I walked into the lobby of a downtown building surrounded by parking. It was there that I found a familiar, smiling, slender black woman behind a desk.
She asked me, “Where have you been?”
It's been a busy time. I haven't been there as often as I used to. She understood and was glad I was back. It was the end of my mother's fourth month at a nursing home.
I headed to the elevator and got off on the fourth floor.
Such a strange place, strictly for the ill and the elderly. It's a sad place, a stinky place. No one wants to be there, even the staff, and I can't blame them. Pain and disappointment was everywhere. The expressions, distant, and some of the eyes don't seem to be all there. Others just want to be somewhere else.
My mother's room is at the end of a very long hallway. Her stay has now outlasted three roommates. One she talks to on the phone often, the other she wishes she could, and a third she honestly can't stand.
She's dreading and looking forward to the next hour: physical therapy. It's the only way forward on the long slog home.
At this point, the end is foggy. She's too weak to stand and needs too much help to go home. And the days and weeks and months are clumping together.
Let me know what you think at jamesbrowntv.substack.com. You can email me at jamesbrowntv@gmail.com or leave me a message at 585-484-0339.
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