Lovey

Uprooted

In her old age, my momma always used to say that the nursing home was practically like the country club. She was lying. I know now that it doesn’t matter who you are, where you’re from or what you say when you’re with your friends. When you get old, you do not think that the nursing home is practically the country club, and you most certainly do not want to have to live there no matter how short term your stay might be.

If you had ever told me that I would be pining for my tiny assisted living apartment, I wouldn’t have imagined it. But there I was, flipping through my datebook as if any of my plans were still relevant, confined to a double bed with itchy sheets, hoping that they could fit me in for two physical therapy sessions that day. I may have been in the kind of pain that one never forgets, but that didn’t matter. I had seen the other patients in their beds, the ones who had come here for therapy and never gotten out. That wouldn’t be me. I’d rather be dead than dependent.

I looked over at Dan, the snoring, open mouth, wishing that I could reach the cord to turn off the fluorescent box light shining on his sleeping face. And I remembered that what we want and what actually happens are often two different things. I rolled my eyes at the pair of pleather-covered avocado green chairs flanking a rather nice high-definition television. The cinder-block walls, while cold, had a fresh coat of white paint on them, whose smell did an adequate job of blocking out the nursing home stench, that of death, decay, old age and any number of bodily fluids.

Luella, whom you could just tell by her confidence and regal air was the backbone of her household and a pillar in her community, rushed in, her white nurse’s shoes squeaking on the faux-hardwood floor, which, I must admit, did an above-average job of imitating the real thing. “Miss Lynn,” she said, “you got to pick out you and Mr. Dan’s meals for the next few days so we can bring you what you like.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Luella.”

“Mmm hmm.” She pulled the chain over Dan’s head and turned to fluff the pillows behind my back. I watched her, in awe of the grace, agility and speed in such a stout package.

“Miss Lynn, you want me to take you to the bathroom before I get on down the hall?”

This was perhaps the greatest indignity. But I could feel in my bones that I was mere days away from transferring my own body weight to my walker and shuffling to the bathroom right beside me on my own.

I nodded. “Unfortunately.”

Luella laughed like we were old friends swapping stories about cute things our grandkids had done. “Miss Lynn, it ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. We all got to go, and we all do it the same way.”

I nodded, supposing that was true. “Luella, when I get back to assisted living, will you come be one of Dan’s nurses on your off hours? I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

Luella smiled, her shiny teeth, all in a straight row like so many soldiers, making me wonder if she had good genes or even better dentures. “I sure would, Miss Lynn. My grandbaby’s trying to get through college, and I could use the extra money to help him out.”

I placed my good leg on the floor and groaned a bit as the bad one woke and hollered at me for disturbing its peace. It wasn’t that still pain that I was used to feeling in my old age, not a dull ache or a heartbeat throbbing. It was a rushing, circular pain, like runners around a track, active and ever changing so that getting used to it was an impossibility.

“You controlling your pain, Miss Lynn?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s controlling me,” I said. “Tell me something else to keep my mind off of it.”

“Well, my daughter’s pregnant again.”

I tried to smile through my grimace and said, “Congratulations.”

“Not really. My husband Ray and I cain’t understand that girl. This will be her fourth baby by two different fathers, and she ain’t thought about marrying a one of them. She’s a good girl, but it’s like she missed that chapter of the Book or something.”

Sally crossed my mind. My sweet, beautiful adulteress Sally. I had no doubt that she would keel over like a sailboat in a strong wind if she knew I knew. But mommas always know. I had spent so many sleepless nights worrying about her actions, wondering what I could have done differently as her mother. But at the end of the day, it was like I said to Luella, “We can have them in Sunday school every week and in that front row where the preacher’s sneezing on them. But we can’t control our children any more than we can control that last breath.”

As if on cue, Sally stepped through the door, saying sunnily, “Hi there, Luella.” Then she added, “I can take Momma to the bathroom. I’m sure you have tons to do.”

Luella nodded. “I’ll come check on you in a bit, Miss Lynn. And don’t you worry. When you get back across the street, I’ll come look after Mr. Dan.” She winked at me. “I can tell already you won’t be needing any looking after.”

I looked at Sally, her eyes flashing. And it occurred to me that, though I didn’t agree with her choice, though I wondered how someone so sensitive could wound the people around her so fatally, she was undeniably happy. Maybe it was that she never had to reach that point in life where loving someone becomes mundane. Because, the entire time they were together, the man she loved was always a secret, always a thrill. Like the rush Katie Jo used to get from sticking a bottle of fingernail polish in her purse, my Sally must have been addicted to that feeling of first-time, brand-new, might-slip-through-your-fingers love.

But the thing that no one ever tells you about being in love is that, for every percentage that person makes you feel what you expect—that deeply rooted, grounded security—they have double that power to make you feel uprooted, wandering and totally lost. I had felt it, and I didn’t have to ask my son-in-law Doug to know that he had felt it too.

But, of course, I didn’t say any of that. All I said was, “I am so glad to see you, my darling girl.”

And that’s the thing about your children. No matter what they do or how much you disapprove or how much you wish you could change their actions, you love them madly all the same. At the end of the day, that’s the only choice that truly matters.