Island

Mother was having a bad day. Worse than the ones she claims to have on a daily basis even. My brother had brought her to Little Rock early that morning to see a neurologist that had been recommended by her psychiatrist as someone who is good at treating Parkinson's Disease in the elderly. These trips are hard on Mom. As she grows older she is less and less inclined to leave her apartment at the assisted living facility where she lives much less come to Little Rock. In fact, they were about 30 minutes late because my brother found her in bed pretending to be asleep in hopes that she wouldn't have to leave the cocoon she has encapsulated herself in at this stage of her life.

So, imagine my amusement when the lady behind the desk informed me that her appointment was, in reality, the week before and that there was no way that they could work her in to see the doctor despite her having come from 30 miles away. I confess that I went ballistic at this news for no other reason than they had such a lousy attitude of condescension about them as they insisted that they had made no mistake.

" You know, I called yesterday to confirm the appointment and nobody bothered to return my damned call!." I yelled at the wraith whom I gathered was the office manager.

She looked over her half glasses at the computer screen.

" I'm sorry. We have no record that you called." she hissed.

" Then I'm sure that you won't have any record that I called TWICE after my first call wasn't returned!"

She mumbled an insincere apology and asked for my number again to call me with a new appointment. You will be shocked to learn that I have yet to hear from them.

As an aside, although I am not known as a yeller, this was the second time within the span of one week that I had gone off on someone. While both occasions did provide some brief catharsis of sorts, I have to admit that neither episode accomplished much in the way of tangible good. I will try to bear this in mind the next time that I see deep red.

So we got Mom back in time for her lunch. I spent the rest of the afternoon grocery shopping, doing her banking and such in hopes of salvaging a worthless day.

Later that afternoon we sat on the couch in the parlor.

" How is my money holding out?" she asked.

" We are fine. The investments are throwing off good income. We haven't had to invade the assets of the trust to pay for anything and we probably will never have to. Even when you factor in the amount that I am stealing." I replied.

" Boy, you better watch it. God will get you if you steal from your Mama."

I can kid Mom about this. Unlike some elderly people, she is not paranoid about her money. She is not constantly cutting people out of the will or pestering our money guy. We are lucky in this regard.

"Did y'all sell Bill's house?" Bill was her older brother who died last summer.

" I don't know if Janan has sold it yet or not, Mom." I lied. She sold it in September.

" I don't like it here." Mom said. " I would have bought Bill's house. I would have been safe in Benton. It's not dangerous like Little Rock."

" Mom" I said. " You can't live by yourself."

" I could with some help."

" No, Mom. You need help with your meds. You need help with your food. You can't buy a house."

She sat quietly for a moment and then started fidgeting with the throw pillow next to her.

" What, Mom?" I asked.

" It's just that I don't fit in here. I've never fit in anywhere. I just do better by myself. I think I could make it in a little house in Benton."

I took her hand.

"Mom. I'm sorry." I shook my head "no."

Pause. She looked away.

"I'm tired." she said. "I think I'll take my nap."

I really didn't know what to say. It is a hell of a sad thing to be 83 and to have had brought 4 sons into the world and yet to have no sense of place. About all any of us want is to know that there is a somewhere where we belong. I didn't know what to say because some of this she brought on herself by leading a semi-cloistered life in her retirement years. I also didn't know what to say as some of this she didn't bring on herself. It is clear now looking back through the lens of perspective that Mother has suffered from depression and/or mental illness for the past 30 years or so. She now suffers from the ravages of Parkinson's Disease which makes her makes her self conscious about her appearance and movement.

I also didn't know what to say because I, too, occasionally recognize those feelings myself. Maybe that's why I live by myself as well. Maybe I don't fit in either. Hell, I found myself blowing my stack twice in that week alone. That doesn't sound like someone who plays well with others does it?

I turned to take one last look before leaving. There I stood, Mister Well-Adjusted, and watched Mother shuffle after her walker back to her dark apartment where the blinds are drawn tight.

Back to the only place where my mother fits in.