My Sunday Feeling

I recognized Mother as I approached the day room even though she had her back to me. Despite all of the physical debilitation attendant to her advanced years, her hair is still pretty much as red as it was when I was a boy. This is a source of much fascination to the staff there at St. Andrew's and the nurses always touch or stroke her hair when they talk to her. Maybe they do it for good luck.



Mother was having a pretty good day. She was "dialed in' as my brother the psych nurse likes to put it. You get what you get with Mom nowadays. Some days she is virtually incoherent. That day she was as on top of her game as she ever is.



After we had visited for awhile, she started looking rather anxious. She threw furtive sidelong glances around her to see if anyone was within earshot. She asked if we could move over to the other side of the room.



I wheeled her over by the patio and pulled up a chair. "What's up with you?" I said.



She tugged on her sweater. She put her hand over her mouth. Eventually she spoke.



" I need to ask you about the money," she whispered. " Do I have enough money?"



This was a sure sign she was dialed in. She never asks about her finances. She just leaves it all up to me and Ray the Magician, the financial planner who set her up years ago and has been performing the miraculous ever since.



" You certainly do," I said. "You have more than enough money and assets to last the rest of your life." Actually, the actuarial tables say she'll live until 92. I can't imagine that she will make that but Ray thinks he's got it covered in any event. As for me, I have a long term care policy. I don't want anybody white-knuckling over how they are going to take care of me in my golden years.



"How much money is that?" she asked. This is different.



" Well...." I said, looking to the ceiling, as if the numbers were superimposed up there. " You have about 2500 bucks coming in every month from your pensions. You are getting regular dividend checks in various amounts on a frequent basis. The investments Ray has made on her behalf are throwing off about nine grand a year in income for the Trust that pays all your bills. All in all, your total asset picture is in the low to medium six figures. You have enough money."



" Good. So I can move to Heber Springs."



"Goddamnit. Here we go again." I thought. It is during times like these that my usual poker face comes in handy. The less kind would call it a flat affect. Whatever. It has its uses.



One of the more heart-rending things that you notice in the nursing home is that the residents there pretty much all long for their old homes. I don't know if it is a longing for a geographical place as much as it is a former time when they were still young and strong. But it is palpable. Indeed, a lady wheeled herself over to me one day and asked me if I would take her home.



It breaks your heart.



This Heber thing started with Mom when Uncle Ralph, innocently enough, told her that they were building a new high dollar facility up there. Heber Springs is the county seat of Cleburne County, Arkansas where Mom and her family were all born and raised. Mother still speaks in almost operatic terms of her days on the farm, a feeling completely unshared by any of her brothers, who left the farm as soon as they could and who never had one good damn thing to say about it since my mind runneth not to the contrary. So now Mom has it in her head that she wants to go back to Heber since Cleburne County is from whence cometh her strength.



I made a note to myself. It said, "Kill Uncle Ralph."



"Living here is a real pain," she said. "Things would be better in Heber."



" Look," I said. " We are pleased with your care here. There's no guarantee that things would be better anywhere else."



" There's no guarantee that they wouldn't." I knew she was going to say that. This is a variation of the old "you don't know that it's not true" fallback position that was in her wheelhouse back in the day.



" Besides, you move to Heber and Bob can't come by everyday. I can't come as often if you moved. I just don't know about this."



" Well, I do. I'm going back to Heber."



She's not going anywhere and neither was this conversation. I kissed her goodbye and signed " I love you" to her. She likes it when I talk to her in sign language. Go figure.



" Don't worry," she said as I was leaving. " I'll call you before I move."



I was relieved. We were back to talking crazy.



The poker face was still on. "You be sure and get back to me on that one." I said.



I turned and walked out of the nursing home into the oppressive heat of a summer's day in Arkansas.



I was lucky and I knew it. I got to go home.