect. Now, honey, close your eyes and think about something peaceful; I’m going to make you feel like this never happened.
Heather hums softly. Oh. I know that tune. It’s from Hansel and Gretel. I saw the opera on a field trip with Chris when he was in grade four. “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.” Goodness! Does Heather like opera? I took her for a country and western kind of woman.
Turn on your side now. Okay, back this way. Beautiful. Sweetheart, you are clean as a whistle. I’m going to get you a hot blanket; I’ll be right back.
Heather shuts the lights off on her way out. I’m still thinking about the witch in the opera and I’m starting to dream in a half-awake way that it’s Angelina and Chris instead of Hansel and Gretel who are lost in the woods when Heather comes back.
Thank you so much! God will bless you for your kindness.
Aren’t you a darling? Like I said, it’s my job, lovey. Don’t you worry about a thing.
It all turned out in the end. Hansel was resourceful—or was it Gretel?—and shoved the witch into the oven, where she magically turned into a big cookie. I fall into a deep sleep thinking about gingerbread, the memory of sugar icing on my tongue.
* * *
When morning arrives, it’s like last night never happened.
Ruby and I are sharing a mutually satisfying silent moment of admiration for my chestnut tree when Alice’s daughters breeze into the room, carrying a big package. We see Josie all the time. She’s warm and friendly, and from what I’ve observed, unflappable, but she always looks like she has temporarily stepped off the field from some sweaty team sport. Her sister, whom I haven’t seen before, is Lady Vogue.
Michelle said she was sending some new clothes for Mom’s birthday.
Well, let’s hope she sent something Mom can wear!
You don’t think she’s changed sizes that much?
Oh no. Size isn’t the problem.
Well, I do hope she sent something decent. Mom looks so shabby!
Meaning what?
Well, track suits, Josie? Mom would never have worn track suits! What happened to all her good clothes?
Susan, get a grip! What you call “good clothes” aren’t appropriate for her anymore!
You get a grip! If you’re the one choosing her clothes, for heaven’s sake, why don’t you choose something a little…dressier!
Her clothes are appropriate.
Something more in keeping with her taste.
Jesus, Susan, Mom doesn’t have taste anymore!
Come on! She’s old, she’s not dead.
Look, sister. Mom’s needs have changed. She’s incontinent, for Chrissake. The pants need to go down fast, and they need to come back up easily. She’s not Mrs. Oak Bay Tea Party Hostess anymore. She spills food on herself, she dribbles, she…
You’re dressing her just like you dress yourself.
Thanks, Susan. Screw you too. Let’s just see what Michelle sent her mama, shall we?
Ruby is more discreet than I am…I’m practically falling out of my chair in my effort to see what’s in the box. New clothes? Count me in!
Okay. Well. These are lovely underwear, but…
Yes, Josie, you keep telling me, Mom’s incontinent. Must you rub it in?
D’you think Emma could use them?
Thongs, sister. The girls wear thongs.
Oh. Okay, then.
Is this cashmere?
That’s no good.
Whyever not? It’s lovely.
Everything needs to be machine washable.
Surely they wouldn’t throw a good cardigan like this in the machine.
Everything, Susan. Ev-ery-thing.
And these pants are linen.
Plus, Mom can’t handle zippers anymore.
Three for three. What a pity.
The irony is, Mom would have loved these things.
Where is Mom? She’s drifted!
Susan scoops the clothes off the bed back into the bag, as Josie ducks into the hallway. Her voice floats back.
She’s right here. Pilfering the snacks from the trolley.
“Well!” smiles Ruby as Susan follows her si
ster out of the room. “Wasn’t that interesting! I love clothes, don’t you?”
I nod. Both of us raise our eyebrows and grin.
* * *
Molly fairly bounces doing my care.
“Frannie, guess what? Bettina took that night position on third! She said she needs full-time, and it’s better for her family and her church activities.”
I knew Molly wasn’t particularly fond of Bettina, but this degree of enthusiasm surprises me.
“So her position is going up next week…wouldn’t it be awesome if Lily got it?”
Oh!
“Lily’s got lots of hours, Frannie. She could have had an evening position a long time ago, but she needs days for Sierra. It’s kind of ironic—when the kids are little, you really need days, but by the time these girls have enough hours to get permanent days, their kids are all grown up. But Lily started working here when Sierra was a baby.”
I had no idea Lily had enough seniority to be in the running for a day position. My heart is pounding.
* * *
I’m not sure where Alice’s daughter Susan comes from, but clearly she’s breezed in on a duty visit and she’s putting in her time. Every day she comes and stalks the hallways, two steps behind her wandering mother.
I am sitting in the sunroom when Susan and Josie come in together. Susan has Alice in tow and a box of treats from the Dutch bakery in her other hand, and Josie balances a tray of proper teacups and a pot of tea with cream and sugar in a matching set.
“Do you mind if we make ourselves at home here?” Josie asks.
I shake my head vigorously.
All politeness, Susan offers me a cup of tea, but Josie, who knows me, explains my tube-feed sotto voce.
Susan is embarrassed; she doesn’t know how to meet my eyes.
“Oh. Well then,” she says.
I enjoy watching the pouring of the tea, the laying of the cups and saucers and tiny spoons. On the pale blue paper plates with matching paper napkins, the cakes are pretty little snowy castles, sprinkled with sugar flowers.
Mom is in her element.
Oh my God, I can just hear her saying, “Two lumps and lemon, please…you do have lemon, do you not?”
Josie laughs. Oh, Mom!
I miss that version of her so much, says Susan. That elegant lady with just a hint of bitch; it shatters me that she has changed.
We all change.
Yes, but…I don’t know her, Josie. This isn’t my mom. It bores me to death hanging around here. It’s dismal and I can think of a million better ways to spend my time. I can’t wait to go home tomorrow. Frankly, I don’t know how you do this week after week.
I don’t think of it like that. It isn’t about intellect; it’s more about how you feel. Emotional communication. Not to be disrespectful, but it’s similar to how I relate to my dogs.
Ugh. I never was an animal person.
Odd, isn’t it? Of the three of us, you were always the closest to Mom. But now…maybe it’s a good thing that I’m the one who lives here.
You definitely handle this better than I do, if that’s what you’re saying, I give you that. And Michelle…forget it. Let’s not even bring it up.
Ha ha, I think we’ve built a fragile bridge on that subject over our wine last night, but for heaven’s sake, let’s not test it with any heavy trucks.
Foot traffic only.
Absolutely. A hanging bridge with vines. No army vehicles!
The sisters laugh, and I feel a current of energy pass between them.
* * *
I simply can’t imagine Angelina visiting me here. She didn’t have a caretaking bone in her body, that girl. Christian was the considerate one. That was the story I told myself, anyway. But although Angelina wouldn’t hesitate to bait her family, she wouldn’t tolerate anyone else doing it. Maybe over time, that loyalty would have developed into thoughtfulness.
I wonder what would have happened if I’d given them both more space to step outside of the roles I put them in.
I always believed Ang needed the people she loved to be sturdy rock-and-mortar walls that wouldn’t crumble when she threw herself against them, like crashing waves against a breakwater.
I believed Angelina needed me to be strong. Now I wish I’d been more flexible, that I’d made a softer place for her to land.
* * *
Molly pulls the curtains around Mary’s bed; she comes back with the RN and she’s got the binder that holds the bowel records in her hands.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with her. Look, you can see it’s getting harder and harder to get anything out of her.
Did you commode her?
Don’t insult me! I gave her the Dulcolax, I waited a half-hour, and then I gave her the Fleet and I put her on the tilt commode, and she sat for another half an hour. I couldn’t keep her on there any longer. She’s so stiff, her legs are going to go to sleep!
Alright, I’ll give her a check.
—
There’s nothing up there.
Like I said. You guys are going to have to push from above.
Are you on tomorrow?
It’s my Monday.
Okay. We’ll give her more laxative. You give her a break tomorrow, and then the next day we’ll try again.
Fair enough.
Poor Mary.
I have a bad feeling. She’s going down.
Well, it’s bound to happen.
Not my Mary. Not my darling Mary.
Even your darlings, Molly. If we kept all your darlings, there’d be no more room on the planet.
Ouch.
* * *
I think it was guilt more than affection that made Molly bake a cake for Bettina’s last day.
“We’ve been partners a long time, Frannie…long before you came here,” she says.
The cake looks amazing, a shining dome of chocolate, and I can smell the Grand Marnier in the ganache from my corner of the dining room.
We’ll miss you, Betts, call the girls, and I think Bettina is touched. She’s so phlegmatic, it’s hard to tell.
Alice, sitting quietly for a change, is holding a teacup with her pinky out. I can see Tiny on the other side of the room—she thinks the party is for her. Molly is spooning bird-sized bites into Mary’s mouth.
Didn’t they put her on full-minced?
Come on. This is fine for full-minced. She loves chocolate. Don’t take this away from her.
She’s getting thin; she needs the calories.
Oh my God, did I tell you what she said the other day? I was washing her up and I said, “Mary, you’ve lost a lot of weight!” and she said, “It was borrowed.”
Everyone laughs.
Sometimes she still comes out with stuff like that.
It makes me wonder if she’s still thinking those zingers but she just can’t get them out.
“Well, isn’t this lovely?” says Ruby, daintily eating her cake.
They’ve taken to putting Ruby beside me in the dining room at lunch; what a pleasure it is! Ruby’s way of speaking to me…but wait…she speaks to everyone as though they are sentient beings, not brainless, drooling things.
When the cake is done, the girls clear the dining room. Being in the corner, Ruby and I wait for the others to go first. Maybe that’s why they put Ruby near me…she is patient, and does not try to leave before there is a clear path, as some of the residents do, banging their wheelchairs hopelessly like a football mob leaving a stadium. When Molly comes to us, Ruby thanks her.
Did I hear correctly that you made the cake?
I did indeed…did you enjoy it?
It was wonderful! That icing! What was in it?
Grand Marnier.
Ruby’s face clouds.
That’s not…that’s not booze, is it?
&
nbsp; Molly sees that she’s troubled.
You can eat vanilla, can’t you? In your religion?
Oh yes.
Well, this is just the same. It’s a flavouring.
Oh, I see. Well, it certainly was delicious. That was a very kind thing you did. In fact, you are kind to us all.
I love my job.
Yes, I can see that you do. Did you always know you wanted to do this kind of work?
Oh God, no. I never knew what I wanted to do; I never chose or made an active decision in my life. I fell into this, like a canoe going over a waterfall. You couldn’t get a job washing dishes, those days, let alone find a good job, and I had two kids and then my husband got laid off, and my aunt, who’s a nurse, said, “Honey, why don’t you go and take your care aide course, it’s only eight months.” She said, “Trust me. I’ll help you.” It was just one of those times in my life when I was so desperate that if the Devil himself had offered me a trip to Georgia, I’d have taken it, y’know? I had kids to feed, I had to have work. It turns out I just love working here, I love this job…I love believing I can make somebody have a better day, just by being glad myself. No one wants to see a crabby face. The kids are grown up and I’m still here. I almost feel like it happened for a reason.
Ruby reaches for Molly’s hand.
I’m sure it happened for a reason.
My cup runneth over.
Well, thank God your cup runneth over on me!
* * *
I haven’t seen Chris for a couple of weeks, and when he comes in on Saturday, I have so much to tell him. I point frantically at Ruby’s bed. Chris has no idea what I’m on about.
“Where’s Janet?”
Good Lord, has it been that long? Some floating memory from my childhood latches onto my motor skills and I draw one finger across my throat.
