Whether she’s known you for years or is just meeting you for the first time, my mother will do her best to offend you. And she doesn’t play favourites. Friends, family, casual acquaintances: everyone is fair game for one or more of my mother’s accurately slung barbs.

A friend of mine, Peggy, comes faithfully several mornings a week to help me clean, change, and in general, keep Mother occupied. Today, as Peggy was helping my mother change out of a pair of wet pants, my mother looked at her and said, “I wish you’d get out of here, and I hope to God we’re not paying you for this. It’d be like throwing money down a rat hole.”

Shortly after Peggy left for the day, my mother’s favourite therapist came for a session.

“Well, my God,” my mother said to Robby, “what in the world are you doing here?” She sounded thoroughly disgusted and shook her head, even though she’d spent most of the morning primping so that she’d look her best for Robby.

Robby wasn’t fazed. “I came to see my favorite patient!”

“Aw, don’t gimme that load of bull,” my mother said. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

As he left, my mother took her final shot. “Hey, don’t forget your purse.” Then she slapped her knee and howled with laughter as she pointed to a small duffle bag on the counter.

An hour or so later, the nurse came. On every visit, the nurse gets down on the floor to check the wounds on Mother’s heels. She applies medicine and clean bandages.

“Okay, Mrs. Frawley, that’s it. You stay off your feet until these wounds heal.”

Mother smiled her sweetest smile. “Want me to call the crane company to help you get up?”

It was even worse with the physical therapist, a large woman with a tiny voice and unusually slow Southern drawl. When she walked in, Mother immediately began to ridicule her drawl.

“Mrs. Frawwwleeey,” Mother said, mocking her with her best hand movements and tone of voice. “Ah just come by to make sure you were alllll riiight.”

Ann seemed unfazed.

“Who pays you to come here?” my mother asked her. “If I’d known you’d be coming all the time, I’d never have signed up for that insurance policy. Those places will rip you off every time.”

While the nurse was busy recording data on her laptop, Mother cut her eyes at me then toward the nurse.

I gave her the “don’t you dare” look. Like a mischievous child, she grinned and looked away.

“Did you have to call Omar to have those clothes made?” she asked the nurse.

Ann didn’t look up from her typing. “I beg your pardon?” she said softly.

“Omar the Tentmaker,” Mother said. “Did he make that outfit for you?” She covered her mouth and pretended to stifle a laugh. “Here,” Mother said, pulling up on the safety bar by her chair. “I’ll see you to the door. Thanks for dropping by.”

When the nurse left, Mother noticed my disapproving look. ““You mad at me? I haven’t done anything. You better be glad I didn’t mention that hair. Nasty mess hanging down her back. I’m gonna tell her about it next time.”

The head therapist arrived a few minutes later for the monthly evaluation. Mother was sleeping the first time she came, so the two of them hadn’t met yet. She’s a rather tall woman, heavy set, with several prominently protruding teeth in front.

“Hello, Mrs. Frawley,” she said. “I’m Jane. Nice to meet you.”

I had a feeling she’d change her mind fairly soon.

Mother cut her eyes at me then leaned forward in her chair.

“You could eat an ear of corn through a barbed wire fence with those teeth, couldn’t you?” She slapped her knees and laughed.

The therapist said she couldn’t see any need for further therapy. She wouldn’t be back.

I saw her to the door and walked back into my mother’s room.

She was on the side of the bed laughing.

“I did it, Sister. They won’t be coming back.”

I could have argued, countered, scolded. I could have done any number of things. Instead, I sat beside her and laughed right along.

“I just hope your Big Fella angel wasn’t watching.”

“Oh, mercy,” she said, her face suddenly serious. “Ya think he was?”

“I think maybe he’s always watching. Don’t you?”

I relaxed a bit, grateful for what seemed a bit of a breakthrough, maybe even a softening of her sometimes cruel ways. I said a silent prayer of thanks.

Then, my mother patted my leg.

“I hope he got a good laugh out of it,” she said. “I’ll see what I can cook up for next time.”