That's What You Think 26v2o

That’s What You Think

Joyce Bortnick

Copyright © 2012 by Joyce Bortnick.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012918530 ISBN: Hardcover Softcover Ebook

978-1-4797-2758-2 978-1-4797-2757-5 978-1-4797-2759-9

Author photo by © Daphney Milian | Dream Life Photography

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

1926: Baltimore

1999, Seventy-three Years Later: The Estates Nursing Home

1998, Fall: The Apartment

1998, December, Friday

The Next Day, Saturday

Sunday Morning

Sunday Afternoon

Monday: Visiting the Doctor

Monday Afternoon: Visiting The Manor

Sara at Home

Tuesday

A Week Later

1998, the Last Week of December: The Move to The Manor

1999, January: A New Year

1999, January, the Third Week

1999, February 5, Two Weeks Later

1999, February 19

1999, March 2: The Hospital

On The Way to the Hospital

At the Hospital

March 3, 1999, the Next Morning at the Hospital: Mom and Shelia

My Arrival at the Hospital

1999, March 5, Friday

March 5, Saturday

March 6, Sunday

March 7, Monday

March 8, Tuesday

March 9: Wednesday and the Other Hospital Days

March 23, Wednesday: Moving to Rehab and Rehab Days

Later That Night

Days Spent in Rehab

1999, April: Celebrating over

The Last Weeks of Rehab

Finding a Nursing Home

1999, May 1: The Nursing Home

1999, May: Mom’s Life at The Estates

Days at The Estates

Amy

Ina

Nursing Home Days

Inner Turmoil

1999, July: The Estates Nursing Home

Summer Days at the Nursing Home

Two Weeks Later

1999, August: The Estates Nursing Home

Hope

1999, September: The Estates Nursing Home

1999, October: Sara Ellis’s Appointment at the John Hopkins Department of Gerontology

The Interim

How to Save Grandma from the Nursing Home

Planning to Move Mom

The Last Days at The Estates: The Engagement

1999, Late October: Moving Day

October 27 and the Following Weeks

1999, November: The Blue Chair

ing

1999, December: Death

2000: The New Year

2000, February

Angie’s Outing

2000, March: Turning Ninety

2000, April

Late April

2000, May: Waiting

2000, May: The Shower

The Acceptance

2000, Late May: The Wedding

The Wedding Night

2000, May: Moving to The Montrose Home

2000, Fall: Daily Life in The Montrose Home

2000, December: End of the Year Celebrations

2001, February

2001, March 16: Mom’s Ninety-first Birthday

Late April

2001: Mother’s Day

2001, Summer

2001, November

2001, December

2002, January

2002, Late February

2002, March: Mom’s Ninety-Second Birthday

2002, April

The Olympics

2002, June: Preparations for Lily’s Wedding

2002, August and September

2003, January

2003, March

2003, Summer

2003, September

2004

2004: More Illness and Death

2004, Late Fall

2004: New Year’s

2005: Mom’s Ninety-fifth Birthday

2005, Spring

2005: The Concert

2005, May

2005: The Conference

2005: Lily’s Baby

2005, Fall

2006, March

2006, Spring and Summer

2006, Fall

2007, Winter

2007: Mom’s Ninety-Seventh Birthday

2007, Spring and Summer

2007, Fall

2007, November

2007, December

2007, December 27

2008, January

2008, Late January

2008: February

2008, Late February

2008, March

2008, March 10-15

2008, March 14

2008, March 15

2008, March 16: Sara Ellis’s Ninety-eighth Birthday

The Party

2008, March and the Days after Her Ninety-eighth Birthday

2008: Birth and Death

2008, April 6: The Funeral Home

2008, April 8

2008: Ending Our Journey

2009: The Synagogue Story

Not Goodbye

Dedication

To Ron, my husband of over forty years: You never gave up on me. You always encouraged me and thought the book was wonderful from its inception. Thank you for your belief in me and for always being there for my mom and me.

To Janie: You encouraged me to “write, write, write.” I heard you.

Acknowledgments

A book doesn’t completely write itself. I am blessed with a wonderful team who enabled me to be positive and clear in my writing.

To my Florida writing groups: I came to you with a yellow legal pad of notes. I thought they were a book. You taught me what it meant to write a worthwhile story. Pat, I thank you.

To my proofreaders: You must have been so tired reading and rereading my story. Your suggestions helped me to complete my work.

To Dr. Michael Moskowitz and Kathleen Ammalee Rogers: You two are the most positive people I know. Alignment of spine and alignment of spirit – who could ask for a better recipe!

To my goddaughter Amy: I’m so lucky to be your godmother. You’ve been inspiring me since you started reading Harry Potter as a young girl. Your enthusiasm and achievements remind me to harness all the energy and drive I have inside of me.

To my sister Thelma: We truly allowed Mom to live her final years with dignity. Thank you for the pin you gave me after the unveiling. I used it as the inspiration for my book cover. I love you.

To Connie Johnson: Thanks you for the time you spent deg the book cover. You captured my feelings in a cover I am proud to have to represent my book.

To Beverly Walker: You were that “special” person in my mother’s life.

To the staff at The Smith Kogod Building of The Hebrew Home of Greater Washington DC: I send you a heartfelt thank you.

To RA Soriano, my publishing consultant: Thank you seems inadequate. Your presence in my life for this final segment of my book’s journey is a gift. I know this book goes out into the universe ed by a caring group at Xlibris.

To my children: Thank you for understanding when I worked all those afternoons at the beach. Grandma lives on inside of us and through your children. I love you always.

1926: Baltimore

H er dark-brown curly hair blows in the wind. She stands in the sun, her back to the Chesapeake Bay, while her boyfriend, Martin, sketches her with pastels. At sixteen, the cleft in her chin, the prominent nose, and her sparkling yet intense brown eyes hint of an inner strength she may need to rely on later in life.

1999, Seventy-three Years Later: The Estates Nursing Home

S he sits in her wheelchair, her once luxurious dark-brown hair has faded to a dull white that collapses against her head. A light-blue lap blanket covers her legs. Only her brown eyes denote a strength that is still alive. The rosiness of her complexion hints at her former beauty. What is she thinking? Does she know where she is?

I stare through the window, and I a different time. I am a girl, running along the bank of the Chesapeake Bay, with the wind blowing in my hair. Martin calls to me, “Stop, I want to draw you. Be still so I can capture your loveliness on paper with my chalk.” I keep running.

I Max, my husband, and the beautiful house on Field Avenue. I an office where I worked for twenty-five years, my victory garden, and lunch downtown on Wednesdays. I my retirement party when my daughter, Iris, sang, and all the waitresses cried. I have time now to it all.

I return to the nursing home hoping to spend a quiet half hour with my mother before driving home. She does not see me standing in the doorway to the common room. Her eyes appear vacant. I observe her from a distance before she looks my way.

Does she recognize me? “It’s me, Mom, Iris.” What she is thinking? How much longer can she live here without losing her spark, the unique glow that characterizes her as Sara Ellis, a formidable woman who has now lost the control to make her own decisions for the first time in her life?

She looks toward me, and, after a moment’s pause, she lifts her right hand. She sees me. I walk toward her, shrugging away my uncertainty about her present situation.

1998, Fall: The Apartment

M y mother, Sara Ellis, lived in a third-floor walk-up apartment built in the early 1950s. While the neighborhood and its population were aging, a group of young religious orthodox Jewish couples were moving into the area and ing the older residents. A synagogue was within walking distance, and young children were visible in carriages pushed by mothers, many of whom were pregnant.

Sara Ellis lived next door to one of these religious couples. She had a twobedroom apartment, a living room, dining room, small eat-in kitchen, and a bathroom adorned with the black-and-white tiles popular in the 1950s. Past issues of The Baltimore Sun newspaper and old Good Housekeeping magazines were scattered all over her flowered cream-colored couch, spilling onto the floor along with her unopened mail. Sara spent most of her time in this living room, where she watched television and napped. On Saturdays, her oldest daughter, Sheila, my sister, who lived less than a mile away, took her to the hairdresser. Afterward, they would have lunch and go food shopping.

Once a day, my mother, Sara, used to trudge down the three flights of stairs to get her mail, holding her cane in one hand and using the other hand to hold onto the banister railing. For the last few months, Harry, her next-door neighbor, brought her the mail because it was getting harder for her to manage the steps. She had twisted her ankle a few months earlier and needed the walker now.

“Mrs. Ellis, your mail,” Harry called from the screen door.

“Thank you, Harry. I’m coming.”

She held on to her walker, pushing it forward to the door.

“My wife is pregnant again.”

This dear disheveled man who had no major source of income is telling me they are going to bring a fifth child into the world!

“Mazel tov, Harry. Give your wife my good wishes.”

“Oy vey,” she muttered to herself as she slammed the door and hobbled to the couch, exhausted from the effort of walking. How can they afford to bring another child into this world?

Two months ago, my mother, Sara Ellis, who was eighty-eight years-old, had been diagnosed with adult-onset diabetes. The medicine was helping her, but sometimes, she forgot to take it. When that happened, she became disoriented, confusing the time of day and forgetting if she had eaten. Sheila and I were aware of Mom’s forgetfulness. We kept calling her and reminding her to eat and take her medicine, but our onishing came to no avail.

1998, December, Friday

I had been away for two weeks and had spoken to Mom every day. When I returned, I called her.

“Mom, it’s Iris… of course, you know it’s me. How are you? It’s three o’clock… yes, it’s three o’clock in the afternoon. Why do you ask? Are you wearing your watch?

“Let’s go out for lunch tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty… oh, I know, Mom, I miss you too. I thought we’d go out and spend the afternoon together. – Yes, yes, I’ll call you in the morning. Bye.”

I hung up the telephone wondering why she had asked me about the time. I would see her tomorrow, so I didn’t think about it too much.

The Next Day, Saturday

I t took Mom a long time to open her door. Her steps were more tentative than I ed. I carried her pocketbook and walker while she gripped the railing, and, with controlled and measured steps, she walked down the three flights of stairs. Each step seemed to be a major obstacle. My heart was racing as I encouraged her progress. I wished that I had someone else with me as I maneuvered her heavy body into my white Ford SUV. Now what was I going to do? How would I get her out of the car and into the restaurant? Maybe this outing wasn’t such a good idea!

As we drove to the restaurant, I kept up a nervous babble. Mom seemed exhausted from the effort it took to walk to the car. She just listened as I talked, for the most part, about nothing. I parked at the rear door to the restaurant and put my emergency lights on. I put her walker by the enger door in the parking lot, and, after struggling to release her seatbelt, I put my arm around her waist, and I assisted her out of the car and helped her to hold on to her walker.

“Hold on, Mom.”

When had she gotten so weak? As she leaned into my arms, I noticed her ankles were swollen. How would she walk?

“Just hold on, and we’ll get there together, one step at a time.”

My heart was breaking.

“Just put one foot forward, okay? Now the other.”

How could she even manage this outing?

“See, we’re almost there.”

We were shown to our table, and after seating Mom, I ran back to move my car into a parking place. Walking back into the restaurant, I could not stop the questions that raced through my mind. Hadn’t Sheila seen this deterioration? What had happened to Mom in the last two weeks when I was away? Why hadn’t Shelia called the doctor?

“I’ll have a corned beef sandwich on rye,” Sara Ellis told the waitress, “and hot tea.”

I was sitting there in the Sunrise Delicatessen, where Mom and I had sat together at least twenty times over the last few years, but today, my eyes were wide open. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Her face looked the same, but something about her had changed. The last time I had seen her, she could walk down those stairs alone and with more ease. Her ankles had been trim.

“Mom, what have you been doing?”

Maybe she’d give me a clue.

“You know, Iris. I watch my stories, read the paper, and talk on the phone. Shelia calls me a couple of times a day. I talk to my girlfriend. I take a nap and then I eat. I like to watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. Then I wait for the news and go to bed.”

“Sheila says that sometimes you sleep on the couch all night.”

“So? What difference does it make?”

“Do you to take your diabetes medicine?”

“I guess so.”

Mom was not a pill taker.

Small talk, I was making small talk while the words invaded my brain: my mother cannot live alone.

Pills, shmills. I don’t like to take pills. All right already. Enough! I know I have to take my diabetes medicine. I’ll just have to try harder to .

Our lunches arrived. I don’t what I ate, but my mother ate her entire corned beef sandwich. If my questions had annoyed her, her face remained

unreadable and her demeanor unruffled.

Delicious! If only it wasn’t so hard for me to walk, I’d eat out every day. I was hungry, but now it’s time to go so Iris will stop questioning me.

“Are you ready to go, Mom?”

“Anytime you say.”

“I’ll get the car.”

I struggled to get Mom into the car. A few minutes later, a waitress, outside on her break, saw me struggling and offered her assistance. Together, we managed to get Mom positioned into the car, and I was able to drive her home.

Getting her into the apartment was another matter. The steps were the obstacles. Twice she teetered backward, threatening to take me backward with her, but I kept my hand firmly on her back. Leaving our purses, her walker, and my coat at the bottom of the steps, I got to the apartment door, unlocked it, and, clutching onto my arm, Mom shuffled into the apartment and collapsed on the couch. I went back downstairs, breathing hard, to retrieve our belongings. Then I settled myself on the chair across from her, struggling to find the right words.

“Mom,” I said, “do you when we discussed moving, and you kept refusing? You said you were okay here, and you didn’t have to move.”

I studied each of the tiny, almost-invisible lines on her rosy face.

“Mom, you’re not okay. You can’t walk these steps anymore. I don’t know how you’ve done it all these years. You’ve become a prisoner here. If the steps take all your energy, they’re not worth walking, so you stay in your apartment all day for two weeks at a time.”

My mom continued to stare straight ahead.

I will not answer her. Blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah.

“You’re forgetting to take your medicine. I know you’ve been disoriented a few times. I’ve witnessed it myself. Then, of course, you get mixed up about what time to eat and now it’s important to eat at certain times because of your diabetes.”

She looked at me from behind her lowered lids.

Iris is right. It has come to this, but I can’t face it. She’ll have to. One day, I walked into the kitchen and forgot why I was there. I didn’t to eat at all that day. Another day, I turned on the gas to make some tea and forgot to put the tea kettle on the burner. When I walked back hours later, the burner was still on. I could have suffocated, but I didn’t – yet.

I moved over to the couch and put my arm around Mom’s shoulders.

“Oh, Mom, I don’t want to see this happen to you. I’m going to get together with Sheila, and we’ll take you to the doctor to make sure everything is all right. Then we’ll find a nice place for you to live without all these steps. Don’t you agree that it’s time now?”

No answer.

“Mom, we must discuss this.”

I’ll look straight ahead. If I don’t look at Iris, maybe she’ll stop talking, talking, talking.

“Mom, we need to talk.”

Turning to face me, she said, “We’ll see, Iris. I’m tired now, dear.”

I knew that tone of voice.

“I know you’re tired. That was a long walk up the steps. That’s why we’re having this discussion.”

I’m not discussing. You are.

“When did your ankles swell?

She looked down in surprise at her ankles.

“Iris, I don’t know.”

“Are you drinking enough water? I’m going to put a glass of water here on the end table, and I want you to sip on it all evening. Before I leave, don’t you think you’d better go to the bathroom?”

I helped her up, and, with slow, measured steps, she made her way to the bathroom. I hated all the questions I had to ask her. Who was this bossy person I’d become? I didn’t like it when she questioned me, and here I was, barking out questions to her. When she opened the bathroom door, I put my hand on her arm to help her walk back to her couch.

“Now it’s important that you wear your alert button all the time, Mom. If you feel uneasy or light-headed, I want you to press it.”

I was relentless.

“Okay, Iris, enough.”

“I love you.” I kissed her forehead. “That’s why I’m being so bossy. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

I fixed her alert button so it didn’t slide.

“Promise me, Mom, that you’ll keep this button on, otherwise, I can’t leave you.”

Mom’s eyes were only half open. She needed to rest. I kissed her on the cheek and used my key to lock the apartment behind me. I’d be back in a day or two to take her to the doctor’s.

Now I can open my eyes. Iris is gone. She knows. Damn. I shouldn’t have gone to lunch with her. She’s too smart. I fooled Sheila for a while, but Iris has been watching me for a few years. She and Richard even rented that apartment on the first floor for me three years ago. I just wasn’t up to the move, so they lost the deposit. I should have listened to them so I wouldn’t have to move now. Nu, what can I do? They’ll make me move this time. I know they will. Thirty years I’ve lived here. How will I ever get this place cleaned up? I’m just not up to it. It’s too hard. My life is here. Everything I have is here in this apartment – my papers, my pictures, my linens, my china, my clothes, and my jewelry . . . it’s too much! I need to sleep now.

Dreaming . . . am I dreaming? I see my old house on Field Avenue, a small house, and perfect for the children and me after Max died. I’m lucky I didn’t have to sell it. I taught myself to type again, in my dining room, so I could get a job. Behind the dining room door, on the doorknob, were rubber bands, lots of them. Everyone always told me to get rid of the rubber bands. Who knew when I might need one? Now I use them by wrapping them around the mail I want to save. Yes, the house on Field Avenue is where I’ll live. It’s perfect, and in the spring, my lilac bush will bloom, and my flags (Iris always likes me to call them irises) will flourish. I can see them now. Yes, I can even smell the lilacs. I feel myself smiling. I’ll just close my eyes now for a little rest.

Sunday Morning

T he ringing telephone jolted me out of my reverie. I had been dreaming of Mom. I kept seeing her face, that stoic look she wears and those lines of determination. She’s a proud woman. She knows she can’t live alone, but she can’t face it. I can’t either. Mom lives in silences I do not know. She’s known them for a while. I thought I was resigned. One day, she’d have a heart attack climbing the stairs. At least it would be her choice.

We were never close until the last few years; still, my love for her was fierce.

As a child, I would run home from school and wait to see her face when she returned from work. She was the one person I could count on to be there, my mom.

I reached over to stop the jarring ring of the phone.

“Hello.”

My voice crackled. I held the phone away from my ear as my sister Sheila’s loud voice shrieked my name.

“Sheila, is that you?”

I threw back the covers.

“I’m not awake yet. I was dreaming about Mom, about my visit with her yesterday… what? Yes, Sheila, I looked at an assisted living facility yesterday… no, I didn’t plan to… of course you care about Mom too… yes, you check up on her… slow down, Sheila. I’m trying to sit up… what? No, I’m not upset with you… what? Sheila, it’s Mom I’m worried about. She can’t live alone any longer.”

Mom had been living in her apartment for thirty-six years. Her beautiful home on Field Avenue had been burglarized, and after that, she had been afraid to return there. All of her dresses had been stolen – nothing else! Bizarre! I kept fearing I’d go to the grocery store or the movies and see some other woman wearing my mother’s dresses. What would I do then? My wedding presents had been in the other bedroom, yet nothing had been taken.

Stoic and proud, but not fearless, Mom had found an apartment and moved a month later. She never lived on Field Avenue after the robbery. Instead, she had stayed with Sheila and Stuart, my brother-in-law, until her apartment was ready. Her grandchildren loved having her live there, but Sara Ellis was proud, and she was still a working woman. She wanted her independence. Now, after thirty-six years in her apartment, I was insistent on taking that independence away from her.

Sheila interrupted my reverie again by shouting my name.

“Sorry, Sheila, I’m not fully awake yet. I talked to Stuart on my way home last night since you were at the store. I was distraught after my day with Mom… no,

no, no, I wasn’t saying you should have made arrangements. Sheila, this is about Mom.”

I let her rattle on for a few minutes longer and then I broke in to relate my experience after I had left Mom yesterday.

“Sheila, when I left her apartment, I stopped by an assisted living facility, The Manor. You know it. It’s the home on Strathmore Road. I want us, you and me, to visit it together later today. Stuart said you were free. If you have time before we meet, maybe you could look at some other homes in the area. The appointment is for three-thirty. Can you meet me there? It’s in Towson. The home had a nice feel to it, small and friendly. The new owners, Phillip and Audrey Gordon, have three other facilities in Maryland.

“And would you call Mom’s doctor to get her an appointment this week? We need to assess her health. That would be great. And, Sheila, don’t hang up – how long have her ankles been swollen? . . . no, I’m not blaming you. It’s just that she’s changed so much since I was away. We don’t have a choice any longer. Sheila, she can’t take care of herself now.”

When I hung up, I felt we had done the old runaround dance again, but we were meeting, and that was all that mattered.

Sunday Afternoon

“H i, Mom.” I leaned down to kiss her.

“You’re looking rested today. Richard and I brought you some dinner to eat later. Just warm it in the oven.”

“Well, if it isn’t Richard,” Mom said, ignoring me. “How are you, my handsome son-in-law? How’s your mother? You’re looking great.”

Ah, my mother’s old charm was back.

“Thanks, Mom,” Richard answered, giving me a sideways look.

“That was a nice lunch we had yesterday, Mom,” I said, trying to get into the conversation.

“On my way home to Chevy Chase, I stopped at The Manor, an assisted living home. It’s modern, clean, and homey, and I thought you might like to visit with me. The residents have their own bedrooms. If you wanted to move there, you could decorate your room any way you like. There’s a cozy living and dining room, and the residents I talked to seemed interesting and kind.”

She gave me her I’m-onto-you look.

How does she know they’re kind? Stop talking, Iris.

“Would you like to go with me to visit?”

“I’d like to eat my dinner now, Iris, thank you.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little early for dinner, Mom? I’ll cut up some fruit now, and you can eat your dinner later.”

I’ll eat the minute you leave. I’m hungry now. I decide when to eat, not you.

“That will be fine.” She turned her attention to Richard, who was smiling.

“So, Richard, what’s new in your business? How are your brothers? I haven’t seen them since Thanksgiving.”

Another dismissal! She was treating me like a child and turning her charm on Richard. I knew then that Mom was not going to discuss a move with me. Didn’t she know how hard this was for me too? Of course she didn’t. It was her world that was about to be turned upside down. Although Mom was capable of interacting with her family and enjoying herself, her physical limitations and her forgetfulness about taking her medicines dictated that a move was necessary so she could continue to live her life safely and with dignity.

Richard and I met Sheila and Stuart at The Manor. Shelia had already taken a tour, and Stuart was sitting in the living room, talking with the residents. I showed Richard around and then we talked with the new owners.

“We have a few openings now, so you should fill out this paperwork explaining why you think your mother would function well here. We’ll need her medical history and other pertinent health and emotional issues you think are important for us to know.”

“No problem,” I responded.

“Your mother will still be able to use her own doctors, and we have a nurse on staff. She dispenses medicines daily.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Sheila responded.

“Why don’t you bring your mother here tomorrow to have lunch?”

I frowned. I had just mentioned The Manor to Mom yesterday. I hoped she’d be willing to visit. Were we moving too quickly? Were we ready to fill out papers?

“Okay, I’ll ask her,” I answered.

As we walked to our cars, Sheila’s impressions of The Manor surprised me.

“This place is paradise compared to the facilities I saw,” she said. “They were awful. We couldn’t put Mom in any of them. One was dirty, and there was a smell of ammonia that permeated the air. The others were dark and dreary. Too many unpleasant reminders of when Stuart’s mother lived in a nursing home. Grandma lived in one too. I guess you don’t when she lived in Sunnybrook Nursing Home? You were too little.”

Of course I ed. My grandmother had been my rock when I was growing up. I playing Old Maid with her. We would laugh and laugh as we both tried to avoid picking the old maid card. She had taught me how to roll out the dough to make a jelly roll and how to draw birds. She had given me stability after my father had died. I had been a senior in college when Grandma went to live in the nursing home. She wouldn’t talk when I visited her. “Grandma, Grandma, talk to me,” I begged her. Not once did she turn her face toward me. Two weeks later, she was dead, and I was relieved. She wouldn’t have to live another day in that terrible place… and now we were about to ask Mom to leave her home and go where? How did Mom ever get up the courage to move Grandma? I trying to understand and being angry with Mom at the time. How could she move my grandma? But Grandma had already changed beyond recognition. She didn’t know us anymore. Even so, Mom must have suffered, and I never asked her about it.

“I . I didn’t like it at Sunnybrook,” I said, “but I was young then.”

We agreed to meet tomorrow, and I would fill out the paperwork.

“Call me after you speak to the doctor, Sheila.”

I spent the rest of the night thinking about my grandmother.

Monday: Visiting the Doctor

S heila called me at 8:30 Monday morning. Dr. Kahn had a cancellation and would be able to see Mom at 11:00 that morning. He was fitting her into his schedule, and Sheila would bring Mom and meet me there.

Dr. Kahn kept us waiting for almost an hour.

“I’m hungry, girls,” Mom said.

I had brought a piece of cheese in my purse and some rice crackers. I gave them to her. I suspected that she hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Thanks, Iris. I was starved,” Mom said.

The doctor’s visit was over in less than fifteen minutes. After we helped Mom dress, she rested in the waiting room so we could talk to Dr. Kahn.

Dr. Kahn wasted no words.

“Your mother is an old woman. There’s not much more I can do for her.”

“What do you mean?” I questioned. “My mom is eighty-eight and a half. You can’t just dismiss her. People live long lives now. She deserves a doctor who can take care of her when she needs care.”

“She’s an old woman,” he reiterated, turning to the papers on his desk with finality. “It’s time for her to be taken care of if she can’t take care of herself.”

I could feel the heat in my face. My hands were clenched in my lap. I had worked with senior citizens for years as a senior fitness instructor. My students were capable of doing lots of things. What was wrong with this man? Didn’t he have any ideas on where she might live? What did he mean? Was he dismissing her?

As we walked toward the waiting room, Sheila talked to me.

“I know you’re upset, Iris, but Stuart and I agree. Dr. Kahn is honest. Mom’s old. She can’t take care of herself.”

We agreed on that.

I stayed with Mom in the waiting room while Sheila went to have Mom’s prescription for diabetes refilled.

“What do you think of Dr. Kahn, Mom?”

“He’s okay. Why are you asking me?”

“I don’t like him. I don’t think he cares about you. I want to find another doctor because I don’t think he should be taking care of older people. I want you to have a doctor who cares about you.”

I leaned over and kissed her.

“I love you so much, Mom.”

If you love me so much, why are you trying to take me away from my home?

Sheila came back into the office, and the three of us made our way to the elevator and down to the parking lot.

“Mom, we’re going to have lunch at The Manor,” I said. “That’s the place I told you about, the assisted living facility. You ride with Sheila since it’s easier to get into her car, and I’ll follow you.”

I kissed her again and added, “Their food is great.”

Again, I was babbling. How would I know their food was great?

Mom never acknowledged a word I had said. She stood with a straight back, her eyes staring straight ahead.

Monday Afternoon: Visiting The Manor

W hile I was driving to The Manor, I reviewed everything that Dr. Kahn had said. How dare he speak to us that way about our mother? It was time to find her another doctor. I slammed on my brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of me. I needed to calm down to introduce my mother to The Manor. I almost missed the turn into the driveway because I was preoccupied in thought. I parked beside Sheila in the parking lot. She walked ahead to let reception know we were coming.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Mom. We’re just going to have lunch and then I’ll show you around. I think it’s a lovely place, and I’m curious to see what you think.”

As I’m talking to her, my stomach is cramping. Lying, I’m lying to my mother. Yes, The Manor is beautiful, but I don’t want her life to change either. Not yet. I’m afraid too!

I’m so nervous. I know what they’re up to. This must be the place where they want to park me. I won’t go willingly. I’m still okay, and I intend to stay that way. Fancy-schmancy big house! Why should I care about some big house? I’ll just keep my mouth shut and my eyes and ears open.

As we were about to walk inside, Mom turned to me. She stood up straight with one hand on the walker.

“Nobody is going to take my possessions.”

“You’re right, Mom. Nobody is going to take your possessions. I promise you.”

Now I know; we’re both nervous.

I leaned over and kissed her.

“Sara, Sara Ellis, is that you?”

Who else could I be?

“It’s me, s Lubin.”

Sara never answered her old acquaintance. She looked over at her, smiled, and then she sat down at the table and ate her lunch, staring straight ahead. She only answered the questions that the staff asked her. Sheila knew s Lubin, so she spoke with her while Mom ate lunch. I was too upset to eat anything. After lunch, Mom followed the aide, Katie, whom we had met when we arrived. She gave Mom a tour of the house and had Mom ride the elevator that was a chair attached to the railing. My eyes teared up to see her in that chair. She looked so tiny and fragile.

I trailed along behind them, carrying the walker up the stairs. Katie showed Mom the two available bedrooms. The larger one had a picture window that looked out on the main road and beyond. The view of open fields seemed to stretch out into the far distance and created a wondrous scene on this gray December day. There was a large dresser, a big double bed with a peach, flowered comforter on it. A pale peach dust ruffle just skimmed the floor. It was the bedroom that made me feel the best. I envisioned Mom lying in this lovely bed, staring out of the window feeling peaceful. I shook myself out of my dream and walked back downstairs carrying the walker again, while Mom took the elevator in that heartbreaking little chair.

“Would you like some tea and cookies before your ride home, Mrs. Ellis?” The aide, Katie, was kind and thoughtful. She must have noticed that Mom had not eaten the dessert she had been offered with her lunch.

“No, thank you. I’m full.”

I took Mom’s refusal of sweets as a sign that it was time to leave. I thanked Katie and found Sheila talking to the owner’s wife. I waved good-bye and stood with Mom on the porch while Sheila got the car.

“How are you feeling, Mom? It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?

“I’m tired, Iris. I want to curl up on my sofa and take a nap.”

“Good idea, Mom,” I said as I walked toward Shelia’s car and helped Mom get into the car. I folded her walker and put it in the back seat.

“I’ll call you later. I’ll talk to you later too, Sheila.”

I watched them drive off and then walked back into The Manor for one final look before I drove home. Yes, I thought, the entrance was inviting. A few residents were sitting in the living room, one or two were napping, and someone was snoring at the far end of the couch. I wandered back upstairs and walked into the bedroom that might be Mom’s if we decided to bring her here. I closed my eyes and imagined her pictures on the walls, pictures of her family, her children, grandchildren, and even great grandchildren. Her wedding picture would compliment the gold-braided mirror with the ivory handle that had been her grandmother’s. I looked out of the window one last time. The view was restful. The December sun was low in the sky as it should be for this time of the year. I imagined a spring morning with the birds chirping and Mom smiling when she woke up.

Sara at Home

I ’m exhausted. I don’t think I’ll get up from this couch. This is what it’s all come to, Max. I kept it together for all those years after you died. I raised our two daughters, and in the end, I’m alone, and I can’t even make my own decisions about where I want to be. I was tough after you died, but I wanted to die with you. How would I manage to take care of our girls? Iris was only seven. She didn’t understand why I had to go off to work. That’s what saved me, Max, my work. I never forgot you, but I grew strong. After a while, I learned to laugh again. I made friends. I went to the Lexington Market and taught my boss to eat corned beef sandwiches and pickles. When I went home at night, I didn’t feel so alone. I’d been out of the house all day with people. Now our daughters want me to live in another house, this time with old people. They want me to talk to them . . . smile. I’m tired, Max. I enjoy my retirement. I like my routine. I wake up and eat breakfast. I sit on the couch and read the paper. I watch my stories on the TV. Haven’t I earned that right? Just because I forget to take my medicine doesn’t mean I should live with a bunch of mashugana old people. Oy, what should I do? Should I move to another apartment? The problem here is the steps. Today, I thought I wouldn’t be able to climb them. I have to figure it out. I wish you could tell me what to do. In the end, they’ll make me move, and I don’t want to. I must sleep now, my darling. I’ll just fall asleep for a little while and let our daughters make the decision.

Tuesday

T he next day, I did some phone research on the other residences the Gordons managed. The staff at each of their three other assisted living facilities was cordial and candid with me. I also called some of the families of the residents, and most were pleased with their parents’ care. Only one family was unhappy. They didn’t like the way the medicines were dispensed, but that problem didn’t seem insurmountable to me. Then I discussed everything over and over again with Sheila, Stuart, and Richard. The Gordons thought Mom would fit in with the other residents. She shouldn’t live alone any longer, so we made the big decision. We would move Mom to The Manor Assisted Living Home the last week of December. Sheila would speak to Mom’s doctor one more time since Shelia was unwilling to look for someone else to manage Mom’s health care. I drove back to The Manor for another visit to discuss some special needs I thought Mom might have, stressing to the Gordons that Mom would need encouragement to participate in their activities. I also hung some pictures in her bedroom. I had taken them from her apartment. The whole time I was there, I was trying to justify to myself that this would be a good move for our mother. We were making life-changing decisions for Mom without her blessings. Would she forgive us? Would I forgive myself?

A Week Later

E ach time I visited Mom at her apartment, she was unwilling to talk with me about the move.

“Please, Mom, talk to me. You know the steps are a problem. You never go down them unless you’re forced to. Tell me, is that any way to live? At The Manor, you’ll be given your medicine. Sheila will still take you to the same beauty shop on Saturdays. You’ll only be living a few minutes from this apartment. The neighborhood is almost the same. Yesterday, you forgot to take your diabetes medicine again. That won’t happen at The Manor. What about those times you woke up confused and forgot to eat?”

Mom remained stone-faced, staring straight ahead.

“I want to stay here, Iris, but you girls won’t let me. I don’t want to fall if I’m by myself. So what if I don’t always to take my pills. Is that the end of the world? I’ll go, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

The night before the move I knew I was kidding myself. My mother was leaving the home where she was comfortable, and I was already grieving for her loss. Parts of her were deteriorating and had been deteriorating. This move was forcing me to face the reality that things would never be the same again.

1998, the Last Week of December: The Move to The Manor

“M rs. Ellis, it’s wonderful to see you again,” said Agnes Gordon, one of the owners of The Manor.

“We’re looking forward to having you live here with us. I’ll just take you into the dining room for lunch, and your daughters can you afterward.”

“Wait a minute, please.”

Mom squeezed my hand. I leaned toward her, and she whispered in my ear.

“, Iris, no one is going to take my possessions. Don’t you dare give them to that one over there with the phony smile.” She glared at the aide in the gray uniform and prissy cap.

“No, Mom, don’t you worry. No one is going to take your possessions.”

My eyes filled with tears as I watched my brave mother walk into the dining room, holding on to her walker. She looked tiny to me. Before we had left her apartment, she had given me her purse to hold. How would she carry a purse

now with her walker? Would she need a purse? I stood there for a few minutes. It was as though I had received a shock, and the aftermath was beginning to dawn on me. Things will never be the same. They will never be the same again, not for her and not for me.

By the time Mom had finished her lunch, I had carried her clothes into her new bedroom and put everything away. I had brought enough clothes for two weeks, including two pairs of my shoes. Although her feet were smaller than mine, her feet were swollen, so I brought her my red Keds sneakers and a stretched pair of beaded flats she had ired. Sheila had stayed downstairs to talk to the nurse and to give her Mom’s medicines.

After lunch, Katie, the aide, approached Mom.

“Okay, Mrs. Ellis, do you need help going to the bathroom? In a few minutes, we have an exercise program, a chair fitness class in the family room.”

When I heard Katie mention chair fitness, I rushed over to Mom.

“That would be great for you to try. You know that’s what I teach in Chevy Chase.”

Mom looked skeptical, but she didn’t seem to have a choice. Katie was leading her to the bathroom. Mom closed the door behind her.

Oy vey, what have these girls done to me?

The rest of the day was a blur. We took Mom upstairs in the late afternoon. A new aide, an older woman we hadn’t met until then, Mary, assisted us.

“You’re such a young woman, Mrs. Ellis. You don’t have any wrinkles on your beautiful face. Look how attractive this room looks. Your daughter, Iris, was here a few times working in your room.”

Mom smiled at Mary and then glanced around her room.

“How come you brought these pictures, Iris?”

“You had them in your apartment, and we thought you would like them.”

“I didn’t have them in my bedroom, did I?”

“I thought you would find them comforting.”

“That’s what you thought.”

Stung, I did not reply. I understood that it was difficult for me to please my mother. Would I ever stop trying? I was familiar with her little digs, but I knew that she too was nervous and searching for a way to find some comfort or meaning in this complete change in her life. I pushed away my hurt and bounced

back to the present. There was no time for these thoughts now. After making Mom comfortable in her room, where she wanted to rest before dinner, I departed for the evening, assuring Mom I would return tomorrow.

The ride home seemed endless to me. It was almost dark, and I couldn’t stop thinking about leaving my mother. Sheila and I had decided that assisted living would improve the quality of Mom’s life and ensure her safety. Those who needed help for dressing and toileting received it but those who didn’t kept that part of their independence. The tears started to fall then until I couldn’t stop them. Thanks to me, my mother’s life would never be the same, and although I knew she should not be living alone and that she had been lucky nothing terrible had happened, I couldn’t stem the tears. Was I crying for her or for me? For both of us, I thought. My mother had never allowed anyone else to make decisions for her. This move was monumental! My car phone rang.

“Yes, Richard, I’m okay. No, I’m not okay. I hate what we’ve done. Mom looked so sad as though I had betrayed her. She – okay, I’ll pull over to the side of the road. I’m okay. No, I’m not okay. What have I done? Oh, Richard, what have I done? . . . okay, okay… but we had to do this… I’ll be all right.”

I had to pull myself together. He was right.

“I’ll be all right. I’m halfway home. Bye.”

As I picked up speed and inched my way back into the highway traffic, I wiped the tears from my eyes. “This move will keep Mom safe. This move will keep Mom safe.” Like a mantra, I said it over and over. That’s why I encouraged the move, wasn’t it? Or was it so I wouldn’t feel guilty knowing she was alone while I was enjoying my life? “This move will keep Mom safe.” I kept saying it over and over.

Oh god, fresh tears started to fall. I wiped my eyes again. “Mom will be safe. Mom will be safe. She’ll be looked after now. She’ll be safe.”

1999, January: A New Year

T he next few weeks were a blur. At first, I visited Mom daily. Things were better than I had hoped. Mom was quiet, and she never complained. Our children visited often too, and she loved being with them. Other family also popped in at unexpected times, and I often walked in to find her surrounded by family. There were more visits from family than she ever received living in her apartment. It was a testament to her that they flocked to see her, perhaps sensing she needed them now. Sheila and Stuart stopped by daily for a few minutes since they lived ten minutes from The Manor. Sheila was relieved there were aides checking on Mom.

Here I am, sitting on the couch in this fancy-schmancy place. My feet are up on the footstool, and I should feel like a queen, but I don’t. I refuse to participate in these silly activities they keep having. I hate exercise. I don’t care if Iris teaches the same class in Chevy Chase. I like being by myself. I miss my couch and my television. Why must I watch television with all of these other people? I miss my stories. Sometimes, after lunch, that girl who works here, I don’t her name, she turns on my soap operas; then the lady with the big birthmark on her cheek, who always wears pink, starts talking too loud. “Be quiet,” I say, and she glares at me. And the gentleman who always forgets to take off his hat calls out, “Turn off the television.” A bunch of meshuganahs here! What kind of life is this? Stuart comes with Sheila, and he sits on the couch next to me and starts talking to the gentleman with the hat. Why doesn’t Stuart trade places with me? He can just stay here if he likes it so much, and I’ll go home. He never did make much sense.

1999, January, the Third Week

T he calm showed signs of cracking three weeks after Mom moved to The Manor. I was sitting with her on a chilly Wednesday morning. She had a soft green blanket across her lap. When she talked to me, I was having trouble understanding her words. Her tongue seemed thick, and her words were slurred.

“Are you okay, Mom? Do you have a tickle in your throat?”

“My throat is dry,” she said.

“Here, drink some of my water.”

I handed Mom my bottle of water that I had brought with me.

“Drink some. I’ll be right back.”

I walked toward the kitchen where the nurse, Priscilla, had her office.

“Priscilla, has my mother received any new medicine? Her speech seems slurred.”

“No, Iris, you would have been notified if she had to take new medicine because her doctor would have had to authorize it.”

“It may be the Lasex,” I answered.

“Do you know if a dry mouth and garbled speech can be a side effect of Lasex?”

“I’m not sure,” Priscilla responded, “but I have noticed that the swelling in her feet and ankles has gone down. That’s what Lasex is supposed to do.”

“Thanks, Priscilla. May I use the telephone to call Dr. Kahn?”

I didn’t want to talk to him, but I had no choice. His nurse told me that, yes, Lasex can cause garbled speech and a dry mouth. If Mom continued to be symptomatic, the dose should be cut in half. Priscilla would observe the situation with Mom and call Dr. Kahn if there were any problems.

A few days later, when things seemed stable, I announced to Mom that I was going to visit my Florida home for two weeks.

“I’ll call you every day, and you can have the aides call me if you want.”

I knew my children would visit her, and I could check in with Priscilla. I spent

two weeks in Florida and enjoyed myself for the first time since the decision to move Mom had been made. I was able to talk to her daily, and hearing her voice comforted me.

1999, February 5, Two Weeks Later

I drove straight to my mother’s as soon as I returned from Florida. It was a Friday evening during rush hour, and the one-hour drive took over two hours. I hurried into The Manor, out of breath. Her face lit up as I entered, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Mom was sitting in the living room, waiting for me. I leaned down, happier than I realized, and kissed her round face.

“You’re cold, Iris.”

“You’re right, Mom. It’s freezing outside. I’ll get warm in a minute.”

“How’s your mother-in-law?”

Mom always ed to ask about Richard’s mom, Rose, who also lived in Florida.

We chatted for a while. I talked about people my mom had known when she visited me in Florida. I was so happy to be with her that I did most of the talking. Mary, the aide Mom liked, walked in and, seeing me, offered me a cup of coffee and some cookies.

“That would be wonderful, Mary.”

“Your mother’s doing fine. She has some sores on her buttocks that we’ve been treating. I think the home health nurse will be back on Monday to see if the medicine she prescribed for the wounds is working.”

“Why would she have wounds on her buttocks? Did she have them when she came here?”

“I’m not sure, but the skin is probably softening. Sometimes, when the elderly sit for long periods of time, the skin wears away. It actually breaks down. Did your mother do a lot of sitting before she came here?”

“Oh yes, my mom did a lot of sitting. In fact, she sat or lay on her couch for hours every day. I wonder why my sister didn’t mention these wounds.”

“She didn’t seem too worried as long as the home health nurse was tending to them.”

“Mom, do these wounds bother you?”

“Sometimes.”

“We try and take her upstairs to her room to lie down every afternoon so she can get off her bottom. In fact, if you could get me a cushion, she could sit on it and have more cushioning where her skin is rubbing. There’s a dressing on the area now. Look, why don’t we get your mom upstairs and ready for bed. I can show

you the sores so you can see for yourself. Then you can stay with her for a while.”

“Are you ready, Mom?”

She tried to stand up by herself but needed our assistance. She seemed a bit weaker than I ed, but I didn’t dwell on it.

“I’ll bring your cookies and coffee after we get your mom settled.”

“That will be fine, Mary.”

Once Mary undressed Mom, she showed me the wounds.

The sight of the sores, like holes in her skin, shocked me.

Late Friday night, after Mom fell asleep, I drove back to Chevy Chase. Mom didn’t complain about the sores, but I could see her flinch when Mary applied the dressing.

I called Sheila from my car phone.

“I’m back and leaving The Manor. How are you?”

Sheila was fine, and I wasted no time.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the sores on Mom’s buttocks?’

I coughed nervously.

Sheila explained that she didn’t want to worry me, and the home health nurse had said she saw them on the elderly all the time. Sheila had seen Mom every day and thought she was okay. However, Sheila sounded worried because Stuart wasn’t feeling well.

The sudden shift in our conversation unnerved me. Stuart was complaining of heaviness in his chest. She said he had a lot of indigestion.

“That sounds like his heart,” I said.

She didn’t know and was waiting for Stuart’s doctor’s appointment the following week. I questioned why they had to wait a week but since the doctor was Dr. Kahn, Mom’s doctor, I went no further. I knew I had to keep quiet.

The following week, I met with the home health nurse.

“I’m puzzled about your mother’s sores. I don’t think they’re healing as fast as

they should. I’m going to try a new salve.”

“I also noticed that my mom seems physically weaker than she was a few weeks ago.”

“I’ll try and observe her, but , I didn’t know your mother when she first arrived.”

During our next two visits, Mom seemed quiet. I had to search for words to force the conversation. Was she depressed? The third evening when I visited, Mom and my brother-in-law, Carl, Richard’s youngest brother, were in a deep discussion. I could hear Mom talking to him. Mom had been a surrogate mother to him for years, and he referred to her as Aunt Sara.

“My life is over. What do I have to live for?”

My heart sank. Without thinking, I placed my own hand on my heart.

“Come on, Mom,” I added as I ed their conversation. “Don’t you want to see your grandchildren Lily and Michael get married?”

She sat there mute.

“Come on, Aunt Sara,” Carl said. “What about me? I want to get married again too. You’re my other mother. I can’t get married without you.”

She still didn’t answer. A few minutes later, I realized how much Carl loved my mother. He took out his heart medicine.

“These are the pills for my heart. If you’re not going to try and get out of this funk, then I’m going to stop taking my heart pills.”

Tears poured down my face as I listened to this exchange. Carl knew how to evoke a response in my mom. She motioned him to come closer to her, and she kissed his forehead. The tears were pouring down Carl’s face too.

Max, darling, I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep. I don’t have the energy to argue with Carl and Iris. I’ll try harder to feel better and get along here. Of course I want to see my darling grandchildren get married. I’m just tired of feeling this pain in my tuchas. To add to this misery, after all the years of being constipated, I’m having loose stools now. I didn’t tell Iris. What could I say? I can’t always make it to the bathroom. It’s embarrassing enough to me. Why worry Iris too? I will try to feel better. I’m so tired all the time. I don’t like the other people who live here. That s Lubin always tries to talk to me. What do I have to say to her? She never ed me after you died, Max. Only after she lost her husband, that so and so, did she call me on the telephone. At least if I were back in my apartment, I’d have peace and quiet. The aides here are nice, but who needs them? Oh, Max, help me to get back to the old me. I can still take care of myself, can’t I? Please help me! I’ll just lie here quietly and listen to the television. Then I’ll try to get some sleep.

1999, February 19

I ’d been in Maryland for two weeks visiting Mom every day before I left for Florida again. This time, I was hesitant about leaving, but Richard planned to me. He had been working long hours and needed time away from work. Sheila also wanted to visit us in Florida. She thought Stuart needed a change. He was being monitored for a heart problem, and a trip would take his mind off his health.

“Don’t worry about your mother,” Katie, the aide, assured me. “We’ll call you if anything is wrong, but your mother should be fine. I’m going to take her to play bingo now that Mr. Dobson has stopped playing.”

I smiled to myself because Mr. Dobson was the man with the hat who had annoyed Mom when she wanted to watch her stories in the afternoon. My daughter, Lily, promised to call and keep me updated about Mom.

When I returned from Florida, Sheila and I would have to decide what to do with Mom’s apartment. I had been back to the apartment several times to get clothes for her, to stop the mail, and to make sure things were all right, but now Sheila was anxious to begin going through Mom’s things and getting rid of some of them. I thought it was too soon to discuss this. It was too emotional for me, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to avoid it much longer.

1999, March 2: The Hospital

I walked into my Florida house and heard the ringing of the telephone. I dropped my groceries as I picked up the phone.

My mother had fallen. She wasn’t visibly hurt; she just slid down the wall and fell. Katie and another aide picked her up and helped her sit down in a chair. She was weak but was able to talk. Although Mom appeared to be all right, the staff wanted someone to take her to the hospital to be checked. They couldn’t reach anyone but me. They needed to know what the family wanted them to do.

My brain felt numb.

“Call Sheila’s son Mathew,” I said and gave Katie his number. “Tell him to go to The Manor and take his grandmother to the hospital.”

Then the question was, which hospital did her doctor use to see his patients?

Good question, I thought, realizing I had no idea which hospitals Dr. Kahn used. Sheila knew, but she and Stuart were at Disney World getting ready to drive to see me the next day. I told Katie that I would get back to her after I located Dr. Kahn and got the information.

Dr. Kahn did not come on the phone or return my calls. He didn’t return the calls when Katie and Priscilla, the nurse, called him. I called Katie back again.

She told me that she had located Mathew, and he was coming there to get my mother. Then she told me that I had to find a doctor to it her.

I called Dr. Kahn again. He said that he was busy with patients for the rest of the day and that he would get back to me later. I slammed the phone. Then I ed that I had talked to a geriatric social worker on the telephone the previous week. I searched for her number and called her. She understood my dilemma, but she couldn’t it patients directly to the hospital. Because of the urgency of the situation, she gave me the number of a doctor friend, a geriatric psychiatrist, who might be able to help.

I called the psychiatrist, using the social worker’s name as my introduction.

I wasted no words relaying my dilemma.

She told me that it was highly irregular for her to get involved. She didn’t know my mother, but the fact that I was so far away and my mother’s doctor was not responding indicated my desperation. She would call the Green Spring Hospital and speak to her friend in the ER. I was to tell Mathew to take Mom there. She assured me that Mom would be in good hands and asked to be kept informed of Mom’s progress.

I called The Manor again and then reached Mathew on his car phone. I wanted to talk to him myself.

Mathew was calm and assured me that he would take good care of Eppy, his nickname for his grandmother.

Then I located my husband, Richard, who had returned to Maryland the day before. He left his meeting to take the call but promised that he and Michael, our son, would meet Mom and Mathew at the Green Spring Hospital.

The next call was the challenge. I located Sheila on her car phone. I had to stay strong. Otherwise, her questions would unnerve me.

“Mom’s on the way to the hospital.”

I could hear the shrill tone in her voice after I told her.

“Don’t panic, Sheila. She’s okay. She slid down the wall in the dining room. That’s all I know. Mathew is taking her to the hospital… what? No. It’s okay. Don’t take the time to drive here. You and Stuart book a flight from Orlando, and I’ll lock up my house and get a flight from West Palm Beach.”

As long as I stayed on the phone, I felt in charge. I didn’t have to ponder the whys and whats of my mother’s fall. I called the airlines, stemming my tears, and booked my flight.

On The Way to the Hospital

M ax, what am I doing here in this car with Mathew? I’m so weak, and I hurt. Why? Why? Why?

“Mathew, don’t you dare drive me to a hospital! Take me back to my apartment now. Mathew, take me back to my apartment now and then go get me some medicine for my pain. Mathew, take me home. You listen to me. Turn around and take me home.”

Max, he’s not listening. Is he stupid?

“Mathew, take me home!”

Later, Mathew told me that it was all he could do not to holler at his grandmother. He was losing his patience, but he knew she was sick. He also said he knew this would be a difficult trip because Eppy was stubborn and wouldn’t stop yelling at him. When he was halfway to the hospital, his car started to overheat, and he had to pull over and call the police. Mom kept yelling at him.

“Mathew, take me home. Mathew, why are we stopping? Get off the telephone and take me home.”

Max, it’s a good thing you never witnessed this day and saw our grandson so disrespectful to his only living grandmother. The police are here, Max. Are they going to take us to jail? Maybe they think he’s kidnapping me? I heard the policeman say he would help me get into his car. I’m not going.

Now I’m sitting in a police car! The siren is on. Max, help me.

“Mathew, what’s going on? Why is this policeman taking me to jail?”

I won’t say another word now. If I didn’t feel so bad, this could be funny, but funny-shmunny. I’m in pain, and I hate this. I’ll just glare at Mathew. I’ll never forgive him. Now he’s leaving me. There’s Richard. Thank goodness my darling son-in-law is here.

At the Hospital

W hen Richard called later, he related the scenario to me. Just as the police were letting Mathew out of the car so he could get the ER attendant, Richard and Michael arrived. They escorted Sara Ellis into the emergency room of the Green Spring Hospital.

Mom complained to Richard about how much she was hurting. She didn’t understand why she felt so terrible and so weak, and she didn’t understand why she had fallen. Richard assured her that she was in the best place she could be. The doctors would examine her and find out what was happening. Mathew and Michael were checking Mom into the ER. Mathew had her hospitalization card and a list of her medicines. How lucky Mom was that Mathew was so prepared.

An emergency room doctor put Mom in a room and began to examine her and run some tests.

Oh, Max, the doctor put me in a room, and I’m hooked me up to machines. He stuck needles in my arms for blood. Why? Ouch! Get away from me, you Natzi, or I’ll hit you. No, my love, I didn’t say it, but I thought it. I’m going to scream now.

Later, Richard explained to me that the doctors did some blood work, a urine analysis, an EKG, and some other tests. Richard, Mathew, and Michael could hear Mom screaming with pain. They were horrified. They had never heard Sara Ellis complain, much less scream.

Two more hours ed. Richard called me several times in Florida to keep me updated although there was nothing to report at first.

Max, I hear the doctor with the black hair talking to Richard. He’s not my friend. He called me a sick woman. I have severe diarrhea and something that is out of balance, electro something. I’m malnourished. What is that? And my sores on my tuchas have to be cleaned. See the way he looks at me? Does he think I’m stupid? Of course, I have to be clean. I have to stay here for a while.

Maybe I could scream some more, and they’d let me leave.

Max, you’re my only friend. Oy, who am I kidding? I know I’m sick. I can get better here. I’ll get a lot of attention. The doctor’s coming over. I’ll let up now and give him one of my little smiles. He says he’s putting fluid in one of these tubes so I’ll get nourishment. How will I get nourishment from a hanging bag? They’re wheeling me to my room. Another new room! Before this, I lived in a few rooms, but now I keep moving.

Richard told me the doctor had ordered a colonoscopy for tomorrow to determine why Mom was having this diarrhea. She would also be seen by a wound specialist to treat the ulcerated sores known as decubitus sores. Now the wounds had a name, and it was an ugly name. There was a problem itting Mom since she didn’t have an actual doctor, but Richard worked things out.

After the phone call, I was dazed. How could my mother be so ill without anyone telling us? Was it possible they really didn’t know? I was grateful to this doctor who had put himself out on a limb to it a woman who wasn’t even his patient. His kindness was in direct contrast to Dr. Kahn, who, I vowed, would never get near my mother again. Richard, Mathew, and Michael stayed with Mom for another hour to make certain she understood what had happened and

that she was now in the right place to receive good care.

Richard told Mom that Sheila and I would be with her tomorrow.

When she closed her eyes, her two grandsons and son-in-law left for the evening.

Max, why is this happening to me? How did I get so sick? At least now someone will figure out what’s wrong with me, and I can rest for a little while. I don’t want you to worry any more. The Manor, it was no manor to me. Mathew tried hard today to take care of me, but I wish he had taken me home and not brought me to the hospital. All of these tubes in me and this big room. If I had only stayed in my apartment, maybe none of this would have happened. I want what I want, but nobody’s listening to me. How did I lose control over making my decisions? I’ve always decided what was best for me. How else could I have survived the last forty-five years, Max?

March 3, 1999, the Next Morning at the Hospital: Mom and Shelia

S heila told me she arrived at the hospital early, leaving Stuart at home to rest.

Here comes Sheila, and now her questions will start. Oy, stop apologizing, Sheila. You’re here now.

Here come the nurses too.

“Good morning. Yes, I’m better. Do you know this is the first time I’ve been in the hospital since my children were born, and that was over fifty years ago? My first daughter, Sheila, was a caesarian section, but my youngest daughter was a normal delivery.”

Ah, they’re smiling at me. They must like my story, or maybe they like me. This might be fun.

Sheila later told me that Mom was putting on a performance with these nurses. When the nurses left, Mom turned her attention to Sheila.

“Well, Sheila, I’m glad you’re here. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m

weak but happy to be taken care of by these handsome doctors. They have been kind to me and so were Richard and the boys, but I’m angry with Mathew. He could have taken me home and then I wouldn’t have to worry everyone.

“I have to have a test this morning, so I’ll see you when I’m finished.”

Just like that, Mom was ready for whatever was ahead, and Shelia was left to stay in the visitor’s area and wait.

My Arrival at the Hospital

I was breathless from trying to find my way to the visitor’s waiting area, when I saw Sheila walking in the hall. She briefed me on what she had learned so far, which wasn’t much.

Mom had just had a colonoscopy. Sheila was happy to have company while we waited for the results.

“Mom looks okay, Iris. She was in good spirits when I saw her. She should be leaving the recovery area soon. Dr. Lee, the gastroenterologist, wanted to find out the reason she’s having so much diarrhea. Here he is.”

“Your mother’s fine, a little groggy, but she’ll be okay. She has one of the worst cases of ulcerative colitis that I’ve ever seen. I’m going to prescribe heavy doses of steroids at first.”

I looked at Sheila. I sat down on the little chair in the waiting room for a minute to collect myself.

“How will these medicines affect her diabetes?” I asked.

“I read on her chart about the diabetes. That’s a good question. The steroids may

cause her blood sugar levels to fluctuate, and she’ll have to be monitored, but I believe she’ll do fine. It will just take time.”

I smiled at this tiny oriental doctor with the deep-set dark-brown eyes and the wide smile. “One more question, Dr. Lee,” I added. “Do you know anything about those decubitus sores my mother has?”

“She’ll see Dr. Shell tomorrow. She’s the wound care specialist at this hospital. Your mother has been poked enough today. I’ll come back in two days to see how your mother responds to the medicines. Try not to worry about her. I think she’s a strong woman despite her age.”

A few minutes later, Mom was wheeled into the waiting room. Although she was tired, her coloring was good, and she was coherent.

“You’re here, Iris.”

“Of course I’m here, Mom,” I said as I leaned over to kiss her.

“You look a lot better than you did earlier, Mom,” Sheila added. Without planning to, I turned around and hugged Sheila. I could smell her Beautiful perfume. The familiar fragrance I always associated with her comforted me. We walked with the attendant back to Mom’s room. “She’s going to be fine,” I told Sheila when her eyes met mine.

Was I talking to myself to keep myself sane? How could I know that Mom

would be fine? Optimism had served me well before. Would it now?

We waited outside her room while the attendant put Mom in bed. After the attendant left, we sat and talked with Mom. She kept dozing off after her ordeal. Sheila was fidgety.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Mom,” Sheila said. She kept rambling on and on. “I thought the trip to Florida would be good for Stuart. He’s been so tired and cranky because he’s not feeling well.” Shelia talked on and on until I broke in.

“Why don’t you go home and rest, Sheila? I can stay here with Mom until later, and you can come by early tomorrow. I’ll catch up with you then in the late afternoon.”

“That would be great, Iris. I need to check on Stuart. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not,” I answered.

Sheila kissed Mom and me good-bye and took off.

“I’ll call you later to check on Mom,” she said on her way out.

Mom and I were both quiet for a while. She was dozing. I lay back in the pink recliner next to her bed. During the plane ride home and my drive to the hospital,

I had been fearful my mother might die.

As a child, and even as a young adult, I had been terrified of death. I guess I was traumatized after my father died when I was seven years-old. I was afraid to tell my friends. I didn’t know anyone who didn’t have a father. Mom never told me that he had died. I guess she had been too brokenhearted to comfort me when she couldn’t even comfort herself, but I knew he was dead because there had been so many people coming in and out of my house, and they had all been crying like my mom. Then, my grandfather had died four months later. I had never gotten to say good-bye to either of them. A year ago, I had questioned Sheila. She said she had been the one who had told me our father was dead. For those forty-six years, I had been angry with both her and Mom because I didn’t anyone telling me. Now, after all this time, there wasn’t any anger left. I had forgiven my mother and just wanted her to live and continue to be a part of my life. Enough thinking! I saw that Mom was stirring. I touched her arm.

“Is there anything you’d like, Mom? Are you hungry?”

“I’d just like to rest now, sweetheart,” she smiled, but her eyes were closed. “I’m glad you’re sitting with me.”

“I’m glad to be here, Mom.”

Max, I’m exhausted, but I’m okay. Our girls are back in town. Iris is with me now. I heard that doctor talking to the girls. I’ll heal. It will take time, but I’m not leaving this world yet. I’m not ready. I once, a long time ago when I was sick – Iris was just a little girl, maybe ten years-old. You had already died, Max – Dr. Sam came to see me because I was ill. Iris sat outside of my room all day. I think she was frightened that I was going to die like you. I that she crawled into my bed and lay beside me. I could feel her small body next to

mine. She put her hand on my chest. She must have wanted to make sure I was still breathing. Why didn’t I comfort her? I knew she was frightened, but I was too sick with a virus. I didn’t have the energy to do anything but concentrate on getting better. She always wanted so much from me. I was never able to give it to her. Well, she’s here now, and I know she’s trying to take care of me. When I wake up, I’ll tell her that I love her.

As I watched my mother’s body relax and as I listened to the soft purr of her breathing, I fell asleep too.

We both woke up about an hour later when Richard and the ER doctor from last night walked in together.

“I just wanted to check on you, Mrs. Ellis. You do look a lot better than you did last night, but don’t be surprised if you’re feeling more tired as the week goes on.” He scratched his left ear. “You’ve got several things happening right now. Your body has had a shock, so take it easy, and let us take care of you. I’ve already read your chart.” Again the doctor pulled at his ear. “Dr. Shell is going to clean out those sores on your buttocks tomorrow. You may be a little uncomfortable afterward, but she’ll give you something for the pain. We’ll be putting you on a special airflow mattress to ease any discomfort, and we’ll make sure you’re turned frequently. Do you have any questions for me?”

“When can I go home?”

“Let’s not worry about that now. I’ll come by later in the week. In the meantime, all the doctors and nurses on this floor will be checking on you. So if they don’t take good care of you, you just let me know.”

He leaned over, planted a kiss on my mom’s cheek, and strutted out of the room. I followed, leaving Mom with Richard. I was awed that this doctor had just kissed my mom.

I walked out into the hall after him.

“Dr. Ward, I just want to tell you how much we appreciate what you did for our mother last night.”

He turned and smiled. “If it had been my mother, I would have wanted someone to do the same.”

“Thank you so much. When do you really think she’ll be ready to leave the hospital?”

“We’ll have to see how her body responds to all the different medicines. We’ll be evaluating her daily. I’ll be off for the next two days, but as I told your mother, the doctors here are excellent. They’ll be able to answer your questions.”

Dr. Ward kept walking, and I turned back to Mom’s room. I would stay until she finished her dinner and then drive back home. I’d get some sleep, unpack, and then return to the hospital early tomorrow to meet Dr. Shell.

That evening, I spoke to Sheila on the telephone before I went to bed. We decided, as planned, that she would go to the hospital first thing in the morning, and I would wait until after rush hour. Stuart was tired from the Florida trip and

was not feeling well again. He couldn’t get an appointment with the doctor for a week. Although Sheila was tired too and wanted to be with Stuart, she also wanted to be there for Mom.

“Are you still seeing Dr. Kahn, Sheila?”

When she replied yes, that Dr. Kahn was Stuart’s doctor, I knew I should have keep quiet, but…

“Even after he wouldn’t it Mom to the hospital and didn’t return our calls?’

She reminded me that he was their doctor and that Stuart’s family liked him also. I knew I had said enough, but still I couldn’t resist one more retort.

“Well, he better never put a hand on Mom. He called her an old lady and said there was nothing more he could do for her. He failed Mom, Sheila, and didn’t return our calls in an emergency. I wouldn’t go near him. What good is he if he doesn’t respond when you need him?”

Silence. I guess Sheila didn’t care what I had to say. I mustered up a few trivial words and ended the conversation. I wanted her to find a doctor who would see Stuart when he needed him, but I wasn’t able to sway her at all. Maybe it was none of my business.

“Hope Stuart feels better. See you tomorrow.”

1999, March 5, Friday

W hen I arrived at the hospital Friday morning, Sheila and Dr. Shell were discussing Mom’s procedure. Decubitus is such an ugly word. I cringed every time I heard it. Dr. Shell was priming us for Mom’s procedure and follow-up treatments for these sores.

“Your mother’s wounds are deep. This is a painful procedure.” Dr. Shell coughed and cleared her throat. “I’ll be giving her a local anesthetic to ensure she doesn’t feel any pain. Once the procedure is over, I’ll do a follow-up with local treatments for your mother to make certain her wounds heal and decrease in size.”

In spite of the lengthy procedure, Mom did fine. She was exhausted afterward and slept all afternoon. Sheila left after Mom returned to her room. I took a nap on Mom’s pink recliner and left in the early evening when my children, Michael and Lily, arrived to be with their grandmother.

March 5, Saturday

M om’s room was decorated with balloons, and family were milling around when I arrived Saturday afternoon. She was sitting up in bed, like a queen holding court, and flirting with her two grandsons. The nurses took all this company in stride since Mom had a private, corner room. No one looking in would guess how sick Mom had been.

“Mathew, it’s okay that you brought me here. You’re a good grandson, but I still don’t understand how I got so sick.”

Mom smiled all afternoon and, at one point, introduced Michael’s new girlfriend, Judy, to the nurse, saying, “Judy is my intended granddaughter.”

Judy smiled, but Michael burst out with “Grandma!”

Mom apologized when she realized she might have embarrassed him.

“That’s all right, Grandma. We’ll have to see what happens,” Michael answered.

As I watched my mother hold court, I had a strange feeling, almost an unconscious one. I had never seen my Mom this way. Was she acting? Was it her medicines? She was almost too happy, a little manic, but I had no idea why. I carried this uneasy feeling with me all day.

March 6, Sunday

M y visit Sunday contrasted with the gleeful atmosphere present on Saturday. No one was in Mom’s room when I arrived.

“Where’s my mother?” I asked the nurse.

“She and your sister are in X-ray”

“Why are they in X-ray?”

“Your mother hurt her leg. It got stuck between the bars of her bed last night. She twisted it and was screaming.”

I ran to the elevator and arrived just as the aide was wheeling Mom out from her X-ray. Sheila rushed over to me.

“Iris, you have no idea what happened last night. Do you Mom’s friend Renie Smith? Well, Mom dreamed that she had a fight with Renie Smith and that Renie put her in jail.”

“I did have a fight with Renie Smith,” Mom called out from her gurney. “She’s no friend of mine. After your father died, she stopped seeing me. She never

returned my phone calls. Joe, Renie’s husband, was your father’s closest friend. I guess the high-and-mighty Renie Smith thought that I was after her husband. I’ll never forgive her for that. Anyway, last night, she just started hitting me with a baseball bat, and I ended up in jail.”

“Mom,” I interrupted, “it was a dream. Look around you. Renie Smith isn’t here. For all I know, Renie Smith is dead now. You just had a bad dream. Dreams are often filled with thoughts that don’t make sense.”

The dream sounded more urgent to Mom than her injury.

“The important question, I think, is what happened to your leg?”

Before Mom could answer, Shelia broke in.

“Mom got her leg caught between the bars in her bed. When the nurse tried to help her out of her bed, she fell on her side.”

“Are you okay, Mom? That must have been frightening for you. Is your side okay?”

“I feel a little better, Iris.”

At that point, she stopped talking because the aide was ready to take her back to her room. Something was nagging at me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“Listen, Sheila, let’s make a plan. Something isn’t sitting right with me. Mom’s not herself. Can you go home, have your dinner with Stuart, and then come back here and spend the night with Mom? That way, if you’re here, she won’t worry about Renie Smith, and she’ll be calm. I’ll stay here now and have dinner with her, and when you get back, I’ll leave and come back in the morning to relieve you. Tomorrow night, I’ll stay here with Mom. I feel unsettled about her outburst, and I think someone should be with her.”

Sheila agreed with my plan.

The rest of the day ed quickly. Mom was quiet for most of the afternoon. She never complained about her leg or her side. The X-ray showed that her leg was all right, and she never mentioned any pain in her side.

My brother-in-law, Carl, Richard’s brother, stopped by, and he kept Mom occupied with his stories about his girlfriends and his health. Sheila returned by 8:00 p.m., and I left for home. She didn’t call me, so I assumed they had a quiet night.

March 7, Monday

I was shocked the next day when I arrived at the hospital. Bedlam!

“Iris, thank goodness you’re here!” Sheila screamed. “Mom hallucinated all night. She threw the phone at me. When I touched her arm, she slapped me. She waved her hands in the air shouting, “I’m in jail! Help me! I’m in jail! Get me out! Help! Help! Help me!”

‘I ran for the nurses and begged them to give her something for her hysteria. The intern on duty had the nurses give her Haldol. When she remained frantic, I begged them to give her more. Nothing helped. Nothing! It was terrible. The nurse put an IV in her hand, and she ripped it out. If I touched her, she pushed me away.”

Sheila was pale. Her eyes were bulging. She collapsed into the chair. I hugged her and tried to assure her that we would get this problem worked out, that Mom would be all right, but I didn’t understand what had happened to push our mother into another world.

“You go home now, Sheila,” I said. “I’ll stay with Mom.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to cope with two hysterical people. I do better when I can sort things out myself.

Sheila ran from the room. She never looked back. Mom lay in her bed, staring straight ahead. I walked out of the room to the nurses’ station to attempt to find

out what had happened in that room last night. The night nurse had left, but there was a copy of her report in the files about the night’s events.

The charge nurse, Erica, relayed the scene that had happened.

“Your sister was frantic.”

I guess so, I thought.

“She begged the nurses to quiet your mom. Your mother was dreaming, and she became hysterical. We gave her Haldol. When the first dose of Haldol didn’t work, your sister kept demanding that we give your mother more. Your mother was hallucinating.”

Erica opened and closed the book on her desk.

“Your mother received several doses of Haldol. They didn’t work.”

Again, Erica opened the book. This time, she slammed it down.

“In this instance, the Haldol didn’t seem to be working. Your mother kept hallucinating. Sometimes, it takes time for a medication to take effect, but sometimes, it just doesn’t work.”

Then why keep giving it to her? I wondered.

Erica added, “We just have to watch your mother now and see how she does.”

I returned to Mom’s room and sat beside her. I touched her hand, which had an IV in it, but she pushed my hand away.

“Mom, it’s me, Iris. I hear you had a rough night.”

I watched as she lifted her right hand into the air. What was she reaching for? Then she dropped her hand on the bed.

“Can you talk to me? Did you have that dream again, the one with Renie Smith?”

I didn’t know if she could hear me. I whispered to her, “Mom, I’m here, and you’re all right.”

I didn’t want to aggravate her further. She kept twitching and moving. She raised both arms into the air. Was she knitting? She had been an avid knitter in the past. Her hands moved back and forth, and I watched as they seemed to move on their own. Click, click, I thought I could hear the sound of the needles knitting and pearling. I imagined she was wrapping the wool around her fingers and counting the stitches.

A few minutes later, she looked like she was stirring a pot of soup. Maybe this time she was ing all the soups she used to prepare. Her right hand was rotating in large labored circles as if she wanted to keep the soup from sticking to the bottom of the pot.

Next, she appeared to be putting on her lipstick. Her hand went up to her mouth as she traced the outline of her lips. This scared me. I knew she must be hallucinating, and I didn’t want to see her this way. This was my mother’s body, her face, but I had never witnessed this side of her. I didn’t try to interrupt her movements, but I wanted to shake her and scream, “Wake up, Mom! Stop doing these weird things!” Instead, all I did was watch her.

“Tell me,” I begged the nurses, “have you ever seen delirious patients like my mother? Will she recover?”

“Wait, we must just wait, Miss Iris. It’s out of our hands now. Wait!”

Over and over that afternoon, my mother knitted. She put on her lipstick. She put on powder. She stirred the soup. Again and again, she performed these tasks as I watched, helpless. Sometimes, I’d put my hand on her, and she’d push it away.

Later that day, I found out from one of the doctors that Haldol often causes delirium in people and that the elderly are especially prone to reactions from certain medicines. Why, then, did the nurses continue to ister so many doses of Haldol to my mother, knowing the possible side effects? How did the Haldol interact with her other medications?

That evening, my nephew, Mathew, wanted to bring his wife, Leslie, and son,

Brian, to visit.

“Don’t bring Brian, Mathew. I don’t think you want him to see his greatgrandmother like this.”

Mathew insisted. He argued that bringing Brian would cheer Eppy up. Mathew was certain that love was all the medicine Mom needed.

I was too tired to argue. Maybe Mathew’s idea was worth trying.

They came, Mathew, Brian and my niece, Leslie. Brian, who was four years-old, brought a picture for Mom. Mathew held Brian in his arms so Brian could talk to Mom.

“Here, Eppy, I made this picture for you,” Brian said.

Mathew held Brian close to Mom, allowing him to lean over and kiss her on the cheek. She didn’t push him away. We kept talking to her in soft voices.

“We love you, Eppy.”

“I love you, Eppy.”

“We’re right here with you. We miss you. Please come back.”

Each of us kept up a running monologue.

Mathew, Leslie, and Brian left an hour later. By that time, Richard, my husband, and his two brothers had arrived and were standing at the foot of her bed. In whispered voices, we stood and talked to Mom. The room was quiet and peaceful, and Mom’s face had relaxed a little. Her hands remained still. She stopped twitching. She seemed to sense our loving presence. I too felt the peace and love in the room.

The neurologist arrived late that evening after making his usual rounds.

“It’s not necessary for me to run any tests tonight,” he said.” “I’ll wait until morning. My first thought is that I think your mother has been overmedicated. The drugs should wear off.”

These were the words I had been praying to hear all day. “. . . should wear off”!

After the neurologist left, I rubbed my eyes and massaged my neck. I walked to the chapel in the hospital, sat down, and drank in the calm and serenity present in that tiny sanctuary. The light in the room reflected the soft blues and greens of the stained-glass windows. I was wrapped in a blanket of calm, experiencing the first peace I had felt all day. In that room, I was able to pray and find the quiet I needed to deal with the transition I was going through from daughter to caretaker, mother to my own mother.

Later that evening, I fell asleep in the pink recliner by my mother’s bed. She must have been exhausted from her ordeal. She slept through the night. The hospital had provided a sitter from an agency in case Mom woke up and needed something. Mom was requiring more care in the evening than the hospital was staffed to ister.

March 8, Tuesday

M ax, where are you? I was lost, and I couldn’t find you. Oh, Max, I was very far away. I kept calling to you, and you didn’t answer me. I heard Iris in the background, but she was whispering, and I didn’t know what she was saying. Then a child kissed me. Yes, I’m sure it was a child, and all my anxiety started to float away. I felt myself returning to my body from far away. I’m so tired, but I’m back here in my bed. Or is it my bed? Iris is standing looking out of a window. I think she’s crying, but I’m not sure. I have to stay here now. I think she needs me. Don’t leave me, Max. I need to talk to you.

Mom woke up and was peaceful. She didn’t talk much, but I could see she had survived a crisis.

The neurologist sent his team in that morning. They gave Mom a brain encephalogram to determine if she had suffered any strokes. The tests were inconclusive.

“I think your mother will be fine,” Dr. Abraham, the neurologist, told me later that afternoon. “I’m writing on her chart that she is never to be given Haldol. The elderly, in particular, cannot take high doses of these types of drugs without consequences such as your mother experienced.”

“Then why did they give her so many doses? Why?” I asked as I fumbled with my tissue to wipe the tears that were dripping down my face?

“The staff is not perfect. We’re all human, and sometimes, in the midst of an emergency, things happen that shouldn’t.”

I wiped my eyes, knowing it was the best answer I would receive.

Mom remained calm that day. She was quiet but did eat some of her meals. She listened when I talked to her, turning her head sometimes to look at me. She seemed to be unaware of her delirium from the previous days.

“You’re looking lovely today, Mrs. Ellis.”

The nurse’s words echoed in my head. You should have seen her yesterday, I thought. I wondered if I would ever forget her delirium. I spent another night with Mom, again sleeping on the chair beside her bed. I urged Sheila to stay home and spend another day with Stuart. “You sound exhausted, Shelia, and I’m already here,” I said.

I was feeling selfish, but I craved this quiet time with my mother. I wanted one more night alone with her without any turmoil and questions.

Again, the hospital provided a sitter for Mom. She was a tall black woman with dark hair flowing to her shoulders. She walked into the room, dropped her satchel on the chair, and tied her black curly hair back into a ponytail. She extended her hand saying, “Hello, I’m Angela. Most people call me Angie. The agency sent me here to look after your mother tonight.”

I explained Mom’s situation to her.

“You can relax. I’m here now.”

Just like that, was she Mary Poppins?

“I’m here now” she had said to me, and I allowed myself to let go and fall asleep on the pink recliner, my new bed away from home.

When I awoke during the night, Angie, the night sitter, was standing at the side of Mom’s bed, patting Mom’s face with a damp washcloth. Mom had awakened and was a little warm. Sensing Mom’s discomfort, Angie had placed a damp washcloth across Mom’s forehead. I told Angie she could take a break, but she refused, saying, “It’s my job to work through the evening, and I intend to do that.”

I noticed she was knitting a beautiful white blanket, and something about her presence calmed me.

“You have a beautiful mother,” said Angie. “Her skin is radiant. She doesn’t have any wrinkles.”

“Thank you. Yes, my mother is blessed with beautiful skin.”

Max, I hear Iris talking to that angel. Her name is Angie. I her

standing by my bed earlier tonight and wiping my forehead with a damp cloth. She has a gentle touch that makes me feel good. No one has taken care of me since you, Max. I’ve always taken care of others.

Ever since you died, I’ve been busy. Sheila was fifteen years-old. She helped me with the chores and looked after Iris a little until my momma moved in with us.

Iris was a good child but very inquisitive. She asked so many questions. I didn’t have the stamina to answer all her questions. I’m too tired to think anymore.

Ach, was I away? Was I knitting? Why do I a yellow sweater I was finishing? It’s not important now.

Hands, Angie has nice hands. Her voice is soft, singsong. I’m glad Iris is talking to her. Maybe they’ll become friends. I like the cool washcloth Angie put on my forehead. Maybe she could take care of me. She’s patting my hand now. I think I’ll sleep a little longer.

March 9: Wednesday and the Other Hospital Days

“G ood Morning, Mrs. Ellis. I’m Jerry from physical therapy. I’m here to get you out of bed and moving.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll help you,” Jerry insisted. “Come now. Let me get you up.”

He assisted Mom so that she was standing by her bed.

“Now, Mrs. Ellis, I’m going to help you walk to the bathroom.”

“But you’re a man!”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Ellis. I’m a physical therapist and a nurse.”

Mom swayed a little as she tried to get her balance. She took a few steps, and, despite her resolve, she lost control of her bowels in front of Jerry. Her mouth fell open, and I turned away, feeling her embarrassment. Why couldn’t this have happened with a female therapist? I thought. Even that would have been

embarrassing!

“It’s all right, Mrs. Ellis,” Jerry assured her. “You’re up and walking, and you’ve made it to the bathroom. The nurse will help you get cleaned up. This loss of control happens all the time with my patients when they first try walking after being in bed for a while. You’ll be fine.”

Max, how will I be fine? I’m humiliated. I’ve been wearing a diaper. I can hardly say the word. The nurses make me wait so long that I can’t control myself. I just wet my pants. What could be more humiliating than to lose this control? No one told me that this might happen to me. Every time they diaper me, I have to lay there naked and exposed. How will I ever get over this embarrassment?

Over the next few days, Jerry persisted and tried to ease the way for their relationship as physical therapist and patient; however, Mom’s progress was slow. It took time for her to respond to the medicines for her colitis. Those “d” sores, as I began to refer to her decubitus sores, were slow-healing also. Mom was weak from all the time she was spending in bed. Although Jerry came every day, Mom resisted. Sometimes, she pretended to be asleep. Other times, she told him she was too tired, urging him to come back later. If he were lucky enough to coerce her, she often participated in her therapy half-heartedly and, a few minutes into the session, would beg him to put her back in bed.

Max, Jerry just left. I pretended to be asleep, but he woke me. He was angry with me. He walked out muttering to himself something about how if I didn’t start to work harder to walk, I would lose my strength. I hate this forced walking. It’s very hard for me. He doesn’t understand that I can only take a few steps. He keeps saying, “just a little more, Sara, just a little more.” A little more is a lot more to me. I’m starting to feel like an old woman. I guess I’m tired. Oh, Max, how we used to dance . . . ?

March 23, Wednesday: Moving to Rehab and Rehab Days

A t the end of two weeks, Mom was ready to be transferred to Rehab, which was upstairs in the same hospital. I had spent an afternoon observing the rehab staff. I wanted to be familiar with Mom’s care once she was moved. I knew, after observing the therapists, that Mom would be in capable hands with the physical and occupational therapists. They were well-trained and diligent in trying to prepare their patients to function well in their daily activities. I had confidence that this phase of Mom’s recovery would provide her with the skills that had grown dormant while she had been in the hospital these last three weeks.

“Iris, take my birthday cards with you and all my pictures that my grandson drew for me.”

Mom had celebrated her eighty-ninth birthday in the hospital. It was a festive but quiet afternoon, with only our immediate family.

“I’m going to miss you girls,” Mom told the nurses.

She had formed special friendships with two of them. One of the nurses would bring her corned beef sandwiches from the Lexington Market, where Mom used to eat with her boss.

“You’ll like it in Rehab,” the nurses assured Mom.

“We can come up and visit you there.”

“That would be great. Please do,” Sara told them. “And don’t forget to bring me some lox and bagels on Sunday, if you go to the market. Try it for yourself. It’s delicious.”

The nurses accompanied Sheila and me to Rehab while an aide wheeled Mom upstairs in her bed. Mom was being escorted like the queen she deserved to be.

At first glance, the Rehab wing was impressive in its décor. Double doors opened into an entrance reminiscent of a five-star hotel. Cherry wood ing and tweed carpeting invited you to enter as the doors swung open. Impressionist paintings adorned the walls, giving the hallway a museum-like appearance. The first door on the right opened into a large therapy room, where both physical and occupational therapy were given. There were rows of boxes, some spilling over onto the floors. The boxes contained crafts and gadgets for the patients to work with to help them to regain their small motor skills.

The nurses led Sheila and me to Mom’s room before she arrived so we could empty our arms of all the things we were holding. After being in the hospital so long, Mom had acquired a few new things.

Max, I’m going to another new room. So many new rooms for one woman! I used to know only one apartment. Now I’ve lived in many places, and to tell you the truth, I like the apartment the most. These nurses do give me a lot of attention. I like it when they touch me. They massage my legs and my arms. It feels so good,

Max, just like when you used to rub my feet at the end of the day. I like Angie too. She stays with me a lot, and we talk. She puts creams on my skin. I wish Sheila and Iris would fuss over me more. They’re too serious, asking me questions all the time: “How do you feel, Mom? Isn’t the weather beautiful?” Oh well, I know they’re trying hard. Iris visits me daily. It’s a long drive for her. It’s nice for me to see her so much. I miss her when she’s away. I just wish she wouldn’t push me so hard to move my arms and legs. I’ll never exercise very much. I don’t like it. Why can’t Iris understand that? Just because she exercises every day doesn’t mean I have to.

Sheila comes almost every day too. She’s devoted a lot of her time to include me in her life. I was always invited when Stuart’s family had their celebrations. Sheila’s been a wonderful daughter. I just wish she didn’t have so many burdens in her life. I can’t think about them. Oy, what a life I have now. There are my daughters. I guess this is the new room.

“Well, Mom, isn’t it beautiful here?” Sheila asked Mom.

Mom couldn’t see too much since she was lying in the bed the attendant was wheeling.

“This is such a beautiful floor,” Sheila continued. “There are so many beautiful paintings!”

Max, what is she talking about?

Beautiful-shmoodiful! Who cares? Another fancy-schmancy place! Where are the doctors and nurses on this floor who are going to help me get better?

Sheila and I arranged for Angie to stay with Mom her first few nights in Rehab. We thought it would make the transition easier for her. Mom was comfortable with Angie, and they had established a warm rapport. Angie was an attractive young woman with dark black hair that she kept tied back with ribbons. When she untied the ribbons, her hair billowed out around her face. She looked like an angel, and Mom often referred to her as “my angel.”

“Here’s my angel now,” Mom said as Angie walked into Mom’s room.

“I brought you a new hair brush,” Angie said as she walked over to the bed, sat Mom up, and began brushing Mom’s hair. “Later on, I’ll massage your elbows and feet with some new lotion I bought at Victoria’s Secret.”

I observed these little kindnesses that Angie extended toward my mother. Sometimes, I wished that I had thought about doing them myself.

“Mrs. Ellis, you know I’m going to be with you tonight? You’re upstairs now in the Rehab part of the hospital.”

I was listening closely to Angie and Mom talk while I arranged Mom’s things.

“Why can’t I go home now, angel?” Mom asked.

“Now, Mrs. Ellis, you’ve been sick. You still have those sores that need to heal, and your colitis and diabetes have to stabilize. As your medicines continue to

work, your ailments will subside, and you’ll start to feel better.”

Evenings in Rehab were the hardest for Mom until Angie arrived. Most of the nursing staff left her alone more than Shelia and I thought they should. At first, Mom was unable to sleep at night. Then she developed a urinary tract infection that agitated her and was painful. We had to beg her to eat.

“Iris, get me more medicine for this pain. I don’t care what you think. You should never know this much pain. It burns me.”

“Okay, Mom, I’ll talk to Dr. Fine.”

Dr. Fine was Mom’s new doctor. He was a gerontologist and easy to talk to.

“I understand your fear of overmedicating,” he said when I talked to him. “Your mother hasn’t done well with taking all these medicines. Her experience with the Haldol, though typical for many older patients, had some frightening side effects. I’ve seen that happen many times from Haldol in particular and other drugs. I’ll prescribe something that will alleviate your mother’s pain without having too many undesirable side effects.”

Max, why doesn’t everybody leave me alone like they do at night? Just give me my medicine, and let me get better. I hope my daughters never have this pain. I heard the nurse say you get this infection after catheterization. When I was downstairs in the hospital, I did have a catheter. See what it did? Now I have pain. I need more medicine for the pain, and Iris doesn’t want me to have too much medicine. I heard her talking to the doctor. She’s afraid I might talk out of my head. What’s the matter with her? I know when I need medicine. I never took

any until the diabetes, and now look at me. I can’t live without it. The new medicine is Ultran. I memorized the name. It had better work.

Some of Mom’s nighttime sleeplessness was related to coming off the Haldol and some other drugs associated with the electrolyte imbalance that sent her to the hospital. On two different nights, she tried to get out of bed alone.

Max, it’s nighttime. The windows are dark, and I hear people crying somewhere. I keep ringing the bell for the nurse, but no one comes. I hope someone comes soon. I can’t wait too long. I have to go to the bathroom now. Come on! Come on! Why doesn’t anyone come to me? I’ll try to get out of bed by myself. I always went to the bathroom myself when I lived in my apartment. There was no one there to tell me to wait. I just got up, took my time, and then I came back to bed. Fancy-schmancy Rehab Center. The nurses don’t even answer my call button – uh-oh, I slid right to the floor. I’m glad it’s carpeted. Damn. I’ll just sit here and wait. Angie will be here soon. She’ll yell at me, but she’s my angel. I know she is. I’ll sweet-talk her. Now if I can only stop myself from wetting my pants! I was trying so hard so I wouldn’t have to keep wearing a diaper.

Max, I hear Angie on the telephone talking to Iris. She’s probably telling her that I was on the floor. Oh well, Iris will know I’m all right because Angie will reassure her. Oh, I’m lucky this time. I have fun with Angie. We’ll have a grand time talking, laughing, and watching the television. Maybe she’ll tell me about her family and we’ll schmooze a little.

Mom tried a few more times to get out of bed when the nurses didn’t respond to her bell.

“Mom, you must promise me you won’t get out of bed by yourself. I’m afraid you’ll get hurt one of these times,” I begged her.

It seemed that no one wanted to respond to Mom at night.

I reported the problems with the nighttime staff to the nursing director.

“This won’t happen again,” she assured me.

It happened again, and I went to talk to her again.

“Your mother will be tended to. I’ve talked to everyone on that shift.”

“My mother says she rings the bell over and over, and yet no one responds. She’s wetting herself and laying there in her wet bedclothes, or else she’s trying to get out of bed.”

“You’re right in your concern, Miss Iris. I don’t understand what’s going on with this shift, but I’ll get to the bottom of it. These nurses know their jobs, and they are responsible people, or we wouldn’t hire them. I will find out why they’re being negligent with your mother.”

I was disgusted and frustrated. What could I do but make sure Mom’s few needs were taken care of? Shouldn’t that be the responsibility of the nursing staff? Mom needed to be in Rehab. The therapists there were competent, but this nursing care at night was minimal. The nurses had no comion. They were inconsistent in the care they istered to Mom. Her colitis caused her to have frequent bowel movements. The nurses then had to bathe her and change her, so

I guess she was not a favored patient.

Our solution was to hire Angie most evenings to be assured that Mom was being well cared for and was receiving the attention we thought she deserved.

A few days later, I walked into Mom’s room. It was a beautiful morning.

“Mom, why are you still in bed? Aren’t you supposed to go to therapy?”

“I’m not getting out of bed today, Iris. I’m too tired. Leave me alone.”

The next day, I arrived in the afternoon to be greeted by a member of the therapy staff.

“Your mother is refusing to go to physical therapy. When I got to her room, both yesterday and today, she told me to leave her alone. She said she was too tired.”

“I’ll have a talk with her, and I’ll discuss this with my sister as well. Maybe if we both meet with her together we can get to the root of the problem and get her back to participating in the program.”

I walked down the hall to Mom’s room scratching my head. How was I going to convince this stubborn woman who happened to be my mother that her survival depended on regaining her strength? I called Sheila on the phone first. She commiserated with me, but her mind wasn’t on Mom. Stuart was still not feeling

well, and the doctor had begun monitoring his heart. He was also about to undergo a series of tests. I knew I would have to handle this problem with my mother by myself.

“Hi, Mom,” I said as I entered her room and leaned over to kiss her.

I opened the blinds. The breakfast dishes were on the tray beside her bed, still uncovered.

“Are you planning to sleep the day away?”

“Not now, Iris. I’m tired.”

I thought she might be tired from her late-night talks with Angie.

“We have to talk, Mom.”

“I’m your mother, Iris, and I’m telling you that I’ll talk to you later.”

I ignored her response and continued to talk.

“Mom, you’re in the Rehab part of the hospital now. If you’re going to get better, you have to listen to the therapists. They’re the experts here. They know what’s

best to help you regain your functional strength. They’re trying to teach you skills so you can again take care of yourself.”

I paced back and forth.

“What I’m saying, Mom, is you have to take part in regaining your strength, or you’ll spend your life in bed. So get out of bed, and let these therapists help you!”

In the silence that followed, each of us lost in our own thoughts, I realized that I was giving my mother part of the same lecture I gave to my exercise classes for older students. How could I expect my mother to know what I was talking about since these words, like functional strength, and activities of daily living were new to her? My students were used to my emphasis on keeping active and being mobile. My mother was not.

Max, can you hear Iris? Blah, blah, blah. She’s yelling at me. Everybody’s always telling me what to do. Are they trying to treat me like a child? Is it because I wet my pants? Iris means well, but she doesn’t know my life. Where will I go when I leave here? I want to go home, but I’m not sure I know where home is now.

Later That Night

I called Angie on the telephone before she went to take care of my mom.

“Angie, this is Iris. I need you to talk to my mother when you come tonight. Help her to understand that she must participate in the rehab in order to regain her strength. Her muscles are weak from being in bed for such a long time. She was already weak when she entered the hospital. It’s been a month now since she got sick. You know, Angie, I think I talked to her like she was my student instead of my mom. I got frustrated and yelled at her to get out of bed before they kicked her out. If we both try, perhaps we’ll be successful. It’s not like Sara Ellis to quit, and I think she’s quitting.”

Angie assured me that she could get Mom to cooperate. Maybe she’d switch some of her nights to days or alternate so she could help her. Maybe she’d stay in the morning after her night shift until Mom left for therapy.

I hung up confident that Angie could convince Mom to open her eyes to the life she still had waiting for her. However, I wondered what kind of life my mother did have waiting for her. Was I dreaming? Was it worth it to keep forcing Mom to work hard when she had so much pain? I honestly didn’t know, but I couldn’t give up on her.

Days Spent in Rehab

A ngie was becoming Mom’s personal angel. I witnessed the transformation myself. Mom stopped getting out of bed at night. She waited for Angie to arrive, and they enjoyed spending time together in the evenings. Each seemed to fulfill something the other was lacking. I saw this relationship blossoming, and I recognized how lucky my mother was.

Angie was able to get Mom to cooperate more than we, her daughters, could and more than the staff in Rehab. Mom began to participate in therapy again on a daily basis. She attended occupational therapy, where she relearned tasks that she had taken for granted before she became ill. Throwing a nerf ball into a basket gave her arms strength to help her dress herself. She learned to pull on her slacks and socks with a tool and also practiced some cooking and ironing from a seated position.

I saw glimpses of my mother as a younger woman when I watched her throw the ball into the basket and smile when she was successful. Her arms seemed to float up in the air in a manner I had never noticed before. Her smile when she made a basket spanned from ear to ear.

She was also receiving physical therapy to enable her to regain some muscle tone in her legs. At times, her legs would swell, but slowly, she began to gain back a little of the strength she had lost. She learned to walk a little more, relying on her walker and the therapist who was holding her arm. Sometimes, her grandchildren visited and walked beside her, holding on to her when she needed assistance.

“Hello, Mrs. Ellis. You doing so well,” one of the therapists commented to Mom.

“Yes, I am,” she answered, smiling.

She still did not go to the bathroom on her own. After those few mishaps, she stopped asking anyone to take her. She was wearing a diaper all the time, and she never mentioned it. In retrospect, this must have been devastating for her.

Max, I’m making progress. At least that’s what they tell me. I don’t need to sleep so much during the day. I want to get up in the morning, but I’m not going to do everything they ask. I still have my own mind, and I still decide things for myself. I’ll participate in activities but not every day, and when I’m tired, I’ll stop. After all, I know what’s best for me. I can still make my own decisions, and I always will. I know you understand. I do everything in moderation. That’s how I got to be this old.

1999, April: Celebrating over

W hile Mom was in Rehab, I asked the staff if we could use the dining room for our family to celebrate the over holiday. They agreed, and I couldn’t wait to tell Mom.

“Mom, we’re going to have a Seder in the dining room to celebrate over. Is there anyone you would like us to invite other than our immediate family?”

“Well, you’ll invite my angel Angie, of course. She can sit right next to me.”

Sheila was supposed to be with Stuart’s family that evening, but she cancelled their plans so she and Mom’s grandson and great-grandson could be with us too.

On a rainy Wednesday night in the beginning of April, 1999, seventeen of us gathered in the dining room in the hospital’s Rehab Center and celebrated the over holiday. I had ordered food from a nearby market and was using the microwave in the dining room before serving each course. Candles brightened the three tables as we sat reading from our Haggadah, the prayer book used on the over holiday. Richard conducted the Seder, which is the story of the exodus of the Jewish people from Egypt.

“Baruch a’ta adonai…” Richard’s voice rang out strong and pure, echoing throughout the room. Sara Ellis, our matriarch, was with us in body and spirit,

surrounded by her family and Angie, her angel, who sat by her side.

Four questions are asked at the Seder dinner. As Lily, Sara Ellis’s only granddaughter, and my youngest, sang the first question, I concentrated fully on the words.

“Why is this night different from all other nights?”

My heart silently sang the answer: I was with my mother. We were all with her, sharing this holiday in a way I wasn’t sure we would have been able to a month earlier. Not even the sound of the pouring rain could separate us that night as we participated in a centuries-old tradition with our loved ones.

Max, I must have dozed for a minute. I wish you were here with me to participate in this Seder. Maybe you are here. I feel your presence close-by even if I can’t see you. They are all here with me, our family. I am still a lucky woman. I can enjoy my family even here. My grandchildren are sitting at my table, and my adorable great-grandson, Brian, is smiling at me from the other table as if we have a secret. What is the secret, Max? Do you know?

The Last Weeks of Rehab

F ollowing the holidays, Mom had a setback. Two physicians, who were specialists in geriatric psychiatry, examined Mom to determine if she was depressed. Sheila and I, as lay people, noticed that Mom wasn’t working as hard as she had been working to regain her functional strength. She was reluctant to go to therapy. She didn’t share any of her thoughts with us, and it was difficult for us to determine her mental status, so we asked the doctors for an evaluation.

“We don’t think your mother is depressed at this time,” Dr. Brandon, one of the psychiatrists, told us. “She most likely has mild dementia, which could worsen in the future. However, she might still be recovering from the large doses of drugs she received.”

Dr. Fine, her doctor and a gerontologist himself, had consulted with the psychiatrists. Together with Sheila and me, we decided not to give her constant medication for pain unless it was necessary.

The three weeks that Mom was supposed to spend in Rehab ed. We were able to extend the time while we formulated plans for where Mom would live after she left the Rehab. The therapists istered some tests, such as having Mom draw a clock and put the numbers on it. The first time, she drew it correctly. The second time, she reversed the numbers.

Sheila and I were together when we heard the results. Earlier that day, they had asked Mom some history – and current-events questions.

“Who is the president of the United States now? Who was the first president of the United States?”

Other similar questions were asked. Some she answered correctly; others she didn’t answer at all. Was she suffering from dementia, or was she still confused from being in the hospital and the Rehab? The results were inconclusive.

Sheila took me aside.

“Iris, Mom can’t go back to her apartment. I think she needs to live in a nursing home.”

I kept twirling my hair with my fingers while she kept talking. I wasn’t ready to talk about this now. There were too many uncertainties running through my mind. Stop talking, stop talking, I screamed in silence.

The thought of a nursing home sickened me. I found myself talking to Angie more and more since she seemed to have the best rapport with Mom.

“She needs time to get strong, Iris. She’s been through so much in the last weeks. Your mother doesn’t even realize yet just how many changes she’s been through. From what you tell me, she’s never been sick before. At her age, she needs time to heal and accept the reality that her health has diminished.”

A few days later, Sheila and I had lunch near the Rehab.

“Iris,” Sheila said, “Mom can never live in her apartment again. She’ll never be able to tackle all those steps. She needs a lot of care now. It’s time for us to go through her things and get rid of the apartment.”

I knew she might be right, but it was all too much for me, being bombarded with so many decisions at one time. I wanted to make the right plans for Mom. Where was she going to go? Who was going to take care of her? How could we go through her things without her permission?

“Iris, we’re not going to pay rent for a place she’ll never live in again.”

I was quiet. It was late March, almost April. Mom’s lease on her apartment came due the end of June, not a lot of time to go through someone’s apartment when that someone never threw anything away. Not a lot of time when other decisions had to be made regarding a new living facility. Not a lot of time when you have to face the truth: an old way of life is over, and the new way is unknown…

“We can’t keep putting it off,” Shelia said, interrupting my reverie.

“But, Sheila,” I said. “I can’t go through all of her things without her permission. She’s still alive. It’s too painful for me. I feel like I’m going behind her back.”

“I know, Iris, but when that lease ends in June, we are not going to pay rent any more. We have to force ourselves to empty the apartment.”

I kept ing Mom’s words, “No one is going to take my possessions.” I wondered if I could still keep this promise. Shelia had been helping Mom pay her bills at the apartment and then had continued to take care of her finances when Mom moved to assisted living. She was unwilling to allow me to hold on to the apartment for a few extra months. In this instance, she was the boss.

Dr. Fine, Mom’s doctor in Rehab, met with Shelia and me. There wasn’t anything more the Rehab could do to improve Mom’s health or her functional fitness. Together we decided that Mom needed nursing care and physical therapy, and for now, she needed to move to a nursing home. The “for now” was always in the back of my mind. Otherwise, I would never have been able to agree to a nursing home type of facility at this time.

Sheila would explain the arrangements to Mom, which weren’t even arrangements yet since we didn’t know which nursing home we would choose. I, Iris, the one who steps up to the plate to take control when things need to be done, was floundering. I was still digesting the words “mild dementia,” “emptying her apartment,” and all the innuendos I was allowing to seep into my brain. Telling Mom about moving to a nursing home overwhelmed me. I was unable to find the strength, or was it the courage, to talk to my mother about another move. I knew the decision would devastate her as it was devastating me.

“Mom” Sheila began, “we’re going to find a nursing facility for you to live in now. You’re weak from being sick. Dr. Fine and the therapists who have been working with you agree that you need nursing care until you’re stronger.”

Shelia was pacing back and forth.

“Your body needs time to rest so your colitis can improve and your wounds can heal. Each day, you’re getting stronger.”

Now Shelia was tapping her fingers on Mom’s nightstand.

“There’s nothing more the doctors here can do for you,” Shelia said. “It’s time to find a nursing facility.”

Mom seemed to be staring into space.

Max, I will not listen to this former daughter of mine. She keeps pacing back and forth. Stay still, Shelia. Look at me when you talk. I know her only too well. I see the pain in her eyes, but the harshness of her words is unacceptable to me. I know what it means. Nursing home is what Sheila is saying. I when I couldn’t take care of my momma any longer. The nursing home was the last resort. Momma lasted three months there. Thank God she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. I held her hand when she was rushed to the hospital from that place. I kept holding it until she died. I felt miserable about ever leaving her in the nursing home.

How can Sheila do this to me? Why doesn’t Iris say something? Why is she standing here with her eyes downcast, looking at the floor? You too, Iris, look at me. What’s the matter with these girls? I may have to go to some nursing home, but I won’t stay there. I’ll get better and then I’ll get the hell out.

Finding a Nursing Home

“I ris,” Shelia said when we met, “I think I found an acceptable nursing home for Mom, The Estates. It’s one of the best nursing homes in the Baltimore area. My girlfriend’s parents are there. Bobbie says her parents are content with their care and so are Bobbie and her husband. I visited her parents with Stuart last night. He also thought it would be a good place for Mom to live.”

“What if Mom says no, she won’t go there? You know how she was when Grandma died. We can’t make her go, Shelia.”

“We don’t have a choice, Iris. You heard what Dr. Fine said.”

“Okay, Sheila,” I said in my leave-me-alone-or-I’ll-scream-if-you-say-anotherword voice. “I’ll go there to see it tomorrow on my way to see Mom.”

I had visited two other nursing homes earlier that week, and both were depressing. The strong smell of ammonia permeated the air. No amount of potpourri could mask the odor.

As I approached The Estates, the setting I found myself in caught me unaware. Nestled into the middle of a retirement community, the front entrance was landscaped with brightly colored flowers that were just beginning to bloom. I was greeted by a profusion of colorful pansies, peonies, and petunias. The foyer was decorated in light woods with bright flowered wallpaper on the walls. A tapestry rug was on the floor that lent the foyer a quiet elegance that reflected

good taste. The decor allowed the visitor and resident to forget this was a nursing home. I allowed myself to get sucked into the scene. I was desperate to find the right place for my mother, though I had no idea where that might be.

I met with Sonia Robbins, one of the s. She gave me a tour of the facility and showed me which residents lived in the different wings. Sonia knew the residents by name and stopped to chat with them as we ed them in their rooms and in the hall, again seducing me with the friendliness of the place. We returned to her office after the tour.

“Will your mother be a paying resident?”

“Yes, my mom will be a paying resident until her money runs out. Then she’ll have to rely on Medicaid to help her.”

I stood up and then sat back down.

“I think I’m answering this right. I’m still grappling with the differences in Medicare and Medicaid.”

“Your mother will be eligible for Medicare the first one hundred days she is here. On the one-hundred-and-first day, she will become a paying resident while she is able. You have a couple of choices of living areas while she’s on Medicare. When that time expires, she’ll have to move to a different area.”

“I’ll need to discuss everything with my sister. I don’t think it’s a good idea to

keep moving her. She’s moved enough these last few months. I’d like to see the two sections again where you think she might be able to live.”

Sonia showed me the two areas. The first, Spring Garden, was occupied by people recuperating from falls or stokes. This area was similar to the Rehab at the hospital. These patients would only be there for a short time. The other wing, Fallstaff, was populated with elderly people in various states of health. Many stared ahead with vacant eyes or rocked back and forth without speaking. Several appeared dazed as we walked by. Others talked with us as we ed. Fallstaff reminded me of the nursing homes I had seen as a child. Many residents were sitting in the hallways. I felt a sadness and hopelessness transmitting from them to me. In the Spring Garden section, there were more residents talking in their rooms or walking down the hall laughing. There was a definite difference in the two wings, and I was again filled with uncertainty. I told Sonia that Sheila and I would meet with her soon.

I drove from The Estates to see my Mom. My heart was filled with a heaviness that I had managed to ignore while my Mom was in the hospital and Rehab. I knew with an inborn certainty that this nursing home was not going to work out, but I wanted to discuss it with Dr. Fine since he was more familiar with the nursing facilities in the Baltimore area than I was. Something about the different living arrangements for the residents was gnawing at me. My knowledge of how Medicare and Medicaid worked was also scanty. I needed an education in all these areas, and I didn’t have too much time; Mom needed to be moved within the week.

I went straight to talk to Dr. Fine before seeing my mother.

“I’d like to talk with you, Dr. Fine. I’m in a quandary about where to move my mom. I know you practice at some nursing facilities. I thought you might have some ideas about where my mother would function best. I just visited The Estates, and I have conflicting feelings.”

I put my hand over my eyes for a second to try and erase some of the scenes I had witnessed. I knew I might start crying at any moment. My fear was that if I started to cry, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

First, Dr. Fine told me where he practiced. The Estates was not one of his stops. “I think you need to consider the location that is closest for you and your family.”

“Nothing is close for me, but The Estates would be good for my sister.”

“It’s a good facility,” Dr. Fine said. “They’ve had their problems, but they’re under new management, and it’s a national group. All the nursing homes are monitored for safety and health. Be sure you visit often and observe your mother. Talk to her about what’s going on, and visit there at different times of the day. When the family interacts often, the staff is aware, and a better relationship develops between family and staff. Your Mom should heal wherever she goes.”

“I have one more question, Dr. Fine. Are you certain she needs a nursing home?”

“I think it’s the best place for her at this time. She needs wound care treatment and monitoring of her colitis and diabetes. For now, a nursing home is where she needs to be.” Again, those words, “the best place,” “at this time,” “for now”; those were the words I would hold on to, the words that would sustain me.

I stopped in to see Mom. She and Angie were in physical therapy. I called Angie aside.

“Has my mom talked to you about leaving here?”

“She said something about how hell would freeze over before she ever lived in a nursing home. She was quite feisty when I arrived. Yes, she talked my ear off.”

It felt strange hearing these words, my mother’s words, from Angie and not hearing them from Mom herself, but Angie was Mom’s angel, and on some level, she was becoming my angel too.

“I’ll call you later tonight after I talk with my sister and her husband. I wish we didn’t have to move her so soon, but the Rehab needs the bed here. I hope you’ll be able to work for us after Mom moves. I feel more secure when I know you’re with her.”

“Don’t worry, Iris. Your mother fills a place in my life. We get along well. She’s like my momma. I’ll adjust my schedule to be there,” Angie said as she reached over and hugged me. I knew she sensed my inner struggle over moving Mom to a nursing home.

Before I left, I walked over to Mom, leaned down, and kissed her. As I drew close, I whispered in her ear, “We’ll work it out, Mom. I won’t let you down.”

With those words said, the uncertain, frightened feelings I had been carrying inside subsided somewhat, and the confident, adult woman I was emerged again. I straightened my back. I would make certain my mom was well cared for.

Max, oh, Max, it’s really going to happen. Me, Sara Ellis, I’m going to spend the rest of my life in a nursing home. Over my dead body! I’m angry, Max. I am angry! How dare they do this to me? Just because I got mixed up with the numbers on the clock, they think I need to live in a nursing home. It was my eyes that failed me, not my mind. It’s that other cataract.

At last Iris looked me in the eye. She knows I won’t tolerate living in a nursing home. I don’t have the stamina to fight now because I’m tired, but I’ll get it back. I will never let them see me defeated and drooling, staring ahead with vacant eyes. Oh, I’ll go there. I’ll close my eyes. I’ll shut the whole damn place out of my vision. But I’ll listen. I’ll get strong. Then I’ll get the hell out.

That evening, I arranged with Sheila to visit The Estates with her the next day. She went on and on about her friend’s parents and how pleased everyone was. When I asked her which wing they lived in, she faltered and ed that they were paying residents, and Bobbie had given up her inheritance to keep them in the private wing which resembled more of a hotel than a nursing facility. This inequity in living arrangements annoyed me.

I talked to Richard about the nursing facility, but he knew even less than I knew about nursing homes. Then I called Angie. She had nursed in several facilities.

She didn’t know too much about The Estates. The little she knew, however, concerned her. She assured me that she would assist in our transition but reminded me that Mom might not be comfortable with the change. Mom would see a lot of sick residents, and it might be a problem for her in witnessing what was happening to these people.

“Just promise me you’ll stick with Mom now, Angie.”

She assured me she would be there and asked me to make up a schedule for her so she could get her work life in order. In a short time, Angie had assumed a major role in our lives.

Sheila and I visited The Estates again the next day and made the decision to it Mom in three days because we were in a bind. Mom had to leave Rehab, and we hadn’t found anything better in the Baltimore area. I had a better feeling after this last visit, but I continued to be to be disturbed by some of the sights I saw. In the Fallstaff dining room, there were several residents incapable of feeding themselves. Some were not able to sit up straight, and their heads rolled to one side. Others called out to whomever ed by. I prayed my mom would be able to overlook these sights. Although I felt comion for many of the people I saw, this was my mother entering a nursing home, and she was the only person I cared about.

I shudder when I look back to that horrible day we took our mother to The Estates. I hated it from day one. Of course, I couldn’t be objective. Mom would live in Fallstaff to avoid moving her again in a few months. However, she would eat her meals in Spring Garden so she would be surrounded by people who were more like her both physically and mentally. Fallstaff was a locked wing to prevent the residents from wandering. Although I did not know that the wing was locked until moving day, it gave me an eerie feeling. Was I sending my mother to prison? Was that fair to her? Should we arrange for her to live with one of us and hire a nurse? What kind of daughter was I? I knew Shelia didn’t have the temperament to be a caregiver, but did I? I was bombarded with thoughts. Leave me alone! I screamed silently. What should I do? In the end, there was no choice.

1999, May 1: The Nursing Home

M ay 1, 1999, is a day I will never forget. Mom was transported by ambulance to The Estates Nursing Home. Angie rode in the ambulan ce with Mom. Sheila and Stuart followed the ambulance from the Rehab to the nursing home. I had arrived at the nursing home early to arrange Mom’s personal things on her side of the room and hang her clothes in the closet. She was going to share this room with a stranger for one night. She wasn’t supposed to have a roommate for the first few days, yet there was a woman, asleep in the other bed, in the room that was to be Mom’s. Seeing the other woman only increased my nervousness.

I kept dropping Mom’s blouses and pants off the hangers as I tried to arrange them in the closet. I was afraid to hang the pictures on the wall for fear I’d hammer my fingers since my hands were shaking. Rearranging Mom’s things was becoming a routine I didn’t like.

Just as I put the last things away, Mom was wheeled into her room on a stretcher. Then she was transferred to a wheelchair so we could move her around. The head nurse came in, introduced herself, and I left the room with Angie so the nurse could it Mom. Sheila and Stuart were in the hall. I couldn’t stand there and chat. I was too uncomfortable watching the confused residents shuffling along the hallway, walking up and down the corridor on their way to nowhere.

“Miss, help me. Take me out of here,” a short man in a red plaid shirt repeated that phrase over and over.

A tall, well-dressed man in a khaki suit and white shirt kept walking back and forth, up the hall and down the hall. He wore a light-brown hat on his head. He nodded to me each time he ed. A woman with stockings rolled below her knees kept stopping to ask him questions.

Was I crazy when I agreed with Sheila to bring Mom to this place? Over and over, I pondered this question feeling that I had failed my mother. How could this place be the “best”? Out – she has to get out of here. I looked up. I was pacing back and forth, up and down the hall, just like the man in the khaki suit.

Max, did you hear all those questions the nurse and then the tall doctor asked me? They talked so slowly to me and articulated every word. Do they think I’m stupid? I guess they don’t think I understand them. Well, they know I do now. What’s more, I have a roommate. There’s a woman in the next bed. I think she’s sleeping. I am too old to share my room with anyone but you, darling. There’s a pink curtain drawn around her bed to give her privacy. Every few minutes, she cries out softly. I thought I was supposed to be alone tonight. I will not let them know what I am thinking. I may have been forced to come here, but I am not staying for long. I’ll put on my mask so they can’t see my expressions and know my thoughts.

1999, May: Mom’s Life at The Estates

F rom the time she arrived, my mother was a misfit. I thought, in the beginning, that she was too sick to notice her surroundings. Angie spent the first night with Mom. She said Mom appeared to sleep and didn’t complain about anything. The roommate left the next morning.

When I arrived at The Estates the second day, the sights and smells I hadn’t really noticed before assaulted me. People were lined up in chairs against the walls as I entered Mom’s wing. I smelled ammonia. Was that urine? The man in the khaki suit walked up and down the hall.

“Good Morning, miss.”

“Take me with you,” one lady called out.

“Here, I’m here,” called the lady from the previous day, still wearing her rolleddown stockings.

“Is it supper time?” asked a short man wearing the same black shorts I ed from my first visit.

I took a deep breath before I opened the door to Mom’s room.

“Hi, Mom. Did you have a good night?”

I was talking in my best false voice. You’re a fake, Iris. You’re a hypocrite.

“Let me wheel you to the dining room now.”

I had already made arrangements for Mom to eat lunch and dinner in the Rehab dining room. I wondered again if we should have had her live in Spring Garden the first one hundred days and then moved her when Medicare ended. Why was I dwelling on decisions that had already been made? I waited for Mom to say something as I wheeled her to the dining room out of the locked doors of Fallstaff. She said nothing. I didn’t know what to say either. Our silence was mutual.

The dining room was elegant, a total contrast to the wing we had left. There was a fireplace at one end, and the residents ate on matching china dishes.

Max, I don’t know anyone here. I’m not talking to these people. Why should I? They don’t know my Hadassah friends. They didn’t play canasta with us. You, over there! Don’t look at me like that. You, that’s right, you, missy big eyes. Stop staring at me, or I’ll take your fancy Kleenex box when you’re not looking.

I sat with Mom and two other people who had been there for a month. They were pleasant and tried to talk with Mom, but she had nothing to say. I assumed she was trying to take in the surroundings.

Max, why are all these people so dressed up for lunch? Where are the men? There are all these widows and no men. It’s like a big hen party, only, I’m not a hen. I never did like being with so many women. Who is that sourpuss with the farbissina punam? You should put a napkin over your face before you go out in public!

Those first few days were another period of adjustment for Mom. Most of the residents who ate in that dining room were alert and talkative. At least I knew Mom was surrounded with people she could relate to if she chose. She thought she would be at the nursing home until she got her stamina back. She knew how sick she had been. She also knew she had to eat well and resume therapy to recover some of her physical strength. She must have thought she might return to her apartment. That was my other dilemma. Where would she live? For now, however, she wasn’t talking much, just observing.

Max, I’m tired of looking at the people who eat in this dining room. Iris, you may be book smart, but you’re not life smart. Get me out of here, and hurry up. I’ll only put up with so much. I am not going to start talking to these people with all their airs just because they have money. Don’t think I’m stupid. I eat here, and I sleep somewhere else, where the loonies are. You’d better not leave me there too long. All that screaming and the smell! Do you think my nose is stuffed up? I’ll cooperate for now, but you had better be planning to take me home! I’m glad you’re not here to see this, Max, but I won’t be here for too long.

Mom was singled out and resented by the other patients and some of the staff because Angie was with her part of the time. Only a few people in Mom’s section had outside help. As a professional, Angie noted when Mom’s care was not meeting acceptable standards. Thus, Angie was resented also.

Then there were Sheila and I. We were not well-liked either. Our insistence that

Mom receive “humane care” when she needed it stirred up more controversy. Humane is an important word. Sometimes, Mom pressed the call button at night, and no one answered. She told me she would call out “Help me. I need help. I have to go to the bathroom. I need help. Help me!”

After a while, she would soil herself, and sometimes, she wet the entire bed. Angie told us that there were days when she arrived when, although Mom was in her chair, her bed had been made rather than changed. There were urine stains on the bed. Angie showed the stains to the nurses and asked them for fresh sheets to change the bed.

Max, I’m back in the dining room again. Angie brought me here. It’s better when she takes me because we can laugh at the ridiculous goings-on here. Do you see these people? They’re all well-dressed but not like my sisterhood friends. These people know each other. Who are they? I’m in another beautiful-shmoodiful room. These people have visitors with them at some of the meals.

Ach, there’s that no-good Helen at the other table. Last night, she called me a pig because I ate all my food. If she calls me a pig again, I’ll let her have my food in her face and then I’m out of here. Ha! Won’t she have a laugh! I wonder if she knows what I’m planning. I’ll just finish my meal and go back to my room.

“Mrs. Ellis, you’re smiling. I’m so happy to see you smiling, sweetheart,” Angie said.

She put a fresh pillow under Mom’s head and fluffed up her hair. I watched from the other bed where I was sitting and talking to Mom before Angie arrived for the evening. I loved that Angie performed these extra niceties for Mom whenever she arrived. It was a part of her routine with Mom.

Max, it’s Angie who keeps me sane for now. I just smiled at her again. Now I’ll plan out the rest of my evening while she’s here. She can curl my hair, and we can play that card game she taught me at the other place. Maybe we can make plans for dinner tomorrow. Angie can cook for me like she did last night. Now that was eating!

Days at The Estates

A s the weeks ed, Mom decided she preferred to eat in her room whenever possible.

“I just like it better in my room. I have my things, my television, my pictures…”

I understood her choice because I would have reacted the same way. She wasn’t going to put herself in a room with people who offended her. Sometimes, the nurses took her to the Rehab dining room and forgot to bring her back after her lunch.

“It’s better for me to eat here so the nurses don’t leave me sitting there for a long time.”

Sheila and I were discovering that although this might be a beautiful nursing home when you walked through the front door, the care left a little to be desired. We still needed Angie five or six times each week. I believe it was Angie’s presence that kept Mom going.

I was sitting on the empty bed when Angie walked in one afternoon. “Hi sweetheart,” she said to Mom. “Look what I brought you today.”

Angie often brought Mom little gifts. That day, she brought her a radio, sugarfree candy, her own white sleep cap for the night, nail polish so she could paint

Mom’s nails, and dinner she had prepared. They would eat it together later. A strong bond was developing between them that unnerved me at first.

Jealous, yes, I was jealous at the strong bond that was developing between my mom and her aide. Here I was feeling like an outsider again. First it was Sheila and Mom. They had spent a lot of time together, shopping, eating, and sharing every little detail of their lives. Shelia had depended on Mom to help her. Where was I then? I was an hour away, mothering, teaching, and being a wife. In this instance, I knew better. Yes, I did experience pangs of jealousy, but I knew that I could not do what Angie did for Mom at this time in Mom’s life. Thank goodness Mom had Angie with her.

Angie was as young as my daughter. She had experienced a rough life and was raising her son as a single parent while putting herself through nursing courses. She floated into Mom’s room always ready to nurture her. Tall and broad of body, Angie was a presence. When she entered the room, she was light and ethereal. Like Mom, I was beginning to regard Angie as angelic.

At that time in Mom’s stay at The Estates, Sheila’s husband, Stuart, became seriously ill. He needed by heart surgery. What should have been a delicate but somewhat routine surgery developed into a nightmare of errors. Stuart would have to recover from some unplanned surgeries before he could have the by operation.

When Stuart became ill, I had to take over most of the daily decision-making about Mom. I didn’t want to bother Sheila. It was at that time that I began to forge a closer relationship with Angie. We were the two people seeing Mom daily and evaluating her care.

Amy

S ara Ellis’s days without a roommate came to an end when Amy was wheeled into the bedroom one afternoon. Amy had dementia. Her husband, Jack, was in Rehab on the other wing, and he visited Amy daily. Jack had been taking care of Amy at home with their daughter, when he got hurt from lifting her, so Amy came with him to the nursing home, but they had to be separated. When Amy smiled, she looked fragile and innocent. That was the only time she was sweet. She spent most of the evening screaming and talking in her sleep or her “unsleep.” She liked to cuss at my mother in her sleep.

“Verderharget!” Amy screamed one evening.

That means “drop dead” in Yiddish. Much to Amy’s surprise, Mom screamed back, “Verderharget to you. Now shut up, and let me sleep.”

“Iris, guess what Momma did last night?” Angie asked as I walked into Mom’s room. Angie had started calling Mom “Momma.”

“Momma told Amy to drop dead in Yiddish. Amy was cussing at Momma, and you know Momma. She needs her sleep. Well, Momma surprised her and cussed right back at her. I didn’t know what those words meant, but Momma told me.”

I was thrilled. My mother was able to defend herself even in the nursing home. No one was going to take advantage of her.

When Amy’s daughter arrived to visit her mother, I wondered if there was something odd going on. There was something weird about their relationship that I sensed rather than knew. Something seemed amiss.

Max, I keep watching this daughter with her mother. Something wrong is going on. That daughter, wearing all that fancy, expensive jewelry, is doing something to her mother that isn’t kosher. Angie and I talked about it last night. Why haven’t the nurses noticed her touching her mother in her private places? I think she’s putting creams on her under the sheets. I see her. Another meshugana in my life, but it’s none of my business. I just want her to get the hell out of here.

The presence of this other family in our lives at that time acted as a diversion to take the focus off Mom. One day, Amy told me I was beautiful.

“You are so beautiful, like me when I used to sing and act.”

When my son Michael arrived another day to visit his grandmother, Amy became a flirt. She forgot me immediately and focused on Michael. She seemed mesmerized by him. For a while, this seemed hilarious to us. We must have been desperate for humor. This woman with dementia was providing us with our entertainment, and we were enjoying it. A few weeks later, Amy left The Estates and returned to her home with her husband and her daughter.

Ina

M om was alone for another two weeks without a roommate. Angie and I convinced her to eat in the Rehab dining room again when one of us was there to sit with her. A few times, we sat with another resident from Fallstaff, Ina, and her daughter, Lydia. Ina was a large woman with long gray hair. She wore her hair braided. Ina was quiet and sweet.

“How’s your mother?”

Every time I walked past Ina, she asked me that question. Lydia worked and came straight to the nursing home from work. Whenever we sat with them, Lydia and Ina quibbled. Ina would end the argument by telling Lydia to “shut up.”

“You shut up, Lydia, you shut up.”

Quibbling aside, it was nice to sit with someone else, and I hoped Mom was enjoying it.

Lydia approached me one evening after dinner.

“What would you think about our mothers living together? My mother’s roommate is leaving, and before each of them gets a roommate they don’t want, maybe we could ask if they could live together?”

I didn’t answer at first. I was unprepared for the question. Lydia’s request made sense. Mom might get another roommate she didn’t like. On the other hand, Mom didn’t know Ina that well. Mom had Angie. Angie could only look after one person. I wondered if that might be why Lydia had approached me. Angie had polished Ina’s nails a few times because Angie liked Ina.

“Let me think about this, Lydia. I want to talk to my mother and see how she feels about this arrangement.”

Before I left for the evening, while I was brushing Mom’s hair, I talked to her about Lydia’s request.

“Mom, Lydia wants to know if you’d like to have Ina as your new roommate.”

“I don’t want a roommate. I’m not going to be here that long.”

“It’s just a thought, Mom. I don’t want you to have someone like Amy again while you’re here.”

“I really don’t know what Ina’s like,” Mom answered. “If she behaves herself and lets me sleep, it might be all right.”

“We’ll say yes, then, and see how it goes.”

I left that evening wondering what it might be like for Mom to have Ina for a roommate. Angie and I discussed it also. Neither of us was certain. We thought that Ina was a nice person. We just didn’t know her.

The next day, when I arrived at The Estates, one of the nurses approached me. Lydia had requested that Ina and Mom share the same room. Lydia told the nurses that I agreed, and the move was set up for the following day. I was somewhat taken aback.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I told the nurse. “If I agree, I’d like to be certain that Ina would be asked to move out if it doesn’t work.”

The nurse got back to me before she went off duty.

“Miss Iris, we’ll move Ina in with your mother tomorrow. If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll move Ina out.”

Ina’s things were in Mom’s room the next day. I presumed that Lydia had come during the night and put Ina’s pictures and television in the room. Now this tiny room held two televisions and many pictures.

“Well, Mom, what do you think?”

“I don’t know, Iris. She better shut her mouth at night. You know I need to have my sleep.”

“Hopefully, that won’t be a problem, Mom.”

Max, can you hear her? She won’t shut up. Oy, now she’s crying again. I keep calling out to her, “Be quiet, Ina. Stop that crying.” The more I call out to her, the more she cries. So now my roommate is a crybaby. I try to listen when she talks, but it’s all nonsense. I’ll call out to her again. “Stop that crying. Do you hear me? You’re a grown woman. Shame on you, Ina, crying like a child.” Do you hear what’s going on here? All day long, I look at those meshuganahs in the hall calling out. And the smell! Phew, it stinks! Then at night when I try to sleep, I’ve got this nudnick mashuganah in the next bed. What does she want from me? I’m a quiet person. I don’t bother anybody. Why am I made to suffer with this crazy old woman in the next bed?

Angie told me that Ina talked all night and often cried herself to sleep. Ina liked Mom a lot. She didn’t understand that she was irritating Mom by keeping her up at night. The bantering between mother and daughter that had seemed amusing at first was annoying now. Nothing was humorous as these two roommates argued during the night.

“I want to sleep,” Mom would tell her. “You shut up.”

Mom needed her sleep, and Ina was keeping her awake all night.

The next day, when I arrived at the nursing home, Ina called my name.

“Why doesn’t your mother like me?” Ina questioned. “Why does she argue with me?”

The living arrangements destroyed any chance of a possible friendship. Ina didn’t understand why Mom was disagreeable and unhappy. Mom would become moody, argumentative, and hostile whenever she was in Ina’s presence. Mom begged the staff to move Ina.

“Please, please, she keeps me up all night. I need my sleep. It’s not right. I can’t do my physical therapy if I don’t get any sleep at night.”

I met with the social worker to plead Mom’s case. It took two weeks, but the staff began to realize that this was a poor match. Ina’s daughter thought they would enjoy each other as roommates because they got along at dinner. Neither of us realized that there were differences in their health and in their habits. Each of them had different medical and social needs. They were not compatible as roommates. Ina couldn’t reason. She was a sweet old lady who liked my mother because she smiled at her and said a few kind words to her. I don’t think Ina processed the words. They were just kindnesses from one person to another.

Nursing Home Days

M ax, my darling, I’m at peace again. Look at my lovely Angie sitting beside me, knitting her pink blanket. At long last, there’s quiet in my room. I had a good night’s sleep last night, and today, I am refreshed. Ina – what a mess! Am I going to end up like her? Oy, what kind of a life is this? The sights I see here make me sick. I try to stay in my room. It won’t be long now. My strength is returning. I’ll get more sleep again and then I’m leaving. I’m going home. These people are old and sick. They don’t make sense. I can’t eat in their dining room. Most of them can’t even feed themselves. I don’t like that fancy dining room either, with all those uppity people. Why did they bring me here? Did they think I was like Ina or Amy, that other meshuganah?

Iris knows how unhappy I am here. She tells me, “Mom, I’ll find another place.” Damn right she will. I brought her up better than this. Angie will help Iris. Sheila can only help Stuart now. I never wished him any harm. He was always such a worrier. Now, look at him! Oy, I should be so sick, not Stuart. What can I do? Good-night, my love. I must sleep now.

I’m dreaming. Life is good. Ah, there I am in my white dress, twirling around and around. There’s Martin, my old boyfriend. He’s calling out to me to stay still so he can capture my loveliness in his pictures. So long ago . . . it was another lifetime, when I was young and beautiful.

A few months after Mom came to the nursing home, one of the nurses was fired for exhibiting rude behavior toward the residents. When I first met Madeline, the nurse in disfavor, she was yelling at my sister and arguing with Angie.

“You girls are spoiled. You want everything to be perfect for your mother.”

Later, as we got to know each other, we began to get along. She was tough, as many of the nurses and aides were. Being surrounded by the elderly who are unable to care for themselves can take its toll. I had worked hard to coax Madeline to my way of thinking. Often, I would stop at Starbucks on my way to visit Mom and bring Madeline an iced latte and a cranberry scone. She was appreciative of my thoughtfulness, and I was sorry she was leaving. In spite of her behavior, she was a good nurse. She took my hand and hugged me on her last day.

“Iris, you’re a good daughter. Sorry if I gave you a hard time. Don’t ever stop fighting for your mother’s care.”

I bid her farewell as I choked back my emotions.

Sunday evening was a quiet time at the nursing home. I was sitting in the hall while Mom was in the bathroom. The nursing shift was changing, and the head nurse for the evening rushed in holding her coffee cup. Her body language suggested annoyance at being at the nursing home, and her clinging to her coffee cup suggested a hands-off, I’m-not-on-duty-until-I-finish-my-coffee attitude.

I understood her conflict. I still had an hour’s drive before I could relax. I watched her hunker down into her chair. She sipped her coffee as though she had nothing else to do but savor the flavor. When she ignored the blinking call lights outside the residents’ rooms that indicated help was needed, I understood again how wretched and unfair the system was for our loved ones. I was face-to-face with the lack of caring and disinterest that much of the staff displayed toward these residents. Since most of the residents were suffering from dementia, they were unaware of what was missing in their care.

My mom was a victim of this system. If she continued to live here, she would become like the other residents. She would “sink to their level” because she wasn’t receiving stimulation from the residents and the staff. She was a misfit, but I was at a loss. Mom was receiving physical therapy but was beginning to resist the therapists. She was not in a depression yet, but…

I needed to do something to change the pattern and pace of my mother’s days. I just didn’t know what to do or how to bring about the changes needed to improve the quality of her life. The one thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t let my mother stay here much longer.

Max, Max, it’s quiet here tonight. Iris just left and Angie was here for a short while. She brought me dinner, her meat loaf. Not like mine, my darling, but very good. I sat here with Iris while I finished eating. Iris was quiet tonight, like me. It’s good not to talk, to just sit together. I think she has a lot on her mind. She and Angie get along well. They joke and laugh like sisters or old friends. I see Iris relax with Angie. I’m just biding my time. I’m stronger every day, and my stomach feels good again. Where will I go when I leave here? I hope I go back to my apartment. Did you ever see my apartment, Max? It’s nice except for the steps. If they can get me up the steps, I may never leave home again. I miss my things. I’m starting to forget how everything looks. I’d better get back there soon . . .

Inner Turmoil

O nce Mom moved into The Estates, Sheila began to insist in earnest that we dismantle Mom’s apartment. As the oldest daughter, and the one who lived closest to Mom, Sheila had the first power of attorney. I would have to abide by her decisions, which I did as time went on. However, once Mom entered the nursing home, Sheila accelerated our efforts to go through Mom’s belongings.

Dismantling Mom’s apartment was the hardest thing I have ever done. I did not have her blessing, and I had made her a promise that I wished to honor: that no one would take her possessions from her. I argued with Shelia, but she insisted.

“It just doesn’t make sense, Iris. You know she is never going to live in that apartment again.”

Of course I knew that, but I wanted to keep the apartment until Mom was well enough to tell us what she wanted to keep. I thought she might be able to do that in three to six months.

We divided her jewelry according to her will, yet Mom was alive. All I can think of when I recall that time were the tears I shed. I cried because I felt unloved by some of Mom’s decisions. I cried because I was frustrated. I cried because I was angry, yet I tried to be cheerful whenever I saw Mom, which was usually right after I left her apartment.

One of the worst days was when Sheila called out the pieces of jewelry, and I

had to locate them. I stood there holding each piece of jewelry in my hand as I reminisced about the times Mom had worn it. Other times, I tried to if I had given the particular piece to her and for what occasion. Sheila was emotionless and insensitive to my reactions. She received most of the jewelry. Every time she said “mine,” I thought my heart would break in half. A few times, I left the room to compose myself while she searched for the next piece of jewelry. I would not let her see my disappointment. Mom didn’t have too many valuable things, but I was bewildered by many of her decisions. We found a necklace with our children’s names on it that I had given to Mom for Mother’s Day. I took the necklace and broke it apart, handing Sheila the half with her children’s names on it and keeping the other half. She took her half without saying a word.

My stomach still spasms when I recall those days. I was on an emotional roller coaster, and I didn’t want to be there. Mom was alive, and we were dividing up her things. I wanted to be at the nursing home holding her hand, not dividing her possessions. I hoped that one day I would have the opportunity to ask her why she had divided her jewelry in such a biased fashion. I knew that I would never do this to my children. I learned from this awful situation that things don’t always make sense. It was almost like a betrayal, and I knew there was some reason Mom had for handling it this way, but if it was that old “she needs it more” excuse, I would be sad that she was so out of touch with how hurtful that was to me.

I gave most of Mom’s furniture to Richard’s brother, Carl. He understood that if Mom wanted it back, he would have to return it. My basement became a warehouse for other things of my mother’s.

“Iris, why don’t we try and sell Mom’s dresses and sweaters?”

I stared at her and opened my mouth to say something, but all that came out was “Don’t worry, Sheila. I’ll find room for them. She might improve and want more

of her clothes.”

Mom had knitted all her sweaters. I loved wearing them. I kept taking more things to my house. For eight months, her things were everywhere. Every room had Sara Ellis in it.

I found some of the missing puzzle pieces of my life as I rummaged through Mom’s drawers. Often, I could only work an hour at a time because everything I located had a memory. It was all there, my birth announcement, the report cards she had not given to me, and pictures I had never seen with faces I never knew.

The memorabilia that was my father’s was the most difficult for me to sort through. Forty-seven years-old, dead, one fatal heart attack, leaving a forty-two year-old wife, a fifteen-year-old daughter, and a seven-year-old. So many tears! Where do they come from?

My father had been a lawyer, a singer, and a city official. I had grown up proud of his achievements. I hoped that my children had inherited some of his traits. I saved his prayer shawl and some ties, a yearbook and some pictures, and then continued with the other memorabilia my mother had amassed.

Midway through this ordeal of unloading Mom’s apartment, Stuart got sicker. The doctors thought he had cancer too, and although it was contained, he was having a difficult time accepting the diagnosis. I was left alone to decide where everything would go. I stuffed costume jewelry into shoeboxes and tablecloths into bags, along with dozens of pairs of gloves in all colors and lengths, to store in my basement.

On the final day of Mom’s lease, I still hadn’t finished. I couldn’t do any more. I left my husband, Richard, and his brother, Carl, hauling boxes out of the apartment to the dumpster. I wish I had saved more of her things, but I tried, and that will have to be enough. Now I had to concentrate on my mother’s health.

1999, July: The Estates Nursing Home

W hen I visited the nursing home in July, I was preoccupied with decisions. Ever since that Sunday night when I had witnessed the night nurse’s attitude toward her job, I knew I had to do something to improve the quality of my mother’s life. She was living in the wrong place. Yes, she had needed a place to rehabilitate, but she was in the wrong wing. Our fault!

Sheila and I could and should have settled Mom in the Rehab wing. There, she would have had one hundred days in a more pleasing atmosphere and not been immersed in the world of dementia.

I heard laughter as I walked toward Mom’s room. As I stood in the doorway and listened, Angie was playing the radio and dancing for Mom.

“Come on, Momma, you can shake your shoulders. There you go. That’s right. You go, Momma.”

Mom had a huge smile on her face. I walked in and hugged her.

“Come on, Mom. Show Angie how you dance,” I urged her.

Mom was moving her shoulders and using her pointer fingers. For a few minutes, we forgot where we were.

Max, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. how we loved to dance? I wish I could always have good times like now. Right before Angie came, I was so worried. This is an awful place. Some of the nurses are okay, but the aides – ach. And the people who live here – oy vey, what can I say? How could my girls bring me here? I’m counting on Iris to be telling me the truth: I’m just here recuperating until I get my strength back. Then it’s back to my apartment, my sofa, my television, and my rules. I can make it here for a little longer, can’t I?

Summer Days at the Nursing Home

M om’s health began to improve. She had been at The Estates for almost three months. I decided it was time to take her away from the nursing home world for a few hours if she were well enough.

“I’d like to take my mother for a ride and lunch at a nearby shopping center,” I told the charge nurse.

“That would be fine, Miss Iris. Just be certain you take an aide with you. We’ll also coordinate her medicines for the time she’s out.”

“Angie, I think Mom’s ready to go out for an afternoon. Would you come with us? I don’t think I can get her in and out of the car by myself.”

“Iris, we’ll have a great time getting Momma out of this place.”

Angie fluffed Mom’s hair, and I leaned over to kiss Mom.

“What do you think, Momma?”

“As soon as you’ll take me, I’m ready to go,” Sara Ellis told us.

We put the wheelchair and the walker in the back of my Ford SUV. On our first outing, we spent two and a half hours shopping and eating and just walking around the mall at Towson Town Center.

“What do you think, Mom? Isn’t it wonderful, walking in the mall and driving in the car?”

“Wherever you take me is wonderful, girls.”

Max, it’s so beautiful outside. I forgot how blue the sky is. I don’t such a beautiful day. I’m free! I’m free! I’m a real person out for a drive with my daughters. Yes, Angie is my daughter too. I don’t care where we go just as long as we keep going. I’ll eat lunch in a restaurant with real people who aren’t too crazy. Then I’ll go shopping just like I used to do when I worked downtown. Then, I used to go shopping on my lunch hour. The girls in the office would give me their packages to return. They said I could always get the sales’ people to listen.

Maybe next time we go out, I can visit a friend. Yes, I’ll visit Ida. I haven’t seen her in a long time. Did Ida die? Okay, I’ll visit Lil. I’ll check up on her knitting. She doesn’t do it very well. We’ll start over. I’ll teach her to knit again. This time, she’ll do better. I’d like to go to synagogue too. I when you sang in the choir, Max. You had such a beautiful voice. Sometimes, when you practiced, I’d sing with you. Those were the days. Before we sang together, you were my Hebrew teacher. You said I was your best student. I guess I was. You married me. I’ll just have a little nap now. This ride is lulling me to sleep.

Two Weeks Later

M om’s health was improving as she continued to take her medicines and participate in the physical therapy. Angie brought her to my house, an hour’s drive from The Estates. The first time she stayed for only two hours. As time ed and her stamina improved, she stayed longer, but the steps leading into my house were a problem. I would have to ask the physical therapists to work on assisting Mom so she could walk the steps with more ease.

I developed an exercise program for Angie to do with my mom to increase her physical strength.

“Do I have to do any more, Angie?” Mom whined.

“Come on, Momma. You only have five more repetitions. You can do it.”

I was hoping that if Mom continued to do these exercises, she would strengthen her ts and be able to improve her walking. She needed to be able to do more functional movements so she could take a more active part in her own life.

Max, can you help me? These physical therapy sessions are hard for me. I don’t like to exercise, and now I have to exercise with Angie every day and with these therapists too. Why do I have to do this? I know, I know. If I want to visit Iris, I need to be able to get up those steps in her garage. I’ll try harder, but it hurts me so much. Have they all forgotten that I have arthritis? My back hurts all the time, but I will try a little more if they don’t push me too hard. I know that fat one

over there thinks I’m lazy. Don’t look at me that way, you fatso, or I’ll hit you with my cane. Where is my cane? She should only feel the pain I feel!

1999, August: The Estates Nursing Home

S heila’s husband, Stuart, was in the hospital again. He was recovering from by surgery and a tumor in his throat that the doctors had removed. He was given a feeding tube to make sure he was getting enough nutrition. I had visited both Mom and Stuart earlier one day and decided to spend the night at Sheila’s to avoid the long drive home. I thought she might enjoy some company.

The telephone rang, and I could hear Sheila arguing. Her voice was shrill and loud. I twirled my hair. I stood up and then I sat back down. I was expecting terrible news. Sheila started talking to me even before she walked into the family room where I was sitting.

“It was Mom, Iris. She wants me to come to The Estates and get her. Her bed isn’t right, and she’s uncomfortable. She says to pick her up, and she’ll stay here. Otherwise, she’s calling Angie. She’ll sleep on the floor there. She doesn’t care as long as someone comes and gets her. Iris, she was begging me to bring her here.”

Sheila started talking fast, like she does when she’s nervous.

“I can’t drive back there,” Sheila said. “I don’t see well at night. What should I do?”

“I’ll go over to The Estates and see what’s going on with Mom,” I told her. “I’ll figure something out. Then I’ll come back here.”

By the time I arrived at the nursing home, Mom was almost asleep.

“Hi, Mom. How are you? Are you comfortable? Sheila said you were complaining about your bed and some discomfort.”

Max, I did it. It worked. I got the attention I wanted, and it was easier to do than I thought it would be.

“Go on home now, Iris. I’m ok. They fixed the bed. I can sleep now.”

“OK, Mom, if you’re sure you’re all right. I drove here tonight because I’m spending the night at Sheila’s. I was too tired to drive home. I can’t drive back and forth any more tonight. I’ll leave now if you’re sure you’re feeling fine.”

“I’m fine, Iris.”

“See you tomorrow before I drive back home to Chevy Chase,” I said before I leaned over and kissed her.

Oh, Max, I did it. I’m still the one in charge here. This nursing place is not my

home. It’s a living hell and I’m going to get out of here. Now I’ve worried them. They know who’s in charge. I will not stay here much longer. I’m getting stronger, and my mind is still working. They had better be prepared.

I walked down the hall. On an impulse, I turned around and walked back to Mom’s room. I stood in the doorway. She appeared to be asleep, but I swear I saw a smile on her face.

Sara Ellis might be able to sleep, but I could not. Living in a state of anxiety was becoming the norm. I made an appointment a few days later with the head of the nursing home. I brought some notes I had written down about the lack of care on the part of the staff. I thought I was diplomatic in my choice of words. The director answered me cautiously.

“I understand your concerns, and I agree with you on some points. I think your mother needs someone she can talk to, a buddy, so she understands that there are some mentally cognizant people here. Your mother could have started here living in the Rehab and then moved when her Medicare expired.”

I know, I know, I thought to myself. I had been through those decisions over and over. It would have been a delay and then, wham, she would have been right back to where she was now.

Nothing changed after our talk. My mother did not meet a “buddy” to talk to. There was one private pay room available on the first floor, but the care would have been the same since most of the nurses rotated floors. Questionable care was the best I would see here.

In spite of the lack of care, with Angie’s persistence, Mom’s health was improving. She was getting stronger physically. She was walking a little more and was steadier on her feet. She could now walk up and down a few stairs. Her will to improve and to survive this period in her life became more pronounced. As she improved, I realized that, like me, she never accepted that The Estates would be her home. She always thought she was there to recuperate. I knew with certainty that I had to find a way out for her like I had promised. At night, I would sit at my kitchen table after my ride home and write on a yellow legal pad. I made columns of alternative places where she might be able to live. I called this project, “Save Grandma from the Nursing Home.” My goal was to find a better place for my mother to live.

Hope

B reakthrough! I located a woman, Elizabeth Wishman, who worked at The Jewish Council of Aging in Montgomery County, Maryland, where I lived.

“What resources might be available for my mother?” I asked her.

I described the living conditions where my mother resided.

“At times, I’m uncomfortable leaving my mother there. I don’t know how attuned she is to her life because she’s quiet a lot of the time I’m with her.”

This woman put me in touch with the John Hopkins Department of Gerontology in Baltimore. If I could get an appointment for my mother at Hopkins, I would be able to get a medical assessment of her health and find out the type of living environment where she would thrive. My adrenalin was pumping again. I carried my yellow legal pad with my “Save Grandma…” notes with me everywhere I went.

I was able to secure an appointment for Mom, and I scheduled it for October first. It was late August, and my spirits were renewed. I was hopeful again. Even Sheila didn’t dash my optimism.

“I’m not sure, Iris. I don’t like Mom’s living conditions, but The Estates is supposed to be the best place in Baltimore, and considering Mom’s financial

resources, we may not be able to afford some of the other residences.”

Although our mother had been able to save her money, she was not a wealthy woman. Therefore, there were certain places we couldn’t consider because financially we were unable to afford the costs. I was determined to see what we might learn about our mother after an evaluation at John Hopkins. Despite Shelia’s reticence, I completed the application forms for Mom’s appointment, including the following letter:

To Whom It May Concern: This is obviously a difficult time for us, the daughters of Sara Ellis. We watched our mother recover from being seriously ill for the first time in her life. She has made significant progress since her illness last March. Although this progress has been slow, it has been continuous. She was confused after her bouts with Haldol, and it took a long time for the effects of the medicine to wear off. She is the only person on her floor who can carry on a sensible conversation and who is aware of life outside of her residence. Yes, she needs care, which is why we are here, to determine the best care for her. However, with love and encouragement from her family and her caregiver, Angie, she continues to thrive. Left alone with only unresponsive aides, she will wither, and her spirit will fade. Often, in questioning her, we have to ask the question more than once because she doesn’t always take the time to think the question through. While this may indicate some cognitive impairment, with patience and persistence, her reasoning is there. I see it almost every time I am with her. I guess I’m just reminding you, the experts, to that she is not just another patient, but to us, she is someone who is very dear and who merits special, loving observation. Thank you for the opportunity to meet with you.

Sincerely, Iris Joy

The social worker at The Estates would write a letter also and include the medical information that was part of the application requirements.

1999, September: The Estates Nursing Home

“M om, I’ve arranged for you to have an interview at the John Hopkins Department of Gerontology. The doctors there are experts in their fields and will help us to decide the best living situation for you.” Mom smiled her all-knowing smile.

“Whatever you think, Iris. You’re the boss.”

Was this Sara Ellis talking to me? Was this my mother calling me the boss? I did not want to be anyone’s boss, least of all my mother’s. What I wanted was some direction from a trusted medical expert that would help us allow our mother to maintain her dignity for the remaining years of her life.

“I promise you, Mom, that we will find the right place for you to live.”

Max, my darling, I’m going to have an interview. What should I wear? I have to radiate confidence, and I want to look good, not like some schlepper from the loony bin. I’ll have Angie pick out something nice. Maybe I should go shopping. Oy, shoes! What kind of shoes should I wear? I only have these facocta tan shoes. I think Iris calls them sneakers. They will never do – and makeup, eye makeup. I need a hair appointment and a manicure. I hope I have time for all this. I want to make a good impression. Wait a minute. Is this a job interview? Am I going back to work? I forgot what Iris told me. Max, my love, whatever

should I do? If I don’t know where I’m going, how, how will I know what to wear? I’ll just be quiet and listen when Iris is talking to Angie. I’ll figure it out, and I will impress them, whoever they are.

Life at The Estates continued on as before. Often, when Angie was leaving for the night, I would hear Mom beg her to stay.

“Don’t leave, sweetheart. I want you to stay right here with me. You can get in bed with me and sleep here. If you don’t like that idea, you can sleep in the other bed in the room. No one is in it now.”

“Momma, I gotta go now. Steve, my boyfriend, is coming over, and I’m going home to make dinner for him. You can call me later. I’ll leave you the number, and you just call me if you get lonely.”

Angie told me that Mom did call her sometimes and beg her to come and get her. Mom told Angie she’d sleep on the floor at her house.

Of course, Angie did not come back and get Mom, but Mom’s calls to her only convinced me that I had to get my mother out of The Estates. As her health continued to improve, she was becoming more aware of this so-called life she was living. She had no one other than her family and Angie to talk to because there wasn’t anyone she met who could respond sensibly. I asked the physical therapist and Angie to continue to work with her on walking on flat surfaces and also up and down a few steps. I was attempting to get her more comfortable walking steps so she would continue to be able to visit me. I wanted her to be able to come to my house for the holidays and whenever else she wanted to visit. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a full bath or a bedroom on my first floor, so she couldn’t spend the night.

Angie and I were developing a close relationship. I felt secure when I left Mom at the nursing home if Angie were there. She was devoted to my mother, even bringing her boyfriend and son to visit.

One afternoon, when I was sitting with Mom, Angie entered with a surprise. It was her day off, so her visit was unexpected.

“Hi, Momma, look what I brought.”

A tiny dog was wiggling in Angie’s arms, and my mother’s face lit up.

“How do you do, little Buster?” Mom exclaimed.

Although Angie had named the dog Dollar, my mother never called him anything but Buster.

“Little Buster, that’s what you are. You’re a little Buster.”

1999, October: Sara Ellis’s Appointment at the John

Hopkins Department of Gerontology

I t was six months since my mother had been at The Estates, the nursing home that would never be her permanent home if I could help it. That day, October first, was her appointment at the John Hopkins Gerontology Department. Shelia, Angie, Richard, and I were accompanying her in a van to her appointment.

“Mrs. Ellis, I’m Doctor Greenly. I’m so pleased to meet you. Your daughter Iris speaks so well of you. You must be a wonderful woman.”

“Thank you. I am.”

Sara Ellis offered those words to Dr. Greenly as she wheeled her into an examination room. Angie went with them to answer a few questions. The rest of us were led into a conference room, where we met the social worker, Dr. Thomas. A few minutes later, Angie ed us after getting Mom settled with Dr. Greenly. Dr. Thomas began talking with us as soon as Angie sat down.

“I’d like each of you to express your feelings about Sara Ellis. I know you are here to find the best living arrangements for her, and I hope I can help you. I’m anxious to hear how you each perceive her health and her competence to live outside of a nursing facility.”

We each spoke a few sentences, and I tried to concentrate on what everyone was saying, but I was nervous and wondering how my mother was faring with Dr. Greenly.

After we spoke, Dr. Thomas informed us of the many types of residences and programs available. Most of the facilities were near the Bayside branch of John Hopkins and filled with a population that was foreign to the community where Sara Ellis had lived. Dr. Thomas wanted to help us find a good “home” for our mother because he felt that the elderly were often overlooked, and the choices available to them as they aged were lacking.

What a pleasure, I thought, to be talking to a professional who understood our situation and was eager to help his patients. I shuddered ing the contrast to my Mom’s family doctor who had said, “There’s nothing I can do for her. She’s an old woman.” My heart began to sing as my doubts and research about her residing at The Estates were validated.

Dr. Greenly and Mom returned a few minutes later. Mom was wheeled in her wheelchair to the head of the conference table and then Dr. Greenly spoke to us.

“I’ve examined your mother, and I find her to be healing well. I read her history that you faxed from the hospital and the nursing home. I also had time to do some tests with your mother and present some problems for her to solve. She did well. Of course, she made some mistakes, but that’s to be expected. Although she has quite a bit of healing to do, I concur with you that she can function in a different living environment and should not be denied better conditions if you’re capable of providing them.”

My mother was capable of living in a different environment where she would thrive and become stronger – those were the words that were dancing over and over again in my mind.

Relief was followed by the ever-present questions.

Was my mother the same vibrant woman she had been the year before she had gotten sick and become incapable of taking care of herself? Dr. Greenly explained that the colitis, the diabetes, and the decubitus sores, the assistedliving experience, the hospital stay, in short, all that Mom had been through in the past year had weakened her physically, mentally, and emotionally. She had lost a considerable amount of physical strength and found walking difficult and tiring. But – she could improve if she had the desire and determination and if she was up to the task.

Now that we knew that Mom could survive outside of the nursing home where she lived, the question was, where could she live now? My husband, Richard, and I, had been researching other nursing facilities with more independent living. The problem, in addition to the cost, was that Mom needed help. She couldn’t live alone and would not be able to function well enough by herself in an assisted-living environment. No facilities that matched her needs were within our financial budget. I was skeptical to suggest a place near me because I lived an hour away from my sister, and Mom had never lived away from Baltimore.

The Interim

I n the interim, it was back to the nursing home for Sara Ellis. Dr. Greenly was willing to keep Mom as her patient once she moved. Both Dr. Greenly and the social worker, Dr. Thomas, agreed that if we could find the right facility for Mom, she should thrive. Yes, she had mild dementia. She was eighty-nine and a half years-old, but she deserved to live out her life in a loving home. The doctors would provide and assistance to Mom and her family in whatever ways they could.

My sister was dazed. She could not help me. She had her hands full taking care of my brother-in-law. He was helpless and living in a rehabilitation home. His by surgery had turned into a never-ending nightmare. He couldn’t eat on his own because he couldn’t swallow. He still had a feeding tube to receive nourishment. Shelia would have to put her faith in me because she needed to devote her time to Stuart. She could not help financially either. There I was, the daughter who lived an hour away, who had always struggled to find her place in the triangle of this family, again in charge, as I had been since my mother had become ill. My sense of protecting my mom and making certain she ended her days with the same dignity with which she had managed to live her life was and had been my primary goal.

Max, I put my girls’ upbringing and education first. I worked long hours to raise them. Now it’s their turn to take care of me. I never thought it would come to this. I have to depend on them now.

I like Dr. Greenly. She thought I was cute. I smiled the entire time even though I wasn’t sure of the answers to all those questions she asked me. She noticed my beautiful skin right away, just like the rabbi did when he visited me a few weeks ago. He said, “Mrs. Ellis, where did you get that beautiful skin?” I looked up at

the heavens and said, “He gave it to me.” I told Dr. Greenly the same thing. But that social worker, what was his name? He won’t find the right place for me to live. It’s going to be up to Iris, I guess. Angie will help her. I could go home, but I’m not sure I where home is. I Field Avenue, but the other place – when did I live there? I can’t start to forget now. I’m trying so hard to hold on.

I have to get out of this nursing place with those nurses. They don’t like me because they know I’m on to them. I only like Angie. She’ll take care of me, Angie and that little dog, Buster, I think, who licks my face. Come here, little Buster, come here while I sleep.

How to Save Grandma

from the Nursing Home

I continued to take the yellow legal pad with me wherever I went. I kept jotting down places and options and creating various possibilities that might be feasible for Mom. The same mental struggle that led me to the John Hopkins Department of Gerontology continued to invade my thoughts. I must save my mother from the nursing home. These words were becoming a mantra – “save Grandma from the nursing home.” I included my children and my nephew Mathew in my plight. How could we save Grandma from the nursing home? That was how I thought of our plight.

Late one evening, a few weeks after mom’s evaluation at John Hopkins, I had a phone conversation with Angie. The gist of the conversation was that Angie needed to move out of her apartment. The neighborhood was not conducive to bringing up a teenage boy. They had already had one unnerving experience that could have ended in violence. This incident lit the spark for Angie that it was time to find a safer environment for her and her family. Their landlord had stopped being available to their needs, so Angie was ready to make some new decisions.

I heard the panic and sadness in her voice. I knew we were getting too involved. Angie was our employee, and I was talking to her as my friend. The truth is, she was becoming my friend because of our close proximity. She was taking care of my mother, and I talked to her even more than I talked to my husband or my children. I had thought several times of how I might incorporate Angie as a permanent person in my mother’s life. Could we come to a working arrangement that would free Mom from the nursing home at the same time that Angie needed a place to live with her son and her boyfriend?

I enlisted my husband’s after I did some scouting around for possible living arrangements.

“Richard, I found a three-bedroom, ground floor apartment in a suburb in Baltimore, close to Shelia. I think it would be a perfect home for Mom to live in with Angie and her family. Can we do this? Can we help Mom to resume her life outside of the nursing home? Shelia would be able to visit whenever she wasn’t with Stuart.”

Richard agreed to help me think this through before we made a decision. How could we be certain this would be a good solution for Mom? We couldn’t be certain. That was the bottom line. We were gambling on trying to create a solution. We decided the gamble was worth it, and Richard agreed to take a look at the apartment with me.

Together, Richard and I walked through the apartment. Richard questioned the wisdom of Angie and her not quite “kosher” family living together with Mom.

“I’ve thought this through, Richard. Look, I don’t know if this will work, but hear me out. Mom can have this large bedroom at the end of the hall with the bathroom on one side, and Angie and Steve can sleep in the room next door. Then Drew, Angie’s son, can live in the bedroom on the other side of the apartment.”

“How will Angie get your mom down those eight steps into the apartment?”

“I’ve thought that out too, Richard. Angie can push Mom in the wheelchair around the outside of the apartment to the sliding glass doors that lead into the living room until Mom is strong enough to walk the steps. That way, Mom will enter directly into the living room.

“Listen to this, Richard,” I gushed in my enthusiasm. “We can bring the old sofa from the beach here for the living room. Your brother, Carl, has some of Mom’s furniture on loan. We can bring back her dining room table and chairs, her cocktail table, and a comfortable chair.”

I was wound up now, picturing how this could all come together.

“Slow down, Iris,” Richard interjected. “Let’s think this through again. We need to talk about this with Angie. Shelia too needs a voice in this arrangement, and what about Steve?”

“What about Steve?” I questioned.

“Come on, Iris. You know your mother. Steve is Angie’s boyfriend. They’re not married. You know how your mother thinks.”

“I know how my mother thought,” I responded. “Things are different now, Richard. My mom is different. All I know is, she can’t stay at The Estates much longer. She’ll fade away. I promised her I would find a place for her to live. This proposal is so outrageous, it might just work. We would have to talk to both Mom and Angie, and we would have to work out a very specific working agreement with Angie as to her responsibilities and duties with Mom. It won’t be all that easy for her either.”

Richard and I spent days figuring out the details. We would rent the apartment for Mom, Angie, and her family. In return, Angie would take care of Mom, and Mom would be out of the nursing home!

Lofty plans!

Planning to Move Mom

O f course, Mom was thrilled to know she was going to leave The Estates. Angie thought this might be the perfect solution for a move at this point in her life.

I returned to the apartment several times before giving a deposit. I was full of the jitters too. There was no way I could know if this arrangement would work, but I needed to try it for Mom.

Since Mom still wasn’t able to walk down all eight of the steps into the apartment, Angie would have to wheel her to the back of the apartment so Mom could enter through the sliding glass doors into the living room. The only problem with this wheelchair ride was the big tree with the large roots that looked as though a giant had left his footprints there. Holding on to maneuver the wheelchair over the tree’s roots would be a test of strength for Angie. In addition, the rental agency needed three weeks to get the apartment painted and made handicap-ready with the modifications that Dr. Greenly had suggested.

I had called both Dr. Greenly and Dr. Thomas for their input on moving Mom into an apartment with Angie as her caregiver. Angie had almost completed her nursing degree and had a nurse’s aide certification. She knew how to monitor Mom’s diabetes, knew how to care for Mom’s ulcerated sores, knew how to monitor her medicines, and, in general, could take care of Mom’s nursing needs. She would drive to the hospital for Mom’s appointments with the gastroenterologist and the wound care specialist and also to John Hopkins to see Dr. Greenly. She would also cook Mom’s meals. Doctors Greenly and Thomas blessed this arrangement, so I was only waiting for Shelia’s decision.

“I’m not all that sure, Iris, but maybe you have come up with a solution to avoid another nursing home. I’ll go along with your plan. After all, I’ll be less than five minutes away, and I can visit Mom on my way home from visiting Stuart and when I need a break from the Rehab. With Mom so close, I can visit whenever I want.”

I was happy that Shelia wasn’t fighting me on this big decision, but I was concerned about her health too. Stuart wasn’t getting better. He had received a pacemaker, but he still had the feeding tube, and this was preventing him from going forward in his life. This constant worry over Stuart was wearing Shelia out. I tried to make most decisions on my own to ease her already overburdened life.

Mom was quiet with all these plans going on. She smiled more than usual, and she beamed every time Angie walked into her room. Steve, Angie’s boyfriend, kissed Mom whenever he visited and had started to call her “Mom” too. I still didn’t know how Drew felt. He never said much when I saw him. He was fifteen, and I wondered how he felt about living with a white woman that his mother was nurturing.

Max, I’m really going to get out of here. Thank goodness. Iris is doing it. She’s keeping her promise. I’m going to a new apartment with Angie and her boyfriend Steve.

Iris and Angie took me took me to see the apartment. I couldn’t tell anything. It was empty, and it was big. I’ll sleep in the largest bedroom I’ve ever slept in, and there’s plenty of room for my things, if I can where they are. I like Steve a lot, and I hope he marries Angie. He already calls me Mom. It’s okay. If he’s good to me, I don’t care what he calls me. There’s also a boy, Angie’s son, Drew. I don’t care about him as long as he doesn’t bother me. He seems like a nice, respectful boy, but I don’t know much about boys.

Can you believe it, Max? A white woman, me, Sara Ellis, living in an all-black household! What the hell do I care? I love Angie. She needs a mother. Maybe I’ll do a better job this time. I’ll listen more, and I’ll hear Angie when she talks to me. I didn’t have time to hear Iris. I was too busy working and taking care of Momma and then Momma was in the nursing home. I’m a lucky woman. My girls are honoring me in my old age.

Although Mom didn’t say much to me about her move, I knew that Angie and Mom loved each other. Whenever I talked to Mom, she just said “when” and that was good enough for me to keep to our decision to move her. Along with Dr. Geenly’s blessing and the blessing of Dr. Thomas, Shelia and I were ready to help Mom get settled into her new home. Carl, Richard’s brother, said he would return Mom’s furniture for her new apartment.

“I knew it was just a temporary loan, Iris. You know I would do anything for your mother.”

And that’s how it was. Sara Ellis had inspired love in those people she let into her life. She didn’t let too many people in, but when she did, they loved her back and would go to great lengths to please her.

The Last Days at The Estates: The Engagement

“M omma, momma, look at the beautiful ring Steve bought me. Hey, Iris, you’re here too? Look what my sweetie bought me.”

“Angie, it’s beautiful. Wow! When’s the wedding?”

“Wait a minute, Iris. Momma, you haven’t said one word. What’s the matter with you? Aren’t you happy for me? We’re going to be planning a wedding.”

“Your ring is beautiful, Angie. May your mazel be just as good.”

“She means may your luck be as good as your beautiful ring. I’m so happy for you, Angie. Are you certain this is a good thing? I just want to make sure. Last month, you were so angry with Steve that you wanted to kick him out.”

“Will you listen to your little Iris Joy, Momma? She’s acting more like my mother than you, Ma. Don’t worry, sweetie. I know one thing. I love Steve, and Drew likes him too. And Steve, he loves Momma. All this good stuff is happening at the same time in my life, so it must be right. Momma, I want you to give me away at the wedding. You’re the only momma I got. And Iris, I want you to be my matron of honor. I love you like a sister. You just gotta say yes.”

So many things were happening, and all of them were good. My mom was leaving the nursing home in three weeks. We were busy setting up home visits with some of the doctors, figuring out how to accommodate Mom’s needs, trying to get her as much physical therapy while she could get it, and now, a wedding. At least Angie would be almost married when they moved into the apartment. The old Sara Ellis would have demanded that. The only sad thing was, my brother-in-law, Stuart, was still in rehabilitation and was getting more depressed by the day.

Max, listen to how much Angie and Iris talk. They get along so well, and I’m getting out of this nightmare. That’s all I know. The rest will take care of itself. I’m smiling on the inside and listening to Angie as she goes over her wedding plans. I love that I can just sit here and listen, and no one knows what I’m thinking. Sometimes, I close my eyes, and they all think I’m asleep, but I’m always listening.

As I looked over at Mom’s smiling face as she sat in her chair, I thought that she took pleasure in knowing that no one knew what she was thinking.

1999, Late October: Moving Day

M oving day came before the apartment was ready. My husband and his friend, Sam, were moving Mom’s furniture into the apartment as we arrived with Mom. The previous night, they had moved some of Angie and Steve’s furniture. Shelia and Angie brought Mom from The Estates. What a day! Rain and more rain! Tempers were a little short. Mom’s room was the first one that had to be ready. We also tried to have the living room with a television set ready so Mom would have a place to relax while Richard and Sam set up her room.

“Iris, where do you want the dresser placed? On which wall?”

“Should the small television set go in your mom’s bedroom?”

At 1:00 p.m., I went to the market to bring back sandwiches and cold drinks. I would go again to the grocery, later, if there was time.

Max, Max, would you look at what’s going on. Iris is running in and out of every room, carrying things and putting them in one place, then changing her mind and moving them somewhere else. Every few minutes, she asks me, “Do you want it here?” Just decide, Iris. It’s not important today. I’ll keep my mouth shut and smile at everyone. There aren’t any nurses here, and nobody is drooling or walking up and down the hall babbling. I thought I would go crazy there. I left you in a good nursing home, Momma, and you died within three months. Thank goodness your mind was gone. Well, I have news. My mind is still here. I may

forget some things, but I a lot, and I think I will even more now that I’ll have peace and quiet. Are my eyes closing now? That’s all right. I think I’ll just doze a little until I can get into my own room and sleep in my own bed. I hope it’s my old bed.

October 27 and the Following Weeks

W hat a day! Mom now had a new family, including a dog, fish, and a bird. She had her own room again, and a week later, a hospital bed was brought in because she needed a special airflow mattress to help her decubitus sores heal.

The good news was, no nursing home. All seemed wonderful at first. For a few months, although things had to be ironed out, the days were calm, and Mom appeared to be happy. She knew that she was still weak, but now she had people around her to talk to and people who cared for her. I was laughing again. I was coming home early and going out to dinner with Richard. I had time to talk to my children.

1999, November: The Blue Chair

A few weeks after Mom moved to the apartment, Angie called early in the morning. She told me that it was becoming difficult for her to lift Mom in and out of the wheelchair. She wanted me to find a chair for Mom that was both a recliner and that would also bring Mom to the edge of the chair when she needed to stand up. I called Richard at work, and we met at the La-Z-Boy store in Rockville, Maryland, on Richard’s lunch hour. We found a blue chair that reclined, with a foot rest, and it also had a lever to bring Mom either to a seated position or to the end of her chair. We bought the chair, put it in a truck that Richard drove in from work, and delivered the chair that evening. Steve and Drew helped Richard, using a dolly to wheel the chair around to the back of the apartment and brought it in through the sliding glass doors that Mom used to come into the apartment. From that time on, the blue chair became Mom’s favorite chair except at mealtimes.

Max, do you see me? It’s me, Sara Ellis, your Sara, sitting in a dream chair. I never could have imagined sitting in a chair like this. My legs are up, and my back is relaxed. I can close my eyes and wake up without pains in my legs and in my back. I’m relaxing on a dream bed, but it’s a chair. Oh, Max, how I wish you could sit here with me and feel this chair. I’ll move over and imagine you’re next to me. Yes, we’re two old lovers sitting close together and cooing. Now this is the life!

ing

A s the weeks went by, Mom was starting to things from before she was sick. One morning, I woke up to the dreaded phone call. Mom was screaming at me. She was beginning to some of her things that she hadn’t thought about when she was sick. Yes, she was beginning to question where her possessions were.

How could I get rid of her things? How could I allow the lease on her apartment to lapse?

She wanted to go back to her old apartment. She wanted to see her things.

She wanted all her furniture, not just the furniture we brought.

“Mom, please calm down. I just woke up.”

It was six-thirty in the morning, and Mom insisted that Angie wake me up.

“Mom, you always told me to agree with Shelia. When your lease on your apartment was about to expire, you had just moved to the nursing home. You couldn’t make any decisions then because you were too ill. Shelia wouldn’t let me keep the apartment. She told me over and over that you were never going back there because you couldn’t walk up all those steps. She also insisted that you could not be by yourself any longer. You know that’s true, Mom. That’s

what she told me, and I didn’t have a choice.”

Max, my Max, what have these girls done? How could they do this to me? What the hell is the matter with Shelia? She should have known better. She lives closeby. She could have kept my apartment. All night long, I was ing. I was ing my things, my knitting, my yarn, my papers, my dishes, all those things that I’m used to seeing. I yelled for Angie. I insisted she wake Iris. Now I’ve upset Iris too. Can you believe it, Max, this time Iris ed to get along with Shelia? This is the time she shouldn’t have listened to her. Now it’s time to call Shelia too. Oy, Max, what am I to do?

I stood my ground with Mom as I reminded her of her constant onitions to me to “listen to your sister, and stay close.” I also reminded her that Stuart was still in the hospital’s Rehab department and that Shelia could not cope with everything right now.

“You made Shelia your first power of attorney, and since you were too sick to help us in our decisions, I had to follow Shelia’s instructions.”

When I visited Mom later that day, I brought with me some of her yarn, her knitting needles, more clothes, some costume jewelry, and some perfumes and powder, things I hadn’t been able to part with when I had been going through her personal items as I dismantled her apartment. Going through her private things and getting rid of some of them had been painful. Since I was lucky enough to have my mother alive and getting better, I decided to ask her directly why she had distributed her things in such a hurtful way. Before she could answer me, I made excuses for her to myself in order to protect myself.

“Mom, why did you give so many of your things to Shelia? Was it because you think I have everything I need?”

“I guess so, Iris. Shelia doesn’t have what you have. She needs the jewelry more. You always wanted my ring, and that’s why I left it for you. Shelia doesn’t have a fur coat or lots of things that Richard can give you.”

Enough! Please don’t say another word, I said to myself, holding back my tears. This hurt would take a long time to heal. It was like a wound that would get better in time but always leave a little scar. On some level, as a mother, I understood that we nurture the one we think needs nurturing, without realizing the hurt we may be inflicting on the other child. I stopped listening to the rest of her explanations. It was as I had thought, and I vowed never to hurt Michael and Lily that way.

Max, oh, Max, now I’ve hurt Iris again. You know I never gave a second thought to my decisions. I didn’t realize how attached she was to my things. I guess I should have known. She took my cedar chest years ago and displays it in her guest bedroom. She also has our old secretary desk with the drop down top. I should have ed that she loves old things, only, I never thought about it. I spent so much time with Shelia that I just assumed I should give her most of my jewelry. Iris never asks for anything. She’s always been so self-sufficient. She and Richard have such a beautiful home, and they have the house in Florida. Why would she want my things? Who knew? She’ll get over it. She’s strong like me. I know that, so I won’t let this worry me too much. I never seem to do the right thing for Iris, but I do love her, Max. I love her so much, and I never let her know.

1999, December: Death

S tuart ed away in December. I felt his death never should have happened. Mom was beside herself. She cried and cried in spite of all their many disagreements. She had loved Stuart. He had been a part of our family for over forty years.

“It should have been me. I’m an old woman.”

“It wasn’t in the plan, Mom. You know that Stuart had expected to die young.”

Stuart had polio as a teenager, and after the experience of an iron lung, he never expected to live a long life. He had talked to Richard and me about his worries, and I had made him a promise that I would be there for Shelia.

Shelia now had extra time on her hands although she was grieving. She visited Mom more, but it was at this time that Angie and Shelia began to squabble. They argued over everything.

One Sunday morning, Shelia called Angie and asked to come over after breakfast. Angie had insisted that Shelia call first before visiting. Angie asked Shelia to come later since Angie was going to church and needed time to get cleaned up and to get Mom cleaned up and dressed.

Shelia kept up a continuous harping monologue about how she wouldn’t be a

bother and would spend the time talking with Mom.

I received the first of what was to be many calls from Angie complaining about the lack of respect she was receiving from Shelia. Angie begged me to make Shelia understand that Angie needed her privacy too. She needed her own space, which meant that it was not always convenient to have Shelia pop over. In addition, on this particular visit, Shelia brought her friend Peter. Angie said they weren’t just visiting with Mom but were walking around the apartment so Shelia could show Peter what it looked like. By coincidence, Peter lived in the same apartment complex in a smaller apartment. Angie was annoyed that while she was in the bathroom getting dressed and putting on her makeup, Shelia was walking into her bedroom to show it to Peter. Angie felt that was an invasion of her privacy, especially since Steve could have been asleep. Shelia even knocked on Drew’s door, but he told Sheila he was listening to his music. Angie couldn’t understand why Shelia was knocking on her son’s door.

This was not the first time I had sensed friction between Shelia and Angie. I couldn’t figure out why Shelia was giving Angie a hard time. Mom was doing well, and for the first time in a year, we didn’t have to worry about her happiness.

The arguing continued despite my talks with Shelia to please allow Angie the freedom to handle things on her own and to respect Angie’s privacy. Each of them would telephone me, and I was in the middle, juggling their feelings and their complaints.

On my way to my mom’s to see how she was doing, I stopped to visit Shelia to discuss the problems she was having with Angie.

“Shelia, please try and be more reasonable. I know you want to be able to walk

in and visit whenever you feel like it, but this is also a home for Angie, Steve, and Drew. They need time to establish their own little family group that Mom has entered. Try and call first. Also, I think we need to cover for Angie on occasion so she can get her own personal errands done. Everyone gets a day off.”

I had never thought about that when I had made the arrangements for Angie to care for Mom. However, I was willing to be accommodating because despite the friction between Angie and Shelia, Mom was thriving.

“Iris, I think Angie takes advantage of us.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Shelia. Let’s try and be reasonable. I don’t want to lose Angie now when we have a good home for Mom.”

It was less than two months since Mom had moved into the apartment, and I thought that Shelia was looking for problems. How quickly she had forgotten the way it had been in the nursing home. Had she been so immersed in her own troubles that she had failed to realize how terrible the conditions had been for Mom at the nursing home? Didn’t she see how much happier Mom was now? Mom was even doing a little cooking from the table. She was mixing things in bowls, and one day, she even ironed. These activities would keep her present in the world she used to inhabit.

I left Shelia’s feeling no better than when I had arrived. Could it be that Shelia was jealous of the relationship that had developed between Mom and Angie? Shelia and Mom had seemed so close for many years. Mom had advised Shelia on every decision she made and helped her at times with the cooking and cleaning. Now, with a deceased husband, a mother who wasn’t functioning like she once functioned and who was dependent on someone else, Shelia was at a

loss. Not only had she lost her husband, but, in a way, she had lost her best friend when Mom had gotten sick. However, there could only be one chief right now for our mother, and that had to be Angie.

I too had suffered some feelings of jealousy early on, but those feelings turned to gratitude and relief. Angie provided a service I could not provide. This was a full-time job no matter who the caregiver was. Shelia was grief-stricken, and I don’t think she could accept her diminished role in our mother’s life. She needed to be in control of something because she was floundering over these two losses. Perhaps she needed to return to the nest, only, the nest was full.

Max, Max, I’m pretending to watch television while Shelia sits on the couch talking with Peter. Yes, she’s brought him again. I like him, you know. He and Shelia used to work together, and he does all my legal work. He’s a nice guy. I can’t stop thinking about Shelia, my firstborn daughter. I love her without question, but she must be on her own now, just as I had to be when you died. I need all my strength to get well. I’m not going back to that nursing home, and Angie is the only one who can take care of me. Iris understands that. She arranged for Angie to take care of me. Shelia must take care of her own problems now. She’ll have to be in charge someplace else.

Despite the tension that Shelia was causing, Mom was getting better every day. She loved “Buster” and fed him under the table whenever Angie wasn’t looking.

“Momma, Buster’s getting too fat. You have to stop giving him all that table food.”

Even Angie had started calling the dog Buster instead of Dollar.

There were some minor glitches figuring out Mom’s appointments and making certain that Angie had some free time, but the majority of the time, both Angie and Mom were functioning well together. I had no background in nursing, so I was grateful to Angie’s skills. Even when Mom visited me, she couldn’t spend the night because I didn’t have a bedroom or a full bath on the first floor. Still, Angie brought Mom for our annual Thanksgiving dinner at my house, although Steve and Drew couldn’t come. We celebrated Chanukah at Mom’s new apartment with her extended family, and she celebrated her first Christmas with Angie and her family. I loved watching Mom’s face as she lit the Chanukah candles and again as she sat around the Christmas tree in her blue chair, watching everyone open their presents and then opening her own gifts. This first Christmas at the apartment proved to me that Christmas is not only for children.

2000: The New Year

A ngie and Steve were making wedding plans, and Angie was including Mom in all her decisions.

Max, I’m getting better. My thinking is a little clearer now. My family is here, and no one is arguing. Can you imagine I celebrated my first Christmas? Me, an old lady, singing Christmas carols, and I ed the words. I wish Angie and Steve hadn’t left for church. I think she likes to leave when Shelia comes to visit. Shelia still can’t understand that it’s Angie who takes care of me. She bathes me, cooks my meals, checks my blood sugar, and gets me dressed and undressed. I still can’t do it by myself. I don’t always know what I’m eating, but it’s good food, like I used to cook. So nu, who cares? I’m alive, and I have my bedroom furniture. I look out at my same living room pictures and sit at my dining room table every day. I watch my stories in the afternoon, like I used to, and I watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy every night. Sometimes, I play bingo with Angie and Drew before Steve comes home. He always walks in and kisses me after he kisses Angie. Life is good now.

As the wedding plans continued, Angie was insistent that I be her matron of honor. She still intended for Mom to give her away. My son Michael would wheel Mom down the aisle in her wheelchair.

“You’re my sister, Iris. You and Momma are the only real family I got.”

She did not, however, ask Shelia to be in the wedding.

When I discussed the wedding with Shelia, she gave me her usual sour reply.

“I guess Angie doesn’t like me as much as she likes you. Well, you’re the one paying her salary, so I guess she has to like you.”

Why was I always stung by Shelia’s remarks? I was always in the middle. I understood some of Shelia’s feelings, but often, I thought she was purposely rude to me. Even as a child, I had fought with these feelings. She always had the last word, but we were adults now, and it was time to let the old behaviors and the usual responses to them fade away.

As the wedding plans accelerated, so did the phone calls from Angie. Most of the calls were related to Shelia.

Angie complained that Shelia was bugging her again, trying to make her feel like she was some kind of a servant. The most distressing complaint was that Angie thought Shelia was prejudiced.

I began to dread the telephone calls, and I started crying again. I had always argued with my sister. We were different, but now was a time when we should be united. It was in Sheila’s nature to be bossy toward me. She liked to be in charge, and now, she had the time. Maybe it was being the “big sister.” Maybe Shelia wasn’t aware of her attitude, but when someone tells me what to do over and over again, I get defensive. I felt certain it was the control issue again, and I wasn’t going to let it color my life any more than it already was.

Shelia started to visit Mom more often, which was good news. Mom loved having company, and I’m sure she was happy that Shelia wasn’t bugging Angie.

However, every time she returned from Mom’s, she’d call me with a list of complaints. First the apartment manager called and complained that the boy living in the apartment was playing his music too loud. I reminded Shelia that this was common among teenagers. I ed thinking I’d be deaf when my son, Michael, lived at home.

Shelia’s name was on the apartment lease because she lived close-by, so when Angie called the superintendent with complaints about wood dust falling from the cabinets into their food, the apartment manager called Shelia. Again, Shelia was unreasonable, arguing that Angie wasn’t always neat and tidy and why bother the management with these trivial details.

Max, Max, I was right. I am better. I so much more than I did at the nursing home. I’m starting to forget that place. I hope I forget it all. My stomach is better, and Angie always re to check my blood sugar. I only need a pill every now and then. Okay, I know it’s not perfect here. Angie cusses too much, but so what? Things could be worse, as I know so well, and I can cuss with the best of them. She kisses me every day, sometimes several times a day. I like to be kissed, but I wish the kisses were from you, Max. Angie’s hands are soft. She massages my legs and manicures my fingernails. Some days, she brings my meals to the little TV table so I can watch television while I eat. Angie has a lot of nieces, and they visit all the time. Sometimes, they run around too much, and I get a little angry at them. “Stop it. Sit down, and behave yourselves.” They listen to me for a few minutes and then go back to what they were doing. I know nothing lasts forever. I can handle things now. I’m getting strong again. I may not be able to walk too much, but my mind is good. I hope these three children don’t spend the night again.

2000, February

A ngie was finding it difficult to push Mom’s wheelchair on the hard ground outside. It was all uphill, and the cold weather and large roots of the tree behind the apartment made it a problem for Angie to push the wheelchair by herself. She called and asked me to help her take Mom for her appointment with Dr. Lee, the gastroenterologist. I agreed, and together, we helped Mom walk up the eight steps from the apartment to the parking lot. This was easier for us than trying to push the wheelchair, but it entailed a plan. First, we had to bring the walker up the steps and then we had to bring the wheelchair up. One of us stood behind Mom in case she fell backward. Once we got Mom up the steps, she was able to use the walker to get to the car. We decided that since we had expended so much effort getting Mom into the car, we would make an outing out of the day.

First, we saw Dr. Lee, who was pleased with Mom’s progress with her colitis, which had stabilized. After that good report, we took Mom to the mall for lunch and a little shopping. One of us would wheel Mom in the wheelchair and look at things in the stores while the other shopped. Mom gazed at everything. She had always loved to shop, much more than I did.

Max, I am exhausted from this trip to get to the doctor and now to the mall. I don’t want to say anything because I know the girls are happy to be out with me. They can’t realize how exhausting it is, but I’m out, and the stores do look inviting. I always loved my shopping. I used to buy you such beautiful ties. Do you , Max? Or was it for Stuart that I bought ties? I know it wasn’t Richard. I always bought him socks. Oh, Max, how I wish you were here with me. Would you find me attractive now? I’m not coloring my hair anymore. I think it’s turning white. I, Sara Ellis, who took such pride in her appearance – now, I’m no longer a blonde. You never knew me as a blonde. I had dark hair for you. Now I . . .

When we returned from the mall, we faced the same problems getting Mom down the stairs and into the apartment. I collapsed on the couch once we got her settled inside.

“Did you have a good day getting out, Mom?”

“Yes, I did. Thank you both for a great afternoon. I don’t think I’ll want any dinner, Angie. I’m full from that big lunch.”

“Don’t worry about it now, Momma. You know you gotta eat later. Even if it’s just a little bit so your blood sugar doesn’t drop.”

“Well, maybe I’ll eat just a little bit.”

“Mom, I’m going to stay for a while until the rush-hour traffic subsides. I’ll run over to Starbucks and get some coffee. I’ll bring it back here so you and Angie can catch me up on the wedding plans.”

“Iris,” Angie called out from the kitchen, “would you get me a latte while you’re at Starbucks? Here’s my mug.”

I had gotten both Angie and Steve mugs from Starbucks for Christmas. I brought the coffee back, and we made plans for me to get my dress for the wedding. Angie had already taken Mom for her dress when Angie’s cousin visited. Mom’s was a two-piece light-blue ensemble. She looked like a queen when she put it on. Angie would fix Mom’s hair the morning of the wedding. Angie and I had to

plan our outing for my dress around Mom’s schedule since the home health people visited weekly to check on Mom’s decubitus wounds, which were almost healed.

Angie’s Outing

S ometimes, Angie would leave Mom for an hour or two when she knew Drew would be coming home from school a few minutes after she left. She would put the phone on Mom’s table where she could reach it and leave her either a little lunch or a snack in case Mom got hungry. Mom was agreeable with this arrangement and well enough to be left alone for a short time. She was happy alone as long as she was relaxing in her blue chair.

A week after our outing, Angie went to the grocery store and left Mom home alone.

Max, I must have fallen asleep. I don’t know where Angie is. I’m here alone, I think. Did she go out? Angie, are you here? Angie, honey, are you here? She’s not answering me, Max. I keep calling her name. I can’t where she is. Maybe something happened to her. I’m frightened.

Oy! I know what to do. Shelia and Iris showed me in my other apartment. I’ll pick up the telephone and dial 911. They’ll tell me what to do.

I was back in Florida when I received the phone call from Angie. She told me she didn’t think she could work for me any longer. Mom had gotten her in trouble with the police. I asked her to calm down and just tell me everything that had happened. Mom called 911 and told the police that she didn’t know where Angie was. When Angie returned home a few minutes later, she told the police that she didn’t know why Mom had called them. She insisted that Mom did know that she had gone to the grocery store but had forgotten. She was worried that Mom would get her into trouble with the police. I let her go on and on

saying the same things over and over. When she finished talking, I asked to speak to my mother.

I asked her why she had called the police and if she had forgotten that Angie was at the grocery. Mom was starting to cry. She didn’t know why she had called 911. She had gotten frightened and ed that Shelia and I had told her to use that number if she ever got frightened.

I asked her what had frightened her, and she didn’t know. She was crying and kept promising that she would never do that again. I had never heard Mom cry when she apologized. In fact, I didn’t too many apologies from her. I may never know what had prompted her to call 911 and have the police come, but she must have been frightened if she made that call.

Max, Max, I shouldn’t have made that call. Did I fall asleep? I forgot that Angie had gone to the store. I even forgot that Drew was in his room. I called out for him, but he never answered me. I got nervous, so I called 911. What’s the big deal? The police came, and Drew heard them knock on the door and let them in. I explained that I thought I was alone and that I didn’t know where Angie was, and by the time they left, Angie had come home. Did I do such a bad thing? Angie thinks so. She keeps asking me, “Momma, Momma, why did you have to call the police?” She’s cussing a lot, so I guess I upset her. She keeps saying she doesn’t know if she can take care of me if I don’t have faith in her. Oy, what can I do? I cried a little, and I promised I wouldn’t do it again, and I won’t. I need Angie to take care of me now. I don’t want to make her unhappy.

Angie relented and didn’t quit, but I never forgot that phone call. It was a foreshadowing to me of what might happen. Angie was distant for a day or two after the phone call. She was wary that Mom might repeat this behavior. Angie didn’t want any trouble with the law. Another seed of distrust formed inside of me. Why was Angie so afraid of the law? There was a lot I didn’t know about my mother’s caregiver. I had hired her because of my own desperation and

because of her devotion to Mom. Now, the only thing I was certain of was the caring that existed between Angie and Mom. I would allow that love to sustain me for a while. However, I was no longer so naïve. My antennae were attuned to any nuisances or incidents that might occur.

2000, March: Turning Ninety

M om’s ninetieth birthday arrived. Both Sheila’s family and mine ed with Angie and her family to celebrate this day with Mom at her apartment. I had prepared a light lunch and dessert. I was filled with gratitude that Mom was here celebrating this momentous day in her life. Just a year ago – no, I wouldn’t think of the past. Mom had survived and was thriving. That’s what mattered most. Mom’s grandchildren read her poems, and Angie told some humorous stories of Mom’s attempts to cook.

Max, another milestone, and I can’t believe it. Ninety years-old. You would be ninety-seven if you were here. I guess you must still be ninety-seven. I don’t know how to figure out your heavenly age. It was a nice afternoon. Oy vey, the stories those grandchildren told. Lily says I locked the cat in the closet for a whole week when I was babysitting her and Michael. The cat was still alive when Iris and Richard came home, and he never had an accident! Now that’s a mystery. Mathew talked about my French toast. I’d like to try and make it again. I’m tired now, Max. It was a nice afternoon, and I hope you were seeing it and smiling at our wonderful family. I’m missing you on my simcha. Maybe you could visit me later after I wake up or while I’m sleeping.

2000, April

T he care-giving situation reached an ime a few weeks before Angie’s wedding. I returned home after teaching my stretch class and received a hysterical phone call from Angie. In very colorful language, she told me to come and pick up my f – mother. I dropped my head into my arms and rested it there on my kitchen table while Angie talked on and on about their living situation. She didn’t get enough time off. My sister followed her every move, making her feel like a servant and not even a good servant. Drew had to put up with my sister’s questions. She couldn’t understand why Shelia had to bother her boy. Again, she insisted that Shelia was prejudiced and didn’t like black people. She was at the end of her rope, and the prejudice issue was the final straw. She loved Mom, but she couldn’t take it anymore.

I listened, something I don’t always do well. I knew. It was just a matter of time. I couldn’t stay in this middle position between Angie and Shelia. I couldn’t listen to any more gripes about Shelia, and I couldn’t solve Angie’s problems. She felt that her authority had been diminished by my sister’s interference. It had. She was right, but I couldn’t handle it any longer. Shelia was my sister.

The time had come for me to make some decisions. Why me? I had assumed a new role in my family hierarchy. I went from little sister to decision maker. After the nightmare at The Manor when Mom had slid down the wall and ended up in the hospital with so many ailments, I knew my role would have to be strong to ensure that my mother lived in the best home-like environment we could provide. The time at The Estates had been a fiasco, except that Mom had grown stronger and kept her spirit because of Angie’s presence. Financially, Richard and I were able to help Mom.

That evening, after the phone call from Angie, Richard drove in to Baltimore to

try and work out a compromise with Angie and calm her down as he had in the past. He told her we would need some time to work out another arrangement for Mom. Since the wedding was approaching, he asked Angie to think clearly and to stay on while we worked out a plan. That way, she could get married without too much of a change going on, and after the wedding and the honeymoon, we would find a solution.

Max, are you watching and listening to what’s going on? Richard is here. I know he has come to calm Angie and to make peace. Why do Angie and Shelia have to argue over everything? Richard is a saint. I didn’t always think so. At first, I didn’t want Iris to marry him. His father was divorced. That was a shanda. I was afraid that Richard might be like his father. I wanted Iris to marry that doctor, or was he a dentist? He was such a nice boy, but Iris was headstrong, and now I’m so happy. I can it I was wrong. I was dead wrong.

Richard is good to Iris. He takes care of her, and he makes good money too. Nothing wrong with that! So sometimes he doesn’t stay too long when he visits. That’s okay. He’s tired from working so many long hours. I don’t know if Richard can smooth this over. Angie is too angry. She has so many problems. Sometimes, she talks about her problems with me. She’s just a baby herself, thirty-one yearsold, only a year or two older than my precious granddaughter, Lily. Oh well, I’m tired tonight. Richard will have to work this out. He won’t let me down.

Late April

D ecision-making time… I began the task of again searching for places for my mother to live. Richard wanted me to visit The Montrose Home. It was located only ten minutes from my Maryland house. I had resisted him every time he brought it up, but I knew he was right. I owed it to myself to at least visit. We had already explored most of the facilities in Baltimore. They were either too expensive or too reminiscent of the “other” nursing home. There didn’t seem to be anything in-between. If we again selected the wrong place, Mom would be back in the same old predicament. I knew she couldn’t exist that way. Shelia was agreeable to moving Mom close to me if I found the right place, but the most important decision had to come from Mom.

“Whatever you say. You’re the boss,” she told me.

In my entire life, my mother had never referred to me as a boss. Never! Now, in less than a year, she had called me “the boss” two times!

I visited The Montrose Home several times. I kept waiting to find something, anything that was wrong. I walked through the halls sniffing. No odors. I came in the morning. I came in the evening.

“You’re looking pretty today. Did you come to visit your mother?”

“Hi again. Are you the new music teacher?”

I was growing familiar to the residents.

“You have beautiful skin,” a resident I kept seeing commented to me.

Well, why not? I thought. I am my mother’s daughter.

There were two buildings at The Montrose Home. One had just been refurbished and was pristine. The other was smaller and nice but not as fancy.

I met with the director of issions and told her about my mother’s journey the last two years. Of course, these directors were supposed to be the experts for this period in our parents’ lives, but after my other experiences, I couldn’t put my complete trust in anyone. There was a lot of paper work that would have to be filled out and a letter of application. In it, I would include all that had taken place in my mother’s life, from the onset of her diabetes, when she would forget to take her medicine, to her journeys into the assisted living home, the hospital, and the dreaded nursing home, The Estates, and her present home, her apartment with Angie in Baltimore. I would omit nothing, including our meetings and evaluation at the gerontology department of the John Hopkins Hospital. This time, Sara Ellis would be known as the woman she was at this time in her life. I ended my letter explaining why we were applying for Mom to live at The Montrose Home and ended it with the following paragraph:

I know this will be a hard adjustment for my mother. She will be leaving her caregiver, who will, I hope, visit and continue to be a part of her life, and returning to a nursing facility, but her needs must be met. I will be close-by as will my family, and I pray that as a team, we can continue to afford my mother, Sara Ellis, the quality of life she deserves.

Sincerely, Iris Joy

As I finished writing this letter, I was aware of the changes that had occurred between my mother and me. I was proud of how she had tried to adapt to her varied living arrangements after living on her own for over forty years. I no longer wished to change anything about this beautiful woman. I loved her exactly as she was now. She was handling her aging and the changes that had affected her health with a resiliency and resourcefulness that I hoped she would on to me as I grew older. At long last, I accepted her as she was and understood my place in her world.

2000, May: Waiting

W hile we waited to hear if Mom would be accepted at The Montrose Home, things continued as usual between Angie and Mom. Shelia kept her distance, and the wedding preparations accelerated. I planned a shower for Angie at the apartment asking Mom’s opinion on everything so she would feel included. She gave me suggestions on presents and what food to have.

Max, all this talk about Angie’s shower reminds me of the showers I helped to give for Shelia and Iris. Oh, Max, the shower we had for Margaret? Sweet Margaret, she was my dearest friend, my sister. Can you that I sang at her wedding? You helped me to practice and then I got up and sang while you played the piano. I think the song was “Oh Promise Me.” It was something about a promise. Everyone was crying when I finished singing, even you, Max. Oh my, I , you wrapped your arms around me and called me “your Sarie.” I’ll always be your Sarie, Max.

Angie had invited a few friends to the shower, again asking Mom about the food and the favors. However, the only guests to arrive were Angie’s aunt, two female cousins, their children, and me. Giving this shower was difficult for me. I had mixed feelings about my role in Angie’s life. She had said some hateful things to me about Shelia, and my heart was heavy, but I wanted these last few weeks between Mom and Angie to go well. I don’t work well when there is distrust and animosity, so I forced myself to be upbeat and cheerful. The wedding was scheduled for two weeks later, and Angie deserved our . Without her love and assistance, Mom might never have recovered.

2000, May: The Shower

T he shower was beautiful.

Max, Iris is carrying in so many presents for Angie and Steve. Today is Angie’s wedding shower. I’m so excited. I helped to mix the ground beef for my Swedish meatballs. They are sure to be a hit. The only strange thing is I don’t think the meat is kosher. Oh well, nobody here will know! I hope I don’t get too sleepy. I wanted the shower to be this afternoon, but that was impossible. It takes Angie so long to get me dressed and ready and then she has to clean up and get ready herself. She made Steve and Drew leave the apartment for the day. What a beautiful tray Iris is bringing in. Oh, look at all the presents. Some of them are from me. This is going to be a wonderful day. I can feel my smile widening.

“Thank you, Iris, and thank you, Momma. I just love everything. Look at this tray. Oh my, the glasses match the tray and so does the pitcher. Butterflies! There are butterflies on all the glasses and the pitcher. The butterflies are on the tray too! Look, Momma, Iris knows how much I love butterflies.”

Angie loved all the presents. I also gave her matching suitcases for her honeymoon as a wedding present from Mom. This was Mom’s idea. She ed the red suitcases she had told Richard to get me for my shower. I had brought some of the appetizers, the hummus and pita bread, and the veggie platter and dip. We ate Mom’s Swedish meatballs, and Angie cooked steak and chicken on the grill. There was an abundance of leftovers, so I knew there would be plenty of food for the next few days for all of them.

It was already 11:00 p.m. when I said my goodbyes to Angie and to Mom.

“I need to start my drive home now. This was a wonderful evening and just the beginning of all your wedding festivities.”

“Thank you, Iris, for everything. You’re like a sister to me. I’m glad we worked things out, and I know you and Momma will always be a big part of my life.”

I drove home knowing I had done what needed to be done. It had been a lovely evening for Angie. I was certain of that. She had smiled all night and had oohed and ahed over her gifts. I hoped Mom was pleased. I wondered if she understood that this living arrangement was coming to an end. I hoped she was ready and strong enough to move one more time.

Max, I can’t sleep. Angie got me ready for bed. She even put my white sleep cap on my hair. She’s so thoughtful. Those children, I think they’re Angie’s nieces, are spending the night again. They better not wake me up tonight, but if they do, I’ll turn on my television. Shelia and Angie don’t like each other. It hurts me that Shelia wasn’t here tonight. I have two daughters, but Shelia won’t give in. She can’t let Angie take charge. Oh well, this is coming to an end too. Iris is keeping everything moving. I used to think Iris didn’t have time for me. I was wrong. She is taking good care of me and trying to keep me happy, but it’s her kind of happy. I don’t want to think about anything else. I’ll be fine. I can’t go back to my apartment. I know I need someone to take care of me. I’m too tired and too old to do it myself any more. What happens to us? Who would have thought that this day would come, when I needed someone else’s help? My eyes are tired. I don’t know if I’m asleep or awake. No more thinking tonight. Oh, promise me . . .

The Acceptance

A week after the shower, I received a letter from The Montrose Home. There would be an opening for Mom a week after Angie’s wedding. The best news was that Mom had a private room right across from the nurse’s station and the recreation room. I called Shelia with the news.

“Shelia, there’s an opening for Mom at The Montrose Home. She can move in a week after Angie’s wedding. She got a private room too! I’m going to look at the room after dinner. I’ll tell Mom when I see her, but I think I want to wait until after the wedding to tell Angie. She has enough to think about now, and I don’t want anything to change between Mom and Angie.

“I know how you feel about Angie, but I don’t think Mom would have regained her strength without her.

“Listen, Shelia,” I said, “enough.

“You know how awful The Estates was. Mom was calling you at night to come and get her. I’m sorry this arrangement didn’t work out, but you have got to let go of your hostility toward Angie. Soon, Mom will be at The Montrose Home. In the meantime, she’s happy.

“It’s hard for me too when you fight with me over everything. You got your way. We’ve found Mom another residence. I’m sick to my stomach worrying if this new arrangement will work. At least, be on my side!

“Enough arguing, Shelia. You and Angie don’t get along, and that’s why you weren’t invited to the wedding. Why would you even want to be there?

“Look, I’ve got to run. Someone’s beeping in. Later!”

I slammed the phone. I unconsciously rubbed my stomach. I was upset from all the bickering going on, and I fought back tears. Damn her! Why wouldn’t she realize that she could have tried harder? Why does she always have to control things? I’m sorry Stuart died. I’m sorry she’s lonely, but she can’t run everyone else’s life. This is about our mother. Angie loves her, but taking care of her fulltime was more stressful than Angie had realized it would be. Shelia and I needed someone to care for Mom. We needed someone to love her and help her get better, someone who had nursing skills. For a while, it worked, and I’m grateful. Now I have to get through the next three weeks and pray that The Montrose Home is the right choice.

2000, Late May: The Wedding

T he wedding day arrived, a beautiful, sunny Saturday, and I arrived at the hotel in Baltimore ahead of Richard and my family. Ten minutes later, Angie arrived with Mom, who was wearing her bathrobe. Angie left Mom with me and went back to the car to get Mom’s dress, her own dress, and all the makeup that was needed. Even on her wedding day, Angie was pampering Mom and making certain that she looked beautiful. The hotel had provided food and beverages for the wedding party to enjoy before the ceremony. It took about forty minutes for Angie to get Mom ready

“You look beautiful, Mom,” I told her.

Sara Ellis was transformed. Her hair was longer than I ever ed, and it framed her face, giving her an elegant queen-like appearance.

“Can you believe this day is here?” I asked Mom. “After all the months of preparation, Angie and Steve are getting married, and you’re ‘giving her away.’ Your grandson, Michael, will walk you down the aisle in your wheelchair, and your granddaughter, Lily, will be in the audience taking pictures.”

While I was talking to Mom, Angie’s nieces and nephews, who were also in the wedding, were running in and out of the room.

A loud voice interrupted all conversations. Angie, eyes closed, was praying to the Lord, calling upon him to bless her and to bless everyone in the room on this, her wedding, day. Her voice was loud and strong, like the voice of a minister addressing her congregation. I had never before witnessed this aspect of Angie’s life. I looked over at Mom, but she sat erect, eyes lowered, saying nothing. She did not acknowledge my glance and my questioning eyes. Again, I wondered, as I had many times over the years, what my mother was thinking. Was this the same mother who was often prejudiced? I had discovered over and over in this last year a strong resilience and strength in my mother that I hadn’t paid much attention to. This was the same resilience and strength that had enabled her to survive after my father’s death and the same fortitude that had enabled her to raise her two children and get them through school. Yes, there was backbone in Sara Ellis, more then I had realized. She was exercising a quiet dignity and respect for Angie’s religious practices.

At 3:00 p.m., the wedding began, almost an hour later than planned. Michael pushed Mom’s wheelchair down the aisle to the oohs and aahhs of her family. Next, the children walked down with flowers and the ring bearer with the ring. I followed the bridesmaids. I walked with gratefulness in my heart and pride for my mother for coming so far. A year ago, I thought she might never be able to participate in everyday activities again, yet here she was, beautiful and elegant, proving to me the strength of her resolve and making me thankful, over and over again, that I had followed my instincts and gotten her out of “that other nursing home.” Who could know what tomorrow might bring? I knew that today was special, and I reveled all day long.

The Wedding Night

M ax, oh, Max, what a day. I’m exhausted. This is the longest day I . It was beautiful, but I know I missed some of it. I kept ing our wedding day and honeymoon. Do you , Max? We went to Atlantic City. I was with the most handsome man I had ever met. I wish you were here with me now. Today, I felt beautiful again, and I’ve been dreaming of us. I’m in bed now. Iris just left, and the nurse she hired to be with me during Angie’s honeymoon is eating wedding cake in the kitchen. She asked if I wanted some, but I can’t eat anything else tonight. I don’t being this tired before. I might just stay in bed all day tomorrow. It was an effort for me to get all dressed up and sit up all day long in my wheelchair. Oh, Max, there was a minute when I did think I might yell out. Angie started to pray to Jesus. That was fine. I know Angie prays to Jesus all the time, but she was sermonizing out loud. I think prayer should be private, but it was Angie’s day. I know Iris was looking at me. What was I going to say? Grow up, Iris. It doesn’t matter. Let’s get this day over with – although it was a beautiful day. I hope Angie and Steve come to visit me when I move. I’ll be okay now. I won’t worry Iris any longer. She’s doing her best to make me happy. The truth is, there isn’t too much that can make me happy anymore. I just want to be comfortable and see my family. I want someone to take care of me. I’m tired, and I can’t take care of myself anymore. I’ll just sleep now.

2000, May: Moving to The Montrose Home

F rightened doesn’t come close to describing my feelings on that moving day! It seemed as if the angels were watching over us. Mom would be living in a private room in the small, cozy building, the Segal King building. The other residents on her floor appeared to be a lot like Mom. Most were alert. Many had motorized wheelchairs, others walked alone or with assistance using walkers or canes. Activity was everywhere. Some people were taking the elevator to the lobby to have their hair cut and styled at the beauty shop. Others were going to an exercise program. Still others sat in the common area, watching television or waiting for a current-events class to begin.

I arrived early to again unpack the clothes I had brought from Mom’s apartment with Angie. Was I doing this again? Richard and his friend, Sam, moved some of Mom’s furniture to her new room because I wanted her to have her “own” things around her. As an extra, I brought the quilt I had on my bed as a child, thinking Mom would enjoy using it.

Sara Ellis arrived at The Montrose Home by car late in the morning. It was a Tuesday, thirteen months after she had left the hospital and seven months after she had moved to the apartment with Angie. In the last year and a half, my mother had lived in an assisted living residence, in the hospital, in the Rehab wing of the hospital, in a nursing home I wanted to forget, and in an apartment. Now she was moving away from Baltimore for the first time in ninety years.

Mom was quiet as she was wheeled down the hall, accompanied by Shelia and Angie. Angie had agreed to work for us three days a week, for four to six hours a day, until Mom got settled. We would then evaluate whether or not she needed to

come and decide if the ride was too far for her to drive.

It was lunchtime, and the staff invited us to eat with Mom. I will always the head nurse, Forrester, who itted Mom that day. His kindness and patience with me and my family put us all at ease.

“Mrs. Ellis, you daughter tells me you’re not sure you want to be here. Now why is that? A beautiful woman like you, you’ll have friends and be happy here in no time. It’s your daughter, Iris, whom we have to calm. She seems nervous to me.

“It’s lunchtime now. Are you hungry, Mrs. Ellis?”

“Yes, I think I could eat something.”

“Then let’s get you and your family some lunch, and afterward, you can help me fill out some paperwork. Then we’ll take some of your vitals and talk a little about the things you like and don’t like.”

I wonder what my vitals are.

The aides who were there brought us lunch in the sunroom behind the common area, and Mom’s first day at The Montrose Home began. I left for a while before dinner and came back that night to kiss Mom good-night. There was little traffic in the evening, and it only took me ten minutes to get there. I introduced myself to the head nurse, Hannah, who worked from 3 pm. to 11:00 p.m. She, in turn, introduced me to the medicine aide, Jill, who also worked mainly nights. They

both assured me that they had visited with Mom and that she was adjusting well considering that this was her first day.

“Your mother is so soft-spoken,” Hannah said.

“She makes her wishes known and seems relaxed. Of course, she had an aide with her from Baltimore, I think. They were chitchatting, and she got your mother ready for bed tonight. She left a few minutes ago.”

“My mom has enjoyed a special relationship with Angie. She was my mom’s caretaker for the last seven months.”

“That explains the closeness,” Hannah said.

“I could see that your mom relied on her, and she seemed sorry to say good-night to your mother. We’ll try and make her feel comfortable with us too.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me. We’ve been on a long journey the last year and a half, and I hope this is the last leg of it. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I’ll look forward to seeing you when I’m here with my mother. Please call me if you have any questions.”

I walked into Mom’s room. She was in her bed watching television. I leaned over to kiss her smooth face.

“It’s been a long day, Mom. How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, Iris. Everyone has been so nice to me. A few ladies on the floor peeked in. I was busy with Angie, but they said they’d see me in a day or so. I liked Forrester. He came in my room after you left and introduced me to Hannah and Jill. They were both kind to me and told Angie not to worry about me. They said they would take care of me when she’s not here. She left a few minutes ago to go home and make dinner for Steve and Drew. They’re staying in the apartment for a while, I think, until they figure out where they want to move.”

“You’re right, Mom. I spoke to Angie yesterday. They’re staying in the apartment for another month or two. She said the move depends on Steve’s job. He works near the apartment, so they’ll have to decide where to move. Also, Drew has a few more weeks of school.”

“Iris, why is this quilt on my bed?”

“Do you it, Mom? It was on my bed when I was a child, and I found it with your things. I thought you might like to have it on your bed now.”

“That’s what you thought.”

Just like that, in the middle of what I thought was a pleasant conversation, my mother added a zinger which left me feeling icy cold. Why did my mother make these little hurtful remarks? I didn’t want to quibble with her on her first night in her new home, so I let it go and regrouped.

“Everyone seems very friendly and personable, Mom. I have a good feeling about things.”

“I’m getting tired now, Iris. Would you just stay here with me for a few minutes while I close my eyes?”

“Sure, Mom. I’ll just relax in your blue chair.”

I leaned over to kiss her and sat down on my favorite blue chair that we brought from the apartment. This chair represented solidity and comfort to me. I too was drained both physically and mentally from the move and my own anxiety about that day. I closed my eyes also and relaxed for a while.

Max, can you hear me from my new bed? I’m whispering because I think Iris fell asleep. Good for her. She’s exhausted. Well, darling, I’ve moved again. I, Sara Ellis, who only lived in two places for most of my life, am now living outside of Baltimore. I’m ninety years-old, and I moved to Rockville, Maryland. Nu, who could have predicted such a thing? I lived in Baltimore my whole life, but Iris says this is a good place to be. I think she’s right. So far so good. Shelia and Angie came with me this morning, but Shelia left early before dinner. She doesn’t like to drive too far in the dark. Angie seemed sad. I guess I was too much for her, but I’ll never forget her. She helped me to get better, Max. She took good care of me, and her love and concern brought me back. We laughed at night in those other places. Then, in the apartment, there was always so much to do. She had to clean up, not just me but the whole apartment. Before we lived together, I was a job for her, even if she did love me. After we moved, I became a full-time responsibility. Now she’s married, and she needs time to be with Steve. He’s a good man, her husband. He understands her, and he understood me. I think they’ll be happy. Drew needs his mother too. I was never too sure if he liked me. When we played bingo, he’d laugh and help me, but other times, I wasn’t sure. Oh well. It doesn’t matter now. Tomorrow, I’ll have my meals in the dining room and see how that goes. I’m not too sure about talking to everyone. I’m a private

person, Max. Ever since you died, I struggled to make ends meet and take care of Iris and Shelia. Our old friends dumped me. I think that’s how you say it. They never invited me out with them. They were our friends for twenty years. Then you died, and they left me out. It hurt me a lot, but I never told them. I worked all day, and when I came home, there were the meals and then cleaning up and listening to the kids talk. Shelia had almost finished high school, but Iris was only in the second grade. It was hard for me to be interested in everything she told me. Thank goodness she had so many friends. They kept her busy. I guess what I’m trying to say, Max, is that I don’t open up with other people too easily. I keep my business to myself. I don’t know if I want any more friends at this time in my life. I had Ida, but she died, and I couldn’t bring myself to go to her funeral. It hurt too much. Her daughter, Betty, was angry. She called Shelia, but I couldn’t go, Max. It was too hard. So I’ll move slowly here, and I’ll smile at the people, and we’ll see. I think I’m ready to go to sleep now. Will you just hold my hand a little longer while I fall asleep?

I visited with Mom every day for the next few weeks. I came at different times of the day, and sometimes, I returned at night to sit with her before she went to bed. She had her meals in the dining room and sometimes sat in the family room, which was right across from her room. There were three ladies her age who were together often and tried to include Mom in their conversations and plans. She spoke with them, but I don’t believe she initiated any of the conversations. She would answer their questions but avoided revealing much about herself.

After the second week, I volunteered to teach the chair fitness class when I was in town. I was shocked at the large response to the class. I would arrive at least twenty minutes early and would go to some of the residents’ rooms to remind them about class. Often, I wheeled them in their wheelchairs if they couldn’t walk on their own. The residents in the East Session where I taught, right across from Mom’s room, loved to come to class. I played music from their era, and they would sing and clap along with doing their exercises. I had not anticipated this enthusiastic response. Mom was still Mom. Often, she would stop in the middle of class and just smile at me or call out, “I’m tired. I’ll rest now.” She still didn’t like to exercise, but I could see that she enjoyed having me lead the class. I took more pleasure leading this class than any of the other classes I

taught. Here, not only was I able to assist aging seniors in the last years of their lives, but I was able to be sure that my own mother was getting some movement in her ts and getting the blood to flow throughout her body. The best part of the class was the socialization for all of the residents, especially the ones, like Mom, who kept to themselves. I often spent time, after the class ended, visiting with some of my students who were eager to have another daughter to talk to. I too learned a lot in these discussions.

Well, Max, I’ve been here for a few weeks, and it’s okay for now. I get to see a lot of Iris, but she makes me come to her exercise class. Even here, she tries to monitor my movement. It’s not too bad. I like the music the most. Sometimes, I close my eyes and think dancing together. Some of the ladies get into it. Iris brings these colorful scarves, and they wave them in the air. Oy, I just hope they don’t hit me. There are even two men in the class, but they don’t hold a candle to you. No one ever did, and no one ever will. Sometimes, I find myself tapping my feet after the class because I’m still singing the music in my head. I guess it’s not so bad. My dinner companions are okay. One of them can’t hear anything I say, and you know I don’t say too much. Then there’s Marta. She’s a religious woman who carries her prayer book with her and sometimes starts reading aloud at the dining room table. One day, she started to cry when she found out my Jewish name was the same as her mother’s. She tells Iris that every time she sees her. The rabbi announced my name in the synagogue service the first Saturday that I attended, and Marta always re. Sometimes, I close my eyes at the table while I wait for the food to be delivered. The lady at the next table keeps telling Iris, the minute she arrives, that I’m closing my eyes, and maybe there’s something wrong with me. That’s why I like being by myself. I don’t have to give anyone any explanations about what I’m doing.

Angie isn’t coming to see me very much anymore. She comes once or twice a week and sometimes not even that much. It’s okay with me. I’ll always love her, but it’s a lot for her to do, with the drive and her other responsibilities. She was there when I needed her. She can feel good about how much she helped me. I’ll always love her like a daughter. I don’t see Shelia that often either. She comes once a week, I think. I miss her, but I guess it’s too hard for her to make that drive too often. She’s not confident about driving an hour’s distance away from

her home. That’s one of the reasons we didn’t visit Iris too much. Shelia didn’t want to drive an hour unless Stuart drove her. Now, when Shelia is here, I don’t think she’s comfortable. She doesn’t like to see me in my wheelchair or just resting on my wonderful blue recliner chair. She wants me to be the way I used to be, and I can’t anymore. I don’t think I’ll ever be that way again. The three ladies, who look so nice and sit together, keep trying to include me in their plans. They want me to have lunch with them in the little restaurant downstairs. No, thank you. I can’t walk that far to the elevator, and I don’t have anything to say to them. They’re nice people, but that’s all. I don’t need any new friends now. I have you. I’ll just close my eyes now and think of dancing with you.

About a month after Mom moved into The Montrose Home, Angie called me. She wanted more money to come to help Mom. The gas was expensive, and the trip was an hour each way. I knew how long that trip was. I had driven it almost every day for a year and a half. I told her that I couldn’t give her any more money. I loved her, but I couldn’t afford to pay her more. She understood. In fact, I think she expected my answer. She said she would continue to visit Mom, and it would be easier now since she could come whenever she wanted rather than having to come. I hoped she would keep visiting. She had been a pivotal person in my mom’s recovery, and I would never forget her.

2000, Fall: Daily Life in The Montrose Home

T ime ed quickly now that Mom was in a routine. In September, I hired Bea Walkman to be Mom’s private aide. Bea worked in the kitchen during the day and had been recommended by one of the aides on Mom’s floor. Bea had worked with another resident who was dying, and I think Mom cheered her. Bea was from Jamaica and had a definite accent, yet Mom understood Bea, and from the beginning, they got along. She stayed with Mom three days a week in the late afternoons until bedtime. Bea made certain that she got Mom ready for bed when she wanted to rest and that Mom had some special one-on-one attention. I was pleased with the care at The Montrose Home, but there were times when I wanted more for my mother, a quicker response to her calls and more interest in her well-being, that extra-special attention for the times I wasn’t there. She would grow impatient if she was ready to go to bed, and the aides were too busy to take her.

I was walking down the hall one day and heard someone call out, “Help me. Help me.” I wasn’t sure it was my mom, but when I stopped by the desk and asked the daytime medicine assistant, JP, she told me Mom did call out occasionally, but when you went in her room and checked on her, she said she was fine. This foreshadowed other incidents, but at that time, I was focused on the present. I discussed this behavior with Bea, and she promised to keep me informed if Mom called out when she was with her or coming in to see her. In addition, Bea had several friends who were aides on Mom’s floor. They would look in on her and inform Bea about Mom. Again, Mom was lucky to bond with a special caretaker.

As the days ed, Mom busied herself in some of the activities available to her. She went to bingo on Tuesday afternoons. Bingo was her favorite activity, and she would hold the money she won in her hand until one of the aides, Bea, or I

arrived to put the money in her change purse in her pocketbook.

The jewelry-making class was another of Mom’s favorites. She had the patience to string the beads and make colorful patterns. I think, because she had been an avid knitter, the bead making was satisfying to her. Before long, her top drawer was filled with colorful necklaces. The aides often decked her out in her necklaces in the morning when they dressed her for the day. The two teachers always made sure that Mom came to class. They enjoyed watching her dedication in working on her necklaces until she finished them.

2000, December: End of the Year Celebrations

T his tumultuous year was coming to an end. Angie made one visit to see Mom after Thanksgiving. I wasn’t there because I didn’t know Angie was coming, but Mom told me about it a few days later. I guess she had forgotten or else saw no reason to discuss the visit with me. Angie had brought Mom some cookies, and they had talked for most of the afternoon. Angie and her family were now living in another apartment close to the apartment they had shared with Mom. Steve was still working at his old job, and Drew was now in his last year of high school. Mom ed it all, and she seemed happy that she had seen Angie but didn’t seem to be lamenting her departure. I experienced a certain amount of regret for a few minutes. I would never forget Angie, and I did miss our conversations, but life moves forward, and Mom was still thriving. Bea made sure that Mom was appreciated, and they were developing their own closeness. A few times, Bea’s daughter, Nora, came with Bea, and once or twice, she took Bea’s place when Bea had another obligation or appointment.

One evening, I was sitting on a chair outside of Mom’s room while Bea was getting Mom ready for bed. Millie, one of the pretty ladies in the threesome, stopped to talk with me on her way back to her room. As usual, Millie was dressed in a lovely skirt and blouse, with little heels on. She commented on my mother’s beauty and dignity.

“Your mother is a classic beauty,” she said. “She’s quiet and radiates dignity. I know some of the ladies wonder why she doesn’t get involved in all the activities, but you should be proud of her. She has an inner strength that I recognize.”

“Thank you, Millie. I am proud of my mother. She isn’t a er, but she is an observer, and she knows what’s going on.”

That night, before leaving Mom, I leaned over and kissed her. We talked about the Chanukah celebration and the gifts I was bringing to the staff to thank them for their many kindnesses to Mom.

“I’m proud of you, Mom. You’re teaching me a lot about traveling through the paths of life. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied.

I left a few minutes later, smiling inside that my mom was content at this time of her life and savoring those words, “I love you.”

Happy New Year, my darling. I’m starting the New Year early by going to bed at 7:00 p.m. I know I should stay up later, but there’s no one to celebrate with, and Bea was leaving, so I asked her to put me to bed. We had a little New Year’s party this afternoon. We had hats and noisemakers and punch and cookies. It was okay. I liked the punch and cookies, but that’s all. For me, it’s just another night. Iris is in Florida with Richard. They were having company at their house, and Shelia is with her friend Peter. They went for an early dinner. She didn’t visit me today because she wanted to rest for tonight. It’s okay. Bea polished my nails, and we watched my soap operas on the television. My nephew from California called to wish me a Happy New Year, and my old boss, Doris Warner, called. She never forgets me, Max. Can you imagine? What did we used to do on New Year’s, Max? I’ve been trying to all night. I think we would go out with our friends to a party and then come home and have a drink in our club room. Am I right? I don’t think we played canasta on New Year’s, but I’m not sure exactly what we did. It doesn’t matter because I know we were happy just

being together. I don’t think I feel that kind of happiness anymore. I miss holding your hand and feeling safe in your arms. When I was working, I didn’t have time to think this much. I would be too tired, and when my body hit the bed, I would be out. No sleepless nights for Sara Ellis. Now, I still sleep well, but I have too much time to think. Everything I do brings back a memory. I miss you, sweetheart, and I hope you’re missing me too. Tomorrow is a new year, so I guess I’ll talk to you next year. Good-night . . .

2001, February

W hile I was in Florida, Mom began to sing with the chorus. She loved it, although I only knew that because the music director, Mellie, told me. She always made certain that Mom got to class.

“I love to watch your mother sing, Iris. She becomes a different person. She’s animated, and her voice is crystal clear.”

“I’m so happy to hear that, Mellie. My father was the singer in our family when I was growing up, but I knew that my mother had sung a lot as a child.”

“Every once in a while, she misses class because it conflicts with Bingo and then she tells me I should remind her or change the time of the practice.”

“Maybe I can listen in one day while you’re practicing so I can hear her sing.”

“Just take a copy of the schedule in my office, and come whenever you can.”

Later that afternoon, when I was visiting with Mom, I mentioned that Mellie had commented on how happy she was to have Mom involved in her singing class. I was expecting Mom to share her thoughts, but she made light of it, and not wanting to probe, I dropped the subject. Here she was, my mom, keeping herself distant from me. I’ll always wonder why she remained a private person even with me.

2001, March 16: Mom’s Ninety-first Birthday

S helia and I planned a birthday celebration for Mom in the sunroom behind the family room. We wanted this to be a special party since we didn’t have a big todo on her ninetieth birthday. We ordered a large sheet cake and punch and fruit that we would later share with the other residents on the floor after our private party. Mom had already had a party with the other residents who had birthdays in March. I attended that party too and helped by ing out the food to everyone. That day’s party list included my children and their significant others at the time, Shelia, her family, and Peter, who was now showing up beside Shelia wherever she went, Mom’s nephew, Joey, from New Jersey and his wife, and Richard’s brothers, Ellis and his wife Sue, and Carl, Richard’s youngest brother. Bea stopped by on her break from the kitchen, but Angie didn’t come. She said she would try, but she never arrived. We had balloons, and everyone read a poem to Mom that they had written or copied from a book or card. Mom was laughing, and I think she enjoyed the fuss that we made over her. When the festivities ended, I asked Mom what she thought of the day, and she replied, “It was swell, Iris. I had a wonderful time. I loved all my cards and the stories everyone told. I wish we could do this more often.”

“We will, Mom,” I promised her.

This was one promise that shouldn’t be too hard to keep.

A few weeks later, Mom was invited to a special dinner for the “Ninety And Above Group” living in The Montrose Home. Most of the residents didn’t believe that Mom was ninety-one years-old. She went to the dinner along with the three ladies who wanted her to be a part of their circle and many other

residents living both in Mom’s section and the other sections at The Montrose Home. All of the residents over ninety received a pin to wear, and they had a special meal in the social hall downstairs. Bea accompanied Mom since the families were not invited, and she said Mom enjoyed herself and ate well but, as usual, was her quiet self.

A few weeks later, Mom’s nephew, Larry, from California, was in town visiting his brother, Ben, who lived in Baltimore. They came together to visit Mom, and I made sure to be there. Mom was thrilled. These were two of her three nephews, her brother Arnie’s children. She had just seen her other nephew, Joey, their brother, at her party. They joked and shared old family stories. Ben kept asking Mom questions. It seemed to me that he was trying to test her memory as if he didn’t believe me when I told him how well she was doing. It was an awkward visit. When I realized what he was doing, which I think was trying to get Mom to slipup, I got furious. She had been a wonderful aunt to him, especially when he had been younger and had had a myriad of problems he couldn’t discuss with his parents. He had called her often, and she had always been there for him. Shelia always thought he was snooty, but this visit convinced me that he didn’t have a valuable place in Mom’s life any longer. His final conclusion to me before he left was that Mom had early dementia and had been coached on their visit. He felt certain that Mom didn’t really know who he was. He couldn’t have been more wrong, but I never told Mom about his abhorrent behavior. Something inside of me turned off, and I never felt the same loving way toward him again. How sad to lose my favorite cousin from childhood, yet that’s how I felt that day.

I was relieved, however, that Larry continued to call Mom and me. How I wish that some things would never change and that our childhood memories would be just as wonderful and joyous when we took them out to examine them later in our lives. I wonder if Mom felt the same way…

Max, tonight I am bone-tired. My nephews were here today. You them, Arnie’s children? Larry, the youngest, was born five months after you died. We

had such a nice visit at first. – no, I guess you were already gone. What do you , Max? Anyway, we were talking and laughing and then Ben started to act like a wise guy, just like my brother Arnie – may he finally rest in peace. Can you imagine my own nephew started to quiz me? He kept asking me all these questions about the past and about my relatives on your side. I couldn’t all those people he was asking me about. I thought he came to see me, but no, he kept going on and on. I couldn’t wait until he left. Larry whispered in my ear, something like, “My brother is a jerk, and don’t let him throw you.” Throw me where? Just get the hell out of here, and leave me alone. Once you needed me when your own parents wouldn’t talk to you. Now you’re some hotshot insurance guy with a radio program. I used to listen to you on the radio. I was proud of you. Now, I hope you shut your mouth and don’t torment me anymore. I didn’t tell Iris. I think she was embarrassed by him, and she wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings. He used to be her favorite cousin. I whenever we had an argument, she would pack her little suitcase and go to my brother’s house. Then they moved away, and I think Iris really missed Ben. Well, I say good-bye. I know Larry will keep in touch with me. He usually phones me on Sundays, and Joey, their other brother, was just here for my birthday. He’ll visit again soon. He always drives down from New Jersey. Oy, Max, all these thoughts have given me a headache. I’ll just lie here thinking about you, and I’ll be better in no time. Maybe I’ll just hum a little song from my music class, and you could sing it with me . . . “Kiss me once, and kiss me twice and…” Ah . . . that’s a wonderful thought . . .

Late April

I had become friendly with Mom’s social worker, Sandy Prince. I stopped by her office whenever I had a question about Mom or her health care. Mom was now being treated by the doctors at The Montrose Home rather than the doctors from John Hopkins. Although I missed her doctor at Hopkins, I had faith in the new medical personnel, and they made regular visits along with a nurse practitioner. Mom was well-liked, but because she kept her thoughts private, there were times I wasn’t certain how she was feeling about things. Once every few months, there were floor meetings with the dietician, social worker, and head nurse. I attended these meetings with my mother whenever I was in town. Sometimes, the doctor would come if available. My mother would sit and listen, but she seldom made any remarks. I, however, asked every question I could think of asking. After these meetings, I often stayed and had lunch with my mother in the little restaurant in the basement. We enjoyed those occasional afternoons together, and it was sometimes hard to leave her after lunch. Often, she napped a little in the afternoon, so I would wait until she slept before I departed.

Late one afternoon, as I was leaving after Mom had fallen asleep in her blue chair, Sandy Prince, the social worker, stopped me to talk. Hannah, the night nurse, had come in early, along with Forrester, who was still there; they all wanted me to know that it was time for me to get on with my life.

“You can trust us now to do our job and take good care of your mother,” Sandy said.

“It’s time for you to go to Florida whenever you want and feel comforted that your mom is taken care of. You don’t have to hang around here every day worrying about every little detail in your mother’s care.”

“I didn’t know that you thought I was spending too much time here,” I replied.

Forrester added, “We would call you if we needed you or if we thought your mother was having a problem. You need to start living again.”

“Thank you,” I answered, swallowing a lump in my throat. It was difficult for me to think that these care givers were also caring about me. “I’ll think about what you said,” I told them, and without looking back, I left, my mind preoccupied with a myriad of thoughts and feelings.

Perhaps it was time for me to let go of some of my worries over my mom and begin to live again. I had been so caught up in my mother’s world that I had neglected my own life and my life with Richard and my family. Each trip to Florida was brief, and I was on the phone throughout the visit, checking on Mom. Okay, this idea of letting go was sounding good.

2001: Mother’s Day

A fter visiting Mom on Mother’s Day, I came home to my own celebration with Richard and my children. Lily’s significant other, Ken, asked Richard’s permission that night to marry Lily. What a wonderful night! Of course Richard said yes. Lily was glowing with excitement and wondering when Ken would propose to her, but she was thrilled that Richard had smoothed the way, although there was never any doubt. After dinner, when everyone left, I drove back to The Montrose Home to talk to Mom and tell her about Ken’s request. She was tired since it was late. I sat in her blue chair and rambled on, never really knowing if she was listening. I was elated, and my mind was leaping ahead to all the things that we would have to do to prepare for a wedding.

Max my darling, are you listening to Iris? Our dear, sweet Lily is going to be engaged to that nice boy Ken. He’s visited me a few times. Yes, he’s very polite to me and calls me “Grandma,” but one thing is bothering me, and I have to talk about it with you, sweetheart. I don’t think Ken is a Jewish boy. Now Max I sound prejudiced, don’t I? After all, my best friend, Margaret, wasn’t Jewish, and I lived with Angie and her family, and you know how much I loved them. So, nu, why should I be bothered by this? Lily has never said a word to me nor has Iris. I just worry about when they have children. How will they raise them? I go to the synagogue here almost every Saturday, and you, dear Max, sung in the synagogue choir. I never wanted Iris or Shelia to date anyone who wasn’t Jewish. I always told them they could just as easily love a Jewish boy as they could love a boy of another religion. This is none of my business. I’m sure of that. I won’t say a word to Lily or Iris. For once, Sara Ellis will keep her mouth shut. Lily has never looked this happy, and Iris looks so excited. I can’t believe there’s going to be a wedding. I just wish Michael would find a nice girl. He almost married that Rona girl, but he was smart enough to break it off when he realized he didn’t love her enough to get married. Thank goodness I never had to think twice about you, Max. I always knew you were special, and you waited for me while I flirted with Martin all those years ago. You knew I’d come to my senses, and I did. I’ve never regretted choosing you for one minute. Iris must

have left. I don’t see her sitting in my chair. I never even heard her go. I was so happy to be talking to you. Good-night, dear Max. I’ll see you in my dreams.

2001, Summer

M om was feeling well and participating in different activities. She enjoyed the synagogue services in the social hall on Saturdays. Each Saturday morning, a volunteer would wheel those residents who were unable to walk by themselves to the social hall to participate in the Sabbath services if they wanted to go. I arrived before lunch on a Saturday in July. I was going to have a picnic with Mom in the sunroom and was carrying our food in a shopping bag. The volunteer who often spent time with Mom stopped me on my way to her room. He motioned for me to follow him. He was whispering.

“Iris, I think your mother may be receiving too much medicine.”

“What do you mean, Irv?” I asked. “My mom only receives medicine for her particular ailments, such as her diabetes, when necessary, or her colitis when it acts up. Sometimes, she gets a Tylenol for pain and a pill for her thyroid. She’s never had a problem with these medicines before.

“Why do you think she’s getting too much medicine?”

“She blasted the staff today. I was shocked. I would never have expected your mother to use such language. I always thought she was a quiet little sweetheart with that angelic smile that was painted on her face.”

“Thanks for filling me in, Irv. I’ll do some investigating on my own. I’ll let you know when I get to the bottom of this.”

I walked toward Mom’s room, lost in thought. Well, I decided, I’ll just ask her outright what happened this morning. Mom was sitting in her wheelchair since it was almost time to go to the dining room for her lunch. She didn’t know we were going to have a picnic lunch together.

I gave her a kiss and told her she looked nice, which she did, and then I came right to the point.

“Mom, what happened this morning?”

She was quiet for a few minutes, surprised, I guess, at that question.

“Nothing happened this morning, Iris. Irv came by, and I went to synagogue. Why do you ask?”

“Mom, Irv told me you cussed at everyone today. Why? Something must have happened.”

“I was mad, Iris. When I got up this morning, I had to go to the bathroom. The girl who came in was new, I think, and she told me I couldn’t go. It was late, and she said she had to get me dressed so I could have breakfast if I wanted to go to Sabbath services. So when she was wheeling me to breakfast, we ed by the nurses’ station, and I told all those nurses off. It wasn’t right. You know it wasn’t right. I had to go to the bathroom, and because that girl got to my room late, she didn’t have time to take me.”

Wow, I thought, my mom is okay. She can stand up for herself. I don’t have to worry about her making her feelings known.

I leaned over and kissed my mother.

“You go, girl. You let them have it. The aide was wrong, and you stood up for yourself. I am so proud of you. You can be sure that will never happen again.”

When I left later that day after our lunch, I stopped at the nurses’ desk. One of the nurses told me how Mom had reprimanded them.

“She used words that shocked us. We just didn’t expect her outburst.”

“I’m not going to apologize for my mother. She was right, you know. How could anyone not take her to the bathroom in the morning? You know she seldom asks to go anymore, so when she recognizes the need, I would think it imperative that you respect her wishes.”

The nurse told me the aide had already been talked to. It was her third day on the job, and she didn’t know about getting the residents ready for synagogue.

“Your mother shocked us. Who would have thought that sweet Sara would talk to anyone the way your mother talked to us this morning?”

She started to laugh, and so did I. No one would ever doubt that Sara Ellis could stand up for herself. The story spread to the other shifts, and a few of the aides and nurses talked to me about it. I laugh now when I that episode. Standing up for your principles indicated a strong spirit. That’s what we want for our parents, to be able to speak up for themselves.

Max, oh, Max, what is this big deal that the nurses are talking about? I couldn’t believe that girl wouldn’t take me to the bathroom. Sure I told her off and then I told them all off. I don’t complain, and I don’t make a big fuss. Treat me nice, and I’ll act nice to you, but don’t you take advantage of me because I’m in this wheelchair. Right is right, and she didn’t treat me right. Oh well, it’s over now. I think I made Irv’s hair stand on end, but I couldn’t tell because he had his yarmulke on. I think I made a joke, Max. Are you laughing? You don’t have to worry about me. I’m still the boss. I’ll tell them if they don’t treat me right. You always treated me right, and I would never be angry with you. Oy, Max, some days I miss you so much. I’ll close my eyes now and . We’ll take a walk together, and you can hold my hand. I won’t need this wheelchair anymore. Let’s go, Max. I’m waiting . . .

2001, November

T wo weeks before Thanksgiving, I returned to The Montrose Home to see Mom. I was excited to go over the menu for Thanksgiving with her. This was my favorite holiday, and Mom was coming again. My brother-in-law, Carl, had built a ramp the year before so we could wheel the wheelchair right up the side of my porch, skipping the steps, and Mom would come right into the foyer. I knew it was an effort for her to come, but she was willing again, and I was thrilled.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, leaning over to give her a kiss and a hug.

She was sitting in her blue chair watching TV. She had a blanket over her lap and was wearing some of the beads she had made. After returning my kiss, Mom unclenched her fist and handed me two quarters.

“Here, Iris, put these away.”

“Where did you get the money, Mom?”

“Bingo. I won two games.”

“Way to go, Mom. You’re lucky at bingo, aren’t you?”

“I guess so. Now put that money in my pocketbook.”

I put the money away and sat down on Mom’s bed.

“There’s only two more weeks until Thanksgiving, Mom. Do you have any new recipes for me? Do you anything you used to make that you’d like to have this year?”

“You know what to make, Iris. You have this holiday all the time. Who’s coming this year?”

We made small talk about the holiday and then I curled up on her bed.

“Rest yourself, Iris. Go on, shut your eyes. You’ll feel better.”

We talked a little more, and I allowed myself to be lulled to sleep on Mom’s bed while she watched her TV and dozed.

Max, darling, what a nice afternoon I’m having. Iris is resting on my bed, and I can look at her without having to answer any questions. I can talk to you too. I’m having a little trouble with my back. It hurts me when I sit too long. I heard the nurses say I could have a nap in the afternoon and rest my back. I like that idea, but I don’t think Iris likes it. She’s afraid that if I lie down, I won’t want to get up for dinner. So what if I won’t? Do I have to be on a schedule? Oy vey, Max. It’s always something. Iris wants to talk about Thanksgiving. I’m going to try to go to her house. Richard will pick me up and bring me back after dinner. I

love to go and see everyone, but it’s hard for me with the bathroom. Nu, who would know my life would come to this? I always need somebody to help me now. Sometimes, I can make it to the bathroom. Otherwise, I have an accident, but I always wear a diaper now. I don’t want you to see me in this diaper. I’m going to try very hard not to have any accidents so you won’t be ashamed of me. I mean it. Sometimes, the nurses come in to see if I’m all right. They say I call out. I don’t think it’s me they’re hearing. Why would I say “Help me”? I don’t need special help. Did I tell you I’m having another cataract operation? Iris is taking me to her doctor right after Thanksgiving. The doctor is going to fix my other eye. I may not need my glasses after he’s finished. You never saw me in glasses, Max. When I worked, I did a lot of detail work on the typewriter, and I couldn’t see the fine print very well. I wore glasses at work every day. I already had one cataract operation on my other eye a few years ago. I like this new doctor. Iris will take me and then the nurses here will make certain that I get my eyedrops every day and that I don’t lift anything. What would I try to lift? Here comes Bea now. Stay near me so we can talk later, my darling.

I woke up to see Bea leaning over Mom’s chair and giving her a kiss. Mom was holding her hand, and they were whispering. I took my time sitting up as I was enjoying watching Mom and her aide share some private moments. We had been blessed to find this wonderful woman to help my mother at that time in her life. They had built a loving relationship soon after meeting. I chitchatted with them for a while and left a few minutes later, telling Mom I’d see her in a day or two. Bea followed me into the hall. She wanted to tell me about Mom’s sore back. She knew I was worried about Mom lying down in the afternoon because the one or two times she had, she refused to get up for dinner. Mom was a sleeper, and I had reservations about this form of treatment for her back. I told Bea I would talk it over with Mom’s doctors and the staff. She also wanted me to know that she had heard Mom call out “Help me” when she was on her way to Mom’s room. Bea had heard other residents call out too. Bea felt this calling out was a behavior that the elderly sometimes displayed as they aged. Mom did have some dementia, although I had a hard time accepting it.

“Whenever I go in and ask her if she’s all right, your mom says she’s fine, so I don’t think she realizes that she’s called out.”

I thanked Bea for telling me about Mom’s outbursts and left in a pensive mood. No one was at the desk, and I made a mental note to talk to the head nurse in a day or two. Mom was aging. There was no doubt about that, but she appeared in good spirits and looked well. I would content myself with this good news and not look for any worries, but I would ask about her calling out.

2001, December

T hanksgiving had been a wonderful time in our home. Mom was with us, and I knew how lucky we were to be together. Shelia brought Peter, and Mathew came with his family. They spent a lot of time with Mom, and she was happy to see them. We celebrated Shelia’s birthday, which was the next day, and Lily and Ken shared their wedding plans. They were planning a June wedding at the beach, and her hope was that Mom would be able to come. We had booked the hotel, and a rabbi would be performing the ceremony, although there would be some parts in the ceremony unfamiliar to Jewish traditions. I knew that we would have to wait until spring for the doctors to decide if Mom could attend. It would require much preparation and a special aide to assist Mom for the weekend. Mom left around 8:00 p.m. with Richard, who took her back to The Montrose Home and stayed with her until the night nurse came in to get her ready for bed.

Max, were you watching us celebrate Thanksgiving? It was beautiful but too much food. Iris gave me some to take back here for the nurses. She promised to bring me a turkey sandwich tomorrow. Oh, sweetheart, it was difficult to sit there for so long. Mathew’s in-laws sat by my side, and Leslie, Mathew’s wife, kept questioning me. She got on my nerves tonight. Come and visit me if you want to talk so much. Tonight, I want to talk to everyone. Carl, Richard’s brother, kept hugging me. He’s always happy to see me, and Richard’s other brother and his wife kept bringing me food. Iris made her brisket along with her turkey, and you know I love that brisket. There wasn’t even one piece left. My grandsons were as handsome as always, but I got tired after two hours. I was anxious to get back here and get into my bed. Can you believe I’m calling this my bed? I know I’m not leaving here until I come to meet you. It’s not so bad here, but it’s not so good. I’m nice to everybody, so they treat me nice too. Bea is the best. She understands that when I say I want to go to bed, put me to bed. When Bea’s not with me, I have to wait with the other residents for my turn. The nurses and aides remind me that I’m not the only one they take care of, so I have to be patient. Iris and Lily talked about Lily’s wedding this summer. Oh, Max, she’s my only princess, the only granddaughter I have. I do want to be there, but why does it

have to take place at the beach? What’s the matter with them? How am I going to go to the beach? How will I go to the bathroom at an outdoor wedding? Who will take care of me? Don’t they realize how hard it would be for me? Oh well, it’s too far away to worry now, and between you and me, Max, I don’t worry anymore. If I’m there, then wonderful, otherwise, they’ll show me the pictures. At least they’re being married by a rabbi. That’s the first step, and I’m pleased. He’s a fine boy, but . . . I have to let it go. He’s a mensch, and Lily is happy. I see the love in their eyes, and I like how he sits and talks to me. He promised me he’d take good care of Lily, and I believe him. In the end, that’s all that matters, love and respect. I’m falling asleep now, my darling. I have my cataract operation next week. I see your face so clearly tonight. Yes, I can even hear your voice. Why, Max! I do believe you’re singing to me . . . yes, I’m in love too . . .

2002, January

W ell, Max, I can see with both my eyes now. Oh, my darling, if only you were here, I could look at your handsome punum and see you clearly. It’s a miracle. I don’t need my glasses at all. Iris gave me a card, and I read every single word clearly. I’m almost ninety-two years-old, and I can read without my glasses. My back is feeling somewhat better. Iris agreed with the nurses, and now I lie down most afternoons for two hours. I would sleep longer, but they come in and get me up, or Bea gets me up. Iris doesn’t want me to make a habit of getting back into bed, but I’m still the boss. Some days, I just lean back in my blue chair, and the nurses put a pillow behind my back. You know me, I can sleep anywhere, but when my back hurts, I must lie down. I’m singing a few times a week now. We’re practicing for a show. Mellie, the teacher, always re to bring me to practice. I do enjoy the singing because I feel the closest to you when I sing. Whenever Iris is in town, she brings me into that exercise class. Now we’re getting ready for something called Olympics, where different sections here will go against each other. Oy vey, I don’t know what that means, but Iris has everybody all excited. She’d better be letting me watch because I’m no help. I can’t walk very well anymore, maybe a step or two and then I’m exhausted. The games or races take place in the wheelchairs, so I don’t have to walk. I don’t know about these things. Shelia doesn’t visit me too much. She runs in, runs to the bathroom, sits with me, and asks me a million questions and then she leaves. I know it hurts her to see me here. She wants me to be who I used to be, whoever that was. She can’t stand to see me getting older. I wish she’d just accept me now. We had our time together. I was always there for her, and believe me, Max, she needed me, but I was happy to help her. Shelia was always a good daughter to me. I went to all the simchas in Stuart’s family, and they treated me like I belonged. If it’s too hard for Shelia to see me getting old, then okay, I’m not angry with her. Thanks goodness I have Iris now too. She’s a lot like me, Max, but sometimes, she reminds me of you. She used to look a lot like you. Now when she comes down the hall, I can hear the nurses talk about how she looks like me. Who cares? Just be a good person, and spread your joy here like you’ve been doing. I’m a lucky woman to have two wonderful girls. Speaking about Iris, I hear her laughing in the hall with some of the ladies. I’ll let her think I’m asleep instead of talking to you . . .

“Hi, Mom” I said as I walked into my mother’s room. I leaned over to kiss her beautiful, unwrinkled face as she opened her eyes and smiled at me. “How are you feeling this afternoon?”

“I’m okay, Iris. What’s new with you?”

“I’m good, Mom. I’m getting ready to go back to Florida in a few days. Do you need anything before I go?”

“What could I need?”

“Well, I’ll call you every day. Bea is going to come one more day now, so you’ll have her four afternoons instead of three.”

“That’ll be swell, Iris. Will you see your mother-in-law?”

“Of course I will. I’ll have dinner with them once or twice a week, and I’ll see Mamie too.”

Mamie was my mother-in-law’s best friend.

“I want to spend some time with Henry too.” Henry was my mother-in-law’s husband. “He hasn’t been feeling too well, and my mother-in-law doesn’t do

well when things are disrupted in her life.”

“Give them my best. I hope Henry feels better and it’s nothing serious.”

My mother and Henry were the same age and got along well. They would argue over everything, but it was just in fun. Each of them was opinionated, and neither would back down. I think they enjoyed sparring with each other.

“When I get back, it will be time to practice for the Olympics. They’ve asked me to lead everyone in a chair exercise that the whole building can do.”

“I’ll just watch, Iris.”

“No, Mom, you’re part of the group. Why do you think I teach exercise here? I want you to get the benefit of my expertise, and it’s the only way I can get you to move.”

“Okay, Iris. So what else is new? What’s for dinner?”

Mom had begun to ask me what there was for dinner every time she saw me. Sometimes, I didn’t have the slightest idea, but I knew she expected an answer, so I came up with something. We chatted a little longer, and I took her downstairs to one of the open meeting rooms. There were beautiful birds in cages, and Mom loved to look at them. Sometimes, she talked to them, and I enjoyed watching her obvious enjoyment in this relaxing setting. I took her back to her room before dinner and kissed her good-bye.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks, Mom. Take care of yourself, and call me if you need anything. I’ll be calling every day, so we’ll never be too far apart.”

2002, Late February

M ax, my Max, tonight I’m sad. My good friend, Henry, Iris’s stepfather-in-law, died yesterday. I was too sad to talk about him at first. It’s not that I saw him a lot. It’s that he was my friend, and we were the same age, the exact same age. Whenever we were together, we shared stories and laughed. We argued all the time too, but it was all in fun. We were both two old stubborn people who had strong opinions, and neither of us would back down. Poor Rose, now she’s a widow too, just like me. You know, Max, they were married longer than we were, but I don’t think she ever loved him like I’ve always loved you. The funeral is tomorrow, so Iris will stay in Florida and be with Rose for a few days. Iris said she spent the last week in hospice with Henry. She read to him every day, and finally, it was Iris who told him it was all right to let go. Oy vey, Max, our daughter is a good girl, but I don’t understand this hospice thing. Did she mean hospital, and she kept saying it wrong? It doesn’t matter. I thought maybe you would know. I know I’ll see Henry again when I leave here, so maybe you could find him and make him comfortable. You would like him, especially because he loved to sing, like you. He always listened to opera, and although I don’t like opera too much, I listened to it with him whenever I visited him and Rose. Poor Iris, I wish she didn’t have so much death in her life all the time. Don’t leave me tonight, Max. I need to know you’re here. I’m feeling so alone right now. I’ve been alone for a long time, but tonight, I’m lonely. I’ll just close my eyes and wrap myself in a blanket of your love.

2002, March: Mom’s Ninety-Second Birthday

W e celebrated Mom’s ninety-second birthday with just our immediate family. None of us was in a party mood after Henry’s death, yet I wanted to acknowledge every milestone in Mom’s life. I brought in a small cake, and we ordered ice cream from the dining room. Shelia and I told a few stories about Mom, and her grandchildren added their own funny recollections. It was nice to gather together as a family, sharing our gratefulness that our mother had achieved another landmark in her life.

2002, April

I had gone back to Florida after Mom’s birthday to help Rose sort out her finances and health plans. Mom was happy to see me again when I returned from Florida. She was quieter than usual for the first few weeks after I got back. She took Henry’s death hard. She had lost her best friend a few years earlier. Even though she never talked about it, I was sensitive enough to understand her loss. She had very few friends left. How awful she must feel to be one of the few left from her social circle and family. I had a hard time too. Henry was the only grandfather my children had known since my father-in-law died when I was pregnant with Michael. I knew I would not forget this dear man, Henry, who had shown my children so much love and who had been a good husband to Richard’s mother. His death heightened my own worries about Mom, yet I’m grateful, if that’s the right word, that I was able to spend his last days with him. It’s a kind of honor to be with someone you love at the end of their life. It wasn’t the terrible end I expected. It just was. One minute, he was breathing, and I was holding his hand, and the next minute, he wasn’t. It was more peaceful than I had imagined. Rest in peace, you dear man. You made my life sweeter because of your presence.

The Olympics

P reparations were in place for the Olympics. My exercise class would lead the other groups, illustrating how good they had become doing their chair fitness routines. I hoped Mom wouldn’t stop in the middle of the presentation like she often did, but whatever happened, I was proud that she was doing some exercise for the first time in her life.

My students would wear scarves around their neck. I had kept these scarves from the cancer walks I participated in and had just enough for my class, although the scarves had different patterns.

The Olympics took place the last week of April. Everyone, including Sara Ellis, had a wonderful time. My mom won first place in her wheelchair race. Of course, I pushed her, and I tried extra hard to win. I wanted Mom to have fun and feel special. I doubt it meant anything to her, but I didn’t care. That was a day we shared, and I was happy to have our worlds come together for an afternoon. All the residents at The Montrose Home won a trophy for participating, and there was talk of making the Olympics a yearly activity.

Max, I am exhausted. I think I may stay in bed all day tomorrow. I’m happy that Bea was here to put me to bed early. No more Olympics for me. I’m too old for it. The best part of the day was watching Iris, but she’s going to have to do this exercising without me. I’ll just move my fingers, but no more exercise. I’m too tired. I ate my soup tonight and then I went right to bed. None of my dinner had any taste, so why eat? My whole body aches. I need to sleep and rest, and no more moving around. Why do I have to exercise? We never did, Max, so why should I start now at ninety-two?

2002, June: Preparations for Lily’s Wedding

I was busy now with all the final preparations for Lily’s wedding. The previous day, Mom’s doctor and the nurse practitioner decided that it would be too difficult for Mom to attend the wedding. I had gotten her a room with the hope that it would work out for her to attend. Mom took the news well. I had mixed feelings. I wanted her to be able to see her only granddaughter marry, but I worried about how we would accommodate her needs. It was bittersweet for me, but I tried to stay positive.

“We’ll take lots of pictures, Mom, and I can play the video of the wedding in the VCR here in the family room. That way, you can watch the entire ceremony and still be comfortable.”

“That would be wonderful, Iris. Don’t forget a thing. I want to know how everyone looks, what the food tastes like, and how the evening goes.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t forget anything. Julie’s husband, Dave, will take his own pictures and video for me, so I’ll be able to bring you the pictures before anyone else sees them.”

Julie was my best friend from Florida, and she and Mom were already great pals, especially since Julie always brought her knitting to show Mom.

Max, I feel relieved yet old. In fact, I feel really old. The doctors say it’s too much for me to go to Lily’s wedding. Too much what? Nobody called me an old woman, but I must be old if I can’t travel to the wedding. I know it’s for the best because I don’t know how Bea could have wheeled my chair on the grass and sand. The wedding is on the beach. I ask myself, why did Lily have to go to the beach to get married? What’s the matter with a nice shul here, or don’t they have shuls in fancy Rockville, Maryland? Nu, it wasn’t my decision, but it wouldn’t have worked no matter where they got married. I can’t take care of myself anymore, and that’s a fact. I can’t control when I have to go to the bathroom. Sometimes, I feel it ahead, and I call out to someone to take me, but even then, I’m not sure if I can make it in time. I’d be so embarrassed if I had an accident at the wedding. So, my sweetheart, what’s left for an old lady like me? What do I have to look forward to? What’s special in my life now? Oy vey, if I keep asking all these questions and I don’t have the answers, who will answer them for me? I told you I’d try and stop wearing these diapers so you wouldn’t see me this way, but, Max, I don’t know if I can keep that promise. I don’t know . . .

2002, August and September

O n August 10th, I had planned a special afternoon with Mom. I was bringing her the wedding video. I loved every single minute of Lily’s wedding, the wedding ceremony, the reception, the day after brunch, everything except that Mom wasn’t there. I was excited to share the wedding video with her.

I walked into her room bursting with excitement to sit beside her and share the wedding.

“Hi, Mom, have you had your lunch? How are you feeling today?”

“I’m okay, Iris. I had a little lunch, but I didn’t eat too much because I wasn’t hungry. I’ll eat my banana later.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I brought a snack for myself too. We can eat after we watch the wedding video.”

I wheeled Mom into the family room across the hall from her room. I had made certain that I could sit in front of the VCR and show my mom the video that afternoon. I turned it on, and all the magic of the day returned to me as I held my mother’s hand and waited to again experience the joy of the wedding.

“Where’s his yarmulke?” she asked me.

“What, Mom?” I asked.

“His yarmulke. Why isn’t he wearing a yarmulke?”

I had never noticed that Ken hadn’t worn a yarmulke that day. The ushers had ed them out to those who wanted to wear them. I assume that Ken chose not to.

I answered Mom, crestfallen because I realized this experience was doomed.

“It must have fallen off,” I said. How lame was that!

I now knew this would not be my mother’s favorite video nor would she ever tell me what she thought. The younger Sara Ellis would have reamed me out: How could Ken not wear a yarmulke at her granddaughter’s wedding? The sharing and joy I had hoped to feel were gone. As the old song goes, “oops, I did it again”!

Max, darling, it’s a good thing I didn’t make it to the wedding. Can you imagine Lily’s husband did not wear a yarmulke? This is not what a grandmother wants to see. What kind of a life will they have? Iris tried to tell me his yarmulke fell off. I might be old, but I’m not stupid! Some things I shouldn’t know. Max, Max, Max, can you explain this to me?

2003, January

T he holidays had come and gone. Mom did not come for Thanksgiving in November. She felt it was too much of an effort. I got up early and stopped by before my company arrived. I knew that my children would stop by to see her after our dinner.

I celebrated Chanukah with Mom at The Montrose Home. The choir, Mom included, sang one evening of the holiday. I was so proud to watch Mom enjoy herself and sing with such gusto.

That day, however, was a sad day for me. Millie, one of my favorite ladies in my exercise class, the pretty woman who was always kind to Mom, ed away. I hadn’t seen her for a few weeks. She had become jaundiced and didn’t want anyone to see her that way. She was a vain woman and wished to be ed as the attractive woman who still dressed up every day and took care of herself. Everyone on the floor seemed somber that day. The residents knew that Millie had died whether anyone told them or not; they just knew. I don’t think they ever got used to hearing about death nor did I. Mom was quiet and didn’t mention it at all. I was learning that everyone dealt with death in their own way. In Mom’s case, it had to be hard because she had few contemporaries left.

Millie’s two close friends were not having an easy time either. I encouraged them to come to class to celebrate Millie’s life. I played all Millie’s favorite songs, and though I saw tears in many eyes, I also saw laughter and tried to convey the importance of being together and sharing our feelings. There was a strong bond between us that day. Even Mom participated and swung her scarf in the air.

Farewell, dear Millie, I thought. We will always miss you, and we are honoring your memory, and our loss, in a way we think you would have appreciated.

Max, there is another loss this week. The lovely lady, Millie, who lived down the hall, and yes, she was a lady, ed away last night. We never spent much time together, but she was the first person to offer her friendship to me when I came here. We spoke in ing, never anything too much, you know how I am, but I ired her. She dressed up every single day and was a mensch. She never used a cane or a walker. She walked alone without help every day of her life. I grieve when these people come in and out of my life. That’s another reason I never let anyone get too close. If I don’t get emotionally involved, I won’t be hurt when they leave. I learned that a long time ago, Max. You left me, and I was still young. How many losses should a person have?

2003, March

W e celebrated Mom’s ninety-third birthday in much the same way as we had been celebrating her birthdays since she moved to The Montrose Home. Her nephew and niece from New Jersey drove down again, and her nephew from California called that evening.

A week after her birthday, Mom got a urinary tract infection, the first of many that she had while living at The Montrose Home. At first, I wasn’t too concerned. The staff took care of her as soon as she complained of pain when urinating. However, she ran a fever, and instead of getting better, she seemed to be getting worse each day. She was weak and didn’t want to eat. I brought a book, some snack food, several bottles of water, and camped out in her room. Mom didn’t talk at all. Her fever was 102° F during the day. The high fever made me nervous. Richard stopped by a few times to check up on Mom and me, and Shelia came on Saturday after her hair appointment. She didn’t stay for long, however, because she found it unsettling to sit around and wait for Mom’s fever to go down. I kept talking to the nurses for reassurance, and the doctor even stopped by over the weekend. The infection made Mom weak, and of course, she had no appetite, so that made her even weaker. Richard and I had a wedding to attend in Pennsylvania on Sunday, but I urged him to go alone. Ken, Lily’s husband, was away, so Lily went with Richard since she was also invited to the wedding. I couldn’t bring myself to leave Mom. She hadn’t been sick since her time in the hospital, and I knew I wouldn’t enjoy myself if I were worried about her.

After three days of no conversation and a lingering fever, the fever broke, and Mom asked for something to eat, hot tea and toast and a little jello. I didn’t care what she ate as long as she ate. That night, I left her for two hours and went to dinner with my son, who had declined the wedding because of his work schedule. We returned to The Montrose Home after our dinner. Michael took Mom’s hand and just held it. She opened her eyes, smiled at him, and squeezed

his hand. She looked at his face and whispered, “Why don’t you shave that off?”

Michael had grown a goatee since the last time that Mom had seen him.

“You’re too handsome for that stuff.”

We knew Mom was on her way back because she hadn’t acknowledged anyone else since she had gotten sick. We all laughed as we breathed a sigh of relief. Sara Ellis was recovering.

Max, can you hear me? I was very sick. I was so sick that I thought I saw you and Henry. You were together singing around a piano. I didn’t know the song, and I tried to call out your name, but my voice was too soft, and you didn’t hear me. I kept hearing Iris talking in the background. I tried to get to you, but her voice kept bringing me back. It was so hard for me. I didn’t know which way to go, but I’m back here now, so I guess you didn’t see me. I’m thirsty now. I have to drink some water, and I don’t think I can reach the glass. Ah, Iris is standing next to me with the water in her hand. I’d better drink it now, my darling. I guess I won’t see you yet. I can still dream, can’t I?

2003, Summer

M om’s urinary tract infection took a lot out of her. She needed more naps than she had been taking, and she was quieter than usual for most of April and May. Slowly, her color returned to her face, and she began to participate in her bingo games and even did a little bead making. A few times when I visited, I thought I heard her voice calling out, “Help me,” but whenever I walked into her room, she was calm and quiet. I would ask her if she were okay, and she’d always say, “Yes, why do you ask?” I spoke to her doctor about it, and he assured me that it went along with the aging process for some of the elderly.

“Your mother does have some dementia and most likely doesn’t know she’s crying out.”

I was never comforted by those words. I think it’s because he used the word dementia. I just didn’t see it. She was alert with me. She knew the answers to the questions I asked her. In addition, the word dementia provokes a negative response in me. I couldn’t get past my thoughts of my grandmother who had suffered from more than dementia. She had what they used to call hardening of the arteries. Today, my grandmother’s illness would most likely be called Alzheimer’s. As the years ed, I became a little more accustomed to hearing about dementia, and I understood it more; nevertheless, I seldom described Mom that way.

Shelia and I brought Mom flowers for Mother’s Day and shared a quiet brunch with her. Shelia relaxed a little and allowed herself to stay about an hour and a half without worrying about the drive home. My children were away that year, so I spent most of the day with Mom, relaxing in her room when she napped. During the afternoon, some of the aides stopped by to wish Mom a happy Mother’s Day. One of the aides, Miriam, even brought Mom some body lotion.

Often, the aides would leave their purses in Mom’s room and take their breaks there. I thought this was a lovely tribute to my Mom. I was happy to see that the staff liked Mom and visited her even when she wasn’t on their schedule of duty. She always told them what she told me, “Sit down and rest yourself.”

Late in the afternoon, Mom received a large bouquet of flowers from her old boss, Doris Warner. Doris never forgot Mom and sent her flowers several times during the year. Doris was in her middle eighties, and I found this continued connection between Mom and Doris to be a precious reminder of the depths of friendship.

As Mom continued to improve, she began to sing again with the choir and returned to Saturday morning services in the social hall. I went to a Sunday afternoon cookout in June with Mom and watched her eat the kosher hot dogs and corn on the cob with gusto. Her interest in food was returning, especially for barbequed food, which she didn’t eat too often. Imagine being happy watching your mother eat a hot dog, and yet happiness engulfed me that afternoon because it seemed like a turning point in Mom’s eating, at least for a while.

Max, my darling, I have an appetite again. First of all, I didn’t realize that I wasn’t hungry before. The food just always tasted the same. I wanted to add salt, just a little, I’d beg. I don’t have high blood pressure. Sometimes, Bea would bring me salt from the kitchen, and when I’d eat in my room, I could salt my food a little. Then it tasted better, but today, I went to the cookout. Iris came and sat with me. Everything was so delicious. Now this is eating! I had a hot dog, maybe two hot dogs, and corn and coleslaw. Then I ate some watermelon for dessert. Now I don’t think I can eat any dinner, maybe some hot tea and jello, but that will be all. I wish everyone didn’t make such a big deal about eating. I never did. I always told my girls, “Everything in moderation.” I’m going to take a little snooze now. Iris is resting on my bed. She fell asleep reading her book, and I can relax talking to you and now taking a little nap. I wish you could try to sit on this blue chair with me. It’s so comfortable, my darling. Sometimes, I’ve slept here

all night, but don’t let Iris know. She wouldn’t like it.

2003, September

I was shopping on the boardwalk in Ocean City Maryland, buying travel bags as Christmas presents for the aides at The Montrose Home. My cell phone was ringing, and I searched in my purse to find it. When I answered my phone, I recognized the voice of Dr. Wills, Mom’s doctor at The Montrose Home. He wanted me to know that he thought Mom had a small fistula and another urinary tract infection. The staff was concerned about the fistula and wanted the hospital to check it out. She would be in good hands with the right doctors who were qualified to diagnose her problem. A fistula is a narrow age or duct formed by disease or injury. I am still unclear about exactly where this fistula was because no one ever explained this in I could understand. Mom was running a low-grade fever, but because she had been so ill when she had her last urinary tract infection, the doctor again felt that Mom’s needs would best be served by going to the hospital. Yes, it could be serious. In truth, Dr. Wills didn’t know, and he wanted to make certain that Mom would be examined by doctors qualified to figure out what was going on.

I thanked him and assured him I would get there as soon as possible, but I was three hours away and had to go back and close the beach house, pack my things, and drive back. I had planned on leaving the next day but now would return as soon as possible. My friend Julie was with me, and we drove back to the beach house and packed to leave. I called Bea, and she assured me that if the ambulance came before I returned, she would accompany Mom to the hospital. Bea’s husband could pick her up there once I arrived.

Once I got on the highway, I began to worry. The reality was that I didn’t completely understand the rush to put Mom in the hospital. Dr. Wills seldom panicked about anything. The decision to send Mom to the hospital to be checked out alerted me that Dr. Wills was concerned and must have felt out of his depth. He also told me that this could be serious. He just didn’t know. I forced myself to stay positive. I had too many miles to drive to be otherwise.

Bea wasn’t overly alarmed either. Mom didn’t feel well, and that was likely due to the urinary tract infection. However, she had been complaining of pains in her stomach. Dr. Wills thought the pains might be coming from her gallbladder. At ninety-three, any problems would most likely be treated with medicine rather than surgery. Hopefully, these problems could be diagnosed at the hospital.

Shelia called me and wanted me to call her later that evening if I found out anything. She would drive in the next morning and would stay at my house.

I arrived at Suburban Hospital on Old Georgetown Road by 7:00 p.m. that evening. My timing was perfect. Bea was at the desk after leaving Mom in her room. I had all the insurance information in my purse, so I could sign Mom in and her medical information. Bea led Julie and me to Mom’s room. Mom was still in her wheelchair waiting to be put into bed. Some nurses appeared right after I got there and asked us to wait outside her room while they took Mom’s vitals and started an IV antibiotic drip for her infection. A catheter was inserted because Mom couldn’t void. That had been done at The Montrose Home also because Dr. Wills’s scan showed that Mom was retaining urine. At least they had the paperwork from the Montrose Home with Dr. Wills’s diagnosis.

The rest of the week was a roller coaster. Poor Mom! She was prodded and poked and interviewed by doctors from many fields of medicine. She saw several doctors, including a geriatric doctor and another doctor who explained about a fistula and explained the treatment or management depending on the results. A CAT scan was ordered using contrast dye to have the best view of what might be going on. During the CAT scan, the nurse practitioner noticed that Mom’s left foot turned out and ordered an X-ray of her foot.

Mom vacillated between cooperation with these different doctors and nurses and anger and frustration. Some meals, she ate like she was starved, a surprise for someone supposed to be so sick. Other meals, she refused completely. A picc was put in for antibiotics because her veins were tiny, and the nurses couldn’t do

another IV.

The results of the CAT scan did not show a fistula at all. The contrast dye was negative. She did not have a tumor or any disease. A barium enema was scheduled for the following day to further investigate her bladder since the bladder wall had thickened. Her white blood count was up, indicating infection. Multiple tests were istered and Mom was put on a liquid diet and received two pints of blood. She was also given a removable cast for her foot since her left foot was, indeed, turned out.

That night, I stayed late with Mom. My sister was at my house. Mom was agitated and unhappy having all these doctors and nurses poking and prodding her throughout the day. She did not want the cast on her foot. It was another annoyance, so I took it off. Her foot was the least of her problems.

The next morning, Mom complained of pain in her abdomen. She was given a sonogram and an ultrasound. Maybe her gallbladder was inflamed. However, nothing definitive was discovered. Again, I stayed late and left at nine that night. I had no clear idea of what was going on. There didn’t seem to be one visible doctor in charge although the doctor I had met the first night was the one ordering all the tests. I couldn’t reach this doctor for a daily update, and, like Mom, I was losing patience.

When I returned the next morning, the nurse told me that Mom had cussed out one of the night nurses who came in to change her. She didn’t want anyone else to touch her. I understood completely. Enough! Get to the root of why she’s here, come up with an answer or a treatment, or let her leave. While I was talking to Mom and trying to calm her and explain that we were almost finished with all these tests, a gynecologist arrived. At first, Mom wouldn’t let this doctor touch her. A female gynecologist came in a few minutes later and explained to Mom that she wanted to do an exam on her. Mom agreed since the doctor was female and had explained to Mom why the procedure needed to be done. The test was

negative, and there was only one more doctor Mom needed to see, an infectiousdisease specialist. To this day, I do not know why Mom needed this doctor, but he concurred with the others; Mom did not have a fistula.

On Saturday, after being itted on Monday, I spoke to the original itting doctor who had been ordering the array of diagnostic tests. Mom could return to The Montrose Home. She no longer had a fever. The doctors at The Montrose Home would monitor her for possible gallstones and were aware that she might experience gallbladder pain, but that was it. The good news was, Mom’s urinary infection was almost over, and she did not have any serious health problems. The mysterious fistula was never found and never reared its ugly head again. Dr. Will was certain he had seen a fistula, but there was never a conclusive finding.

As we left the hospital on Saturday afternoon, I asked Mom if she knew where we were going. She said yes, we were going home, to her home, The Montrose Home. Before I left her that night, she made me promise I would never take her to the hospital again. I made that promise praying again that I could keep it.

As I drove home thinking about the last six days at the hospital, I was perplexed. My mother had endured almost a week of tests. She had been examined repeatedly and was found to be a healthy woman with an infection that was severe but treatable. On the one hand, I was grateful that no stone had been left unturned in examining Mom. On the other hand, I knew that week had taken a lot out of her. I wished I could have spared her that ordeal. I hoped she would be able to let go of the anxiety that must have been present that past week, and I was again grateful that Mom had pulled through and should be able to recover. Yes, I think she was in the right “home” at that time in her life, where doctors and nurses looked for answers and didn’t rely on hope. The time at the hospital had indeed been an ordeal, but Mom was strong enough to recover. I felt certain of that.

In retrospect, when I think back to that awful week, it almost reads like a horror

story interspersed with a macabre sort of humor. In truth, it was an ordeal for a ninety-three-year-old woman. Again, Mom’s strength and determination got her through.

Max, you didn’t hear my voice this week. I could not talk to you. I could not think. I was in a big bed in the hospital, with tubes hanging out of me. One night, I even had a big white thing on my foot, but I made such a commotion that Iris took it off. Yes, I was sick again, another of those horrible urinary infections. They are terrible. I have to go to the bathroom, but I can’t. It hurts too much. They put a tube in me to help the pee come out. The tube hurt me a little, but at least I was peeing. Such a conversation for me to have! I, Sara Ellis, who never talked about things that happen in the bathroom – now I talk about everything. I guess it’s better that you’re not here to see such things. Dr. Wills kept saying I had a fist problem. What is this fist problem? Well, I’m happy to tell you I don’t have any fist problem. My infection is better, and I’m not leaving home until I come to you. I mean it. I’m not going back to the hospital again. One of the doctors was handsome, not like you but cute like a young boy. He tried to make me laugh, but there’s nothing funny about being in the hospital. No more tests for me. Every day, they told me they were going to do another test. We’re going to do another test, blah, blah, blah. I’m better already just being here in my old bed with my favorite nurses nearby. Please, Max, don’t go tonight. Just hold my hand and stroke my forehead. I need your gentle touch. Just for tonight, please stay . . .

2004

M om’s time in the hospital took a lot out of her. Many evenings, she asked Bea to bring her dinner into her room so she could eat in her blue chair. She seldom went to the beauty shop downstairs except for a haircut. Bea washed her hair for her and fluffed it out. I had begun to write our story and spent time reading the beginning to her.

“That’s me, right, Iris? I’m Sara Ellis, right?”

“Yep, that’s you, Mom.”

“Is this going to be a real book?”

“I hope so, Mom, but I’ve got a long way to go.”

My hope was to finish the book while Mom was alive and show it to her.

2004: More Illness and Death

O f the three original women who had befriended Mom, the surviving two women lived in Mom’s section. Nancy and Sadie were the same age. They did everything together. If one didn’t come to the dining room for dinner, the other would find her, and they’d eat together in one of their bedrooms. It was unfortunate, but one day, Nancy fell and had to go to the hospital. When Sadie found out that Nancy was in the hospital, she had a terrible time. Sadie walked up and down the hall looking for her. She couldn’t believe that Nancy would go anywhere without her. Nancy was gone for over a week. Sadie didn’t eat much nor did she sleep. She just walked up and down the hall and sat outside Nancy’s room. Nancy returned but had a broken foot and needed to spend a lot of time in her room. Again, Sadie was bereft. It was as if she had lost a part of herself. Mom watched Sadie walk up and down the hall to Nancy’s room. Over and over, Sadie walked this same route.

“Mom, I wish Sadie wasn’t so sad. Nancy will be all right. I’ve talked to her. She just can’t walk around on her crutches too much. I don’t think that Sadie understands. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she keeps insisting that she misses Nancy and that Nancy is in her room.”

“Iris, leave her alone. She’s grieving for her friend.”

“I know, Mom, but her friend isn’t dead. She’s just recovering.”

“You don’t understand, Iris. Sadie doesn’t have too long to wait.”

Unless Mom knew something that I didn’t know, I couldn’t figure out this comment. The staff wasn’t allowed to comment on another resident’s health, so I let it go, although I was sad for Sadie. I had talked with Nancy. She kept trying to tell Sadie that she was all right and would be back with her in a few months.

When I returned to The Montrose Home a few weeks later, I didn’t see Sadie in the family room or the dining room. I did, however, see Nancy hobbling down the hall using a walker and a walking cast. When I asked her where her buddy was, her eyes filled with tears. Sadie had been transferred to another floor where she would receive more attention. She couldn’t function on her own without Nancy. Sadie’s daily pattern had been disrupted, and she was unable to adjust. I thought about what Mom had said. Now I understood what Mom had instinctively known. Sadie wasn’t strong enough to make it on her own. I knew that often happened when a husband or wife died first after a long, loving marriage. Now I was witnessing it firsthand within a friendship. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Mom didn’t get too close to anyone.

Max, there was another loss today, and it won’t be the only loss this year. Sadie was transferred upstairs with people who can’t anything. I saw it happening, Max. It broke my heart, but I kept it to myself. That poor woman Sadie. You , the friend of Millie and Nancy? She hasn’t been the same since her friend, Nancy, broke her foot. I know Nancy will be all right. She’s strong of spirit, like me, and she’s stronger of body, that’s for sure. She’s slim and fit, and she will recover soon, I think. Sadie was broken. She needed her friend to keep her spirit strong. Without Nancy, Sadie was lost. I couldn’t help her, Max. I watched, and I knew, but I kept to myself. I can’t split my energy. I need it all for me to keep going. I’m not eating as much now. Ever since I came back from the hospital, I’ve changed. I’m not too hungry anymore. I just don’t feel like eating, so the staff sends me these little bottles of milk shakes, and I drink them some afternoons. I think they’re called Boost. Who knows? Who cares? I had my birthday celebration, and I did eat the cake. It was good, not as good as my cake

but good enough. I shared my birthday with the others on the floor this year. I thought we should be together, but I don’t think I’ll do it again. It’s better to celebrate with the family. Bea comes to take care of me for an extra day now, even on Saturday. Sometimes, her daughter, Nora, comes on Saturday if Bea is working. She’s nice too, and she wears these fancy clothes which make me laugh. Nora’s clothes are colorful, and she looks good in them. I tell her too. Sometimes, she calls me Sarie, like you used to do. Last week, a new lady moved to our floor. She’s younger than me, and she has some machine in her room called a computer. I asked her over and over what kind of machine, and I know she said computer. She was a writer, like Iris is trying to be, and she wants to write a story about me. I’ll tell her about you too. It will be in a newsletter about life in The Montrose Home. I don’t think I’ll tell her that I talk to you every day and night. That’s our private business, but I will tell her about our life in Baltimore and how you were a lawyer and a politician. Yes, I have to think about what I’ll say. I’m so proud to be your wife, Max. Even if you’re not here now, you were my only husband and I your only wife. Who could ask for more, even if we haven’t seen each other in a long time? When we’re this close, who cares about time?

2004, Late Fall

I enjoyed the High Holiday services that year with Mom. Richard and I decided to spend the holidays in Maryland rather than in Florida so I could be with Mom. While I was home, I found a story, or parts of a story, that Mom had written. It was folded in an old book, and I was excited to discover that Mom was a writer too. I brought the story to The Montrose Home to show Mom. She looked at it but didn’t say anything. I was baffled because I had been so excited to find it.

“Did you write this story, Mom? It’s about your friend Margaret. You wrote a lot, but you never finished it. How come you never continued writing?”

“I don’t know, Iris. I don’t .”

“Really, Mom? You don’t ?”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t think I ever finished it, and I forgot where I put it. You can keep it. I don’t want to finish it now. I Margaret, but it was a long time ago.”

“Didn’t you sing at her wedding?”

“I think I did. She was my best friend in high school.”

“I never knew you wanted to be a writer.”

“I don’t think I did. I just wanted to write about Margaret. I loved her, and I lost track of her.”

“Well, I’m happy I found the story, Mom. I’ll keep it in case you ever want me to read it to you.”

“Whatever you want, Iris.”

It didn’t matter to me whether Mom was excited about the story or not. I was excited because I had found another side of my mother that I knew nothing about. She never talked about the past, about her likes and dislikes, about anything. My grandmother had answered all my questions, but at the time, I had been young, and the questions I had asked had been about my grandmother, not my mother.

2004: New Year’s

H appy New Year, my sweet Max. Another year is ending. Our granddaughter, Lily, is pregnant with her first child, so we will again be great-grandparents, my darling. I cry because you have never seen these children. Mathew has two beautiful boys, and now Lily is having a boy too. I don’t know how she knows, but she told me it was going to be a boy. I’m getting tired, Max. I don’t tell anyone that but you. The days all fall together. I can’t tell one from the other, except for a birthday or the Sabbath services, and of course, I still the bingo days. Now, I have another great-grandchild to look forward to, but how often will I see him? I begin to wonder why I’m still here. What is my purpose now? What am I supposed to be doing? Does anyone still need me? I don’t have any answers, so I’ll just let it go. Shelia is fine now. She’s always with Peter. He’s a nice man. He used to file my income taxes when I lived in Baltimore. Can you believe I live in Rockville? It doesn’t matter. I don’t go anywhere, so who cares. Shelia doesn’t like to see me here. I can tell. She hardly looks at my face when she talks to me. Am I ugly now? Why can’t she accept me as I am? I had to grow old sometime. Iris comes whenever she’s in town, and she calls me at least once a day, sometimes even more. She tries to make everything good for me. Impossible, but I wouldn’t tell her that either. She brings me things and sits on my bed and talks and talks to me. I like that time the best, when she takes off her shoes and sits on my bed while I’m in my blue chair. Sometimes, she reads her book about me. It’s a good book, Max, even though I don’t know who Sara Ellis is. She keeps saying that’s me. Okay, nu, I’ve got another name. I see her tears sometimes. Iris, Iris, you can’t make my life perfect, but thank you for trying. Just make your life perfect. So, my Max, how about one last dance before the year ends? , “ Oh, how we danced on the night we were wed ” . . . ? I can see your face, my darling. I’ll be there soon, just not yet . . .

2005: Mom’s Ninety-fifth Birthday

S helia and I spent extra time that year planning Mom’s birthday. What a milestone, ninety-five years-old! I was in awe. We notified her nephews and Richard’s brothers and their families. We also planned a luncheon first before our customary cake, punch, and the fruit that we shared with the other residents. My daughter, Lily, came without Ken, who was in training for a new job. Michael and his friend came, and Mom’s nephew and his wife from New Jersey drove down for the weekend. Shelia’s son, Mathew, and his children hovered close to Mom, and although she was quiet, she wore a beautiful smile and stayed awake the entire afternoon. Everyone talked about the traits they loved the most about Mom. I sat there beaming because there she was, my mom, celebrating her ninety-fifth birthday, when a few years earlier, we had been so worried about her. Mom kept patting Lily’s belly as if she could talk to the baby Lily was carrying. I think this was the happiest birthday I shared with my mother since she had lost her independence. I was filled with memories of her eighty-fifth birthday celebration at my home in Maryland when Shelia and I had written her a poem, and everyone had been so joyous. I also ed her eightieth birthday celebration, also at my home, when we had displayed a picture of Mom I had blown up. The picture had been on an easel, and we had photographed Mom, Shelia, Lily, and me beside the picture. Lily had looked so much like young Mom in the picture. Mom had been about the same age as Lily when the picture had been taken. Lily had the identical expression on her face that Mom had in the photo. Now we were all together again. Yes, it was bittersweet that at this milestone, Mom was in a nursing home, The Montrose Home, but she was alive, smiling, and surrounded by her family that stood by her side no matter where she was. I shifted back into the present moment. Mom was opening her cards, and Michael was standing next to her, whispering in her ear. That was a moment that was also special. Every one of these moments was special, and I was beginning to weave them into a tapestry of memories that I would always cherish.

I noticed that Mom was beginning to tire. I whispered to some of the family that I thought she needed to rest, so one by one, Mom’s family began their goodbyes. Shelia left with Peter, and Richard said he’d meet me at home. I wheeled Mom back to her room and put her presents away. She was already closing her eyes in her wheelchair. I sat down on her bed and talked quietly to her, although she may have been asleep by then.

“It was a lovely day, Mom. I hope you enjoyed yourself. Everyone was happy to be with you to celebrate this wonderful simcha. What a day! You are so amazing to me. I hope I can persevere through my life as you have done. You are my inspiration.”

I kissed Mom good-bye and walked over to the desk to tell the head nurse I was leaving. Edward was on duty. He had replaced Forrester, although Forrester still came to work on occasion. Forrester was writing a book, and we often compared notes on our progress. Edward assured me that an aide would check on Mom in a few minutes and make sure she was comfortable by getting her out of her wheelchair since she had been sitting in it for hours.

Max, I’m sitting in my blue chair. The girl changed my clothes and put me in my nightgown. She’ll bring my dinner to the room because I’m too tired to go to the dining room. I’m not going to eat a thing anyway, but if I tell the girl that, she’ll give me a lecture. It’s easier to say nothing and do what I want. What I want right now is to be left alone. Yes, it was wonderful to see all my family, but three hours, or however long they were here, was too much. I can’t sit in my wheelchair that long anymore. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to sleep. I don’t want to eat much. Just please leave me alone, and let me rest. I’m drifting off now, Max. I’m an old lady now. Will you recognize me when you see me? It shouldn’t be too much longer. I have a little more singing to do and a new baby to see. I think that’s about it. Good-night, sweetheart. I’ll see you in my dreams.

2005, Spring

M om’s spirits were okay, and she was attending some of her activities. Although she never regained her full appetite after her nightmare at the hospital, she wasn’t ill, and she didn’t complain about anything. She still called out “Help me,” but it wasn’t continuous, and she didn’t realize she was calling out; at least that’s what she told me. I went back to Florida after her birthday and spoke to her every day. In April, I came home for a long weekend and mentioned to Dr. Wills that Mom looked a little thinner. Dr. Wills assured me that losing a little weight would be good for Mom. Her diet was being supplemented with Boost or other protein drinks to ensure that she stay healthy. Mom and I had three days together, and when I returned to Florida, she was practicing to sing in a concert in the late spring. I assured her that I would be there along with my friend, Julie, who would be visiting me in May.

I returned the day before Mom’s concert. On the way to her room, I saw Mellie, the music director.

“It’s good to see you Iris. I’m glad you’re here. Your Mom was excited when we were practicing for the concert, but this last week, she seemed uninterested, and I had to beg her to attend practice this afternoon. I hope you can convince her to participate in the concert. She has such a beautiful voice, and she’s so animated when she sings.”

“Thanks for telling me, Mellie. I don’t know what might be bugging my mom, but I hope I can figure it out. I’ll talk to Bea also. She’ll know if anything is upsetting Mom.”

I walked into Mom’s room mustering all the enthusiasm I could. I didn’t want to appear worried. I was hoping I could figure out, through conversation, if anything was bothering her. I leaned over to kiss her and took her hand.

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling today? I just flew in from Florida a few hours ago and came right here with Julie after taking my suitcase home. I’m so happy to see you.”

“Me too, Iris. I’m happy to see you and Julie. So what’s new?”

“Nothing much is new, Mom. I’m happy to be home, and I’m looking forward to hearing you sing tomorrow night.”

Mom didn’t say anything, and I didn’t push.

“Excuse me for a minute, Mom. I have to speak to Jill about your medicines. I’ll be right back. Julie will show you her knitting while I’m gone.”

Bea was at the door to the room, and she followed me. She and Mom had been watching Mom’s soap operas before I came.

“Bea, is my Mom okay? Mellie told me she doesn’t want to sing in the concert tomorrow. What’s going on with her?”

“You know your mother, Iris. She’s all right. It’s like I told you on the telephone.

If your mother doesn’t want to eat, she doesn’t eat, and nothing can change her mind. She’s like that with other things too. When she doesn’t want to do something, she just doesn’t want to do it. It’s hard to change her mind. Just let her be. I’m sure she’ll participate in the concert since you’re home. I’ll get her ready for tomorrow night. Just tell me what blouse you want her to wear. I think Miss Mellie wants them to wear black pants, so I made sure she had a clean pair.”

“Thanks, Bea, and thanks for all that extra attention you give Mom.”

“It’s nothing, Iris. I love your mother. She’s always a lady. She just knows her own mind, and she doesn’t change it easily, but I think we can get her to sing tomorrow because she likes to sing. I watch her when she’s practicing. She gets those rosy cheeks, and I know she’s enjoying herself.”

I walked back into Mom’s room. She was listening to Julie talk about the sweater she was knitting. I sat on her bed for the next hour, listening to Julie and Mom talking. When it was time for dinner, I kissed Mom and told her I would see her the following evening at the concert.

“I’ll come early so I can take you to the concert. I think Richard and Julie will come too. See you tomorrow.”

I left then with Julie, wondering whether Mom would indeed sing tomorrow. She looked okay to me, although I had no idea why she didn’t want to sing in the concert. Oh well, maybe she didn’t feel well and didn’t want to tell anyone. I would have to see what tomorrow might bring.

Max, it was good to see Iris and her friend, but I don’t have too much energy to talk to them. I know Iris will find out that I’m not eating too much. I can’t. I don’t feel that well, and nothing tastes good to me. My foot hurts. Everything hurts. I just want to sleep. Just sleep. Now I have to sing tomorrow because Iris found out about the concert. I’ll go, but I may not sing. I don’t have to sing. I don’t have to talk either if I don’t want to. I’m a quiet person, and some days, I don’t want to talk. Now, Max, you could sing. Sing to me “Some Enchanted Evening.” Sing like Enzio Pinza used to sing. “Once you have found her, never let her go…” This is how I’d like to fall asleep every night, with you singing to me, Max.

2005: The Concert

I decided to visit Mom early that day so we could have a nice visit before the concert. When I arrived with Julie, Mom was asleep in her blue chair. She wasn’t dressed for the concert yet, but there was ample time for her to get ready.

“Mom, wake up. It’s time to get dressed for the concert and then we’ll have time for a visit.”

“Let me sleep for a few more minutes.”

“I think you need to wake up now so you don’t have to rush.”

Bea chimed in too.

“Sara, Mrs. Ellis, it’s time to wake up. Come on now, I have some Boost for you to drink and then we’ll get changed.”

“Okay, I’ll open my eyes in a few minutes. I’ll be ready on time. Don’t worry.”

“Good, Mom.” I added, “I can’t wait to hear your beautiful voice tonight.”

I walked out into the hall so Bea could get Mom dressed. Julie was waiting for me, and she reminded me to be gentle with Mom and not put too many expectations on her.

A few minutes later, Bea brought Mom into the hall in her wheelchair. She had drunk her Boost and was ready to go.

“You look beautiful tonight, Mom. I can’t wait to hear you sing. I’ll wheel her, Bea, and you can meet us there.”

As I wheeled Mom to the social hall on the first floor, I wondered why I kept pushing her. Why was I making so much fuss about this concert? I had never pushed Mom into any activities she didn’t want to do, except maybe to exercise. Why was tonight so important to me?

I wheeled Mom to her row with the other performers and handed her the book they were using to sing the songs. I then found a seat next to Julie and Richard, who had arrived while I was upstairs. I sat down prepared to enjoy the evening.

The concert was conducted by a musical director. Mellie introduced, Michael Jones, a well-known musical director in Maryland. The chorus was going to sing a wide arrangement of songs ending with “April Showers.”

Once the concert began, it was all I could do to stay rooted in my chair. Everyone was singing except my mother, Sara Ellis. As the others turned their pages, Mom sat there looking out at the audience. She made no attempt to find her place nor did she make any attempt to sing, although I believe she knew the words to many of the songs. There was a short break in the singing while

Michael Jones walked over to take a drink of water. I got out of my seat, walked over to Mom, opened her book to the page the other choir were on, and whispered to her, “Now you can sing.”

As I walked back to my seat, I wondered where that chutzpah had come from. Why was I making such a big deal over this concert? Mom wasn’t my little child; she was my mother. Why was I treating her like my child?

As the concert continued, Mom began to sing. First, she sang a few words. A few minutes later, she began to sing more loudly and then she became completely involved in the program.

I clapped and clapped when the concert ended. She had done it! She had participated in most of the program, and her voice had rung out loud and clear. I was proud of her. Refreshments were served, and many of the staff congratulated Mom on her performance. As usual, Mom was quiet and not too talkative. Julie was sitting by Mom and talking to her in a soft voice. Mom was listening but not talking. Somehow, I knew that this was not turning out as I had hoped. Yes, Mom had sung but not because she had chosen to. Had I bullied my mother into singing? What was the matter with me? Bea came over to me at that point and touched my hand.

“Oh, Bea, I don’t think she wanted to go to this concert. I made her go and then I treated her like a child. I embarrassed her into singing. Yes, I think that’s what I did. I think I embarrassed her to sing.”

“Iris, believe me, you could not have made your mother sing if she didn’t want to. She doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do. You must believe me. I know your mother.”

“I hope you’re right, Bea. I feel awful now.”

“Let me take your mom upstairs to bed now. I’ll talk with her and see if she has anything to say. You wait a few minutes and then come up and kiss her goodnight.”

I talked with Mellie and Richard for a few minutes and then I went upstairs to say good-night to Mom. Julie and Richard waited downstairs for me to return.

Mom was already in her bed, and Bea was getting ready to leave. I leaned over and kissed Mom good-night.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight, Mom. Your voice was beautiful, and I was proud to hear you and the others. It was a wonderful evening, and I know you practiced a lot.”

“Thank you, Iris. I’m tired. I need to sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, good-night, Mom. I love you very much.”

“Good-night, Iris.”

As I walked down the hall toward the elevator, I was filled with sadness. My

mom, my mom. Why did it feel so wrong? Had I forced her to sing even though Bea said she couldn’t be forced? She did participate in the concert. She wasn’t complaining. So why did I feel so awful? Why do I insist she do what I think she should do? It’s just like that dining room decision in The Estates. I wanted a nicer place for her to have her meals, but it wasn’t important to her, and she wasn’t comfortable there. When would I learn?

Max, I’ve had enough. Yes, I’ve had enough. I didn’t want to sing tonight. I was too tired, and it didn’t mean anything to me. I sang when we practiced. That was enough. I love singing with Mellie, but I don’t like that hotshot director Michael. He thinks he’s some big deal. All the others love him. They think he’s wonderful. Wonderful was listening to Al Jolson. Do you , Max? We went into Washington D.C. with my brother Arnie, and we heard Al Jolson sing. Now he could sing. when he sang “April Showers”? Oh, Max, I want to hear you sing again. I was never the singer. You were the singer. My mind is starting to drift away from the things going on here. I think about you more and more. I don’t always feel present here anymore. I can’t tell that to anyone, but I think Bea knows. She understands me. Oh, my Max . . . I loved the last song we sang. It’s our song, Max. “So if it’s raining, have no regrets because it isn’t raining rain, you know, it’s raining violets…”

2005, May

M om seemed to be all right after the concert. We never discussed the evening, and she didn’t bring it up. She was quiet, talking to me only if I initiated the conversation. More noticeable was her disinterest in food. She ate less and less.

“Mom, you really need to try and eat a little more. Bea told me you were only eating a little soup at night and refusing the main course.”

“I’m just not hungry, Iris.”

“I understand, but if you don’t eat, you’ll lose your strength. I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I’ll try.”

I talked to Edward, the head nurse. The staff was monitoring Mom’s food intake. She was eating a small amount at breakfast and a little lunch, though not much. Edward would make sure Mom received her protein supplement and make sure that Bea too monitored her food intake. He had witnessed this disinterest in food many times with other residents. Often, it was natural. The taste of food became unappealing. Sometimes, it was a ing phase; sometimes, it lasted. The staff would make every attempt to offer Mom her favorite foods, and with Bea working in the kitchen, she could help supplement Mom’s diet at breakfast and lunch.

Mom went to bingo some Tuesdays, but often, she preferred to sleep in her chair and was napping more than she was awake. I didn’t know what to do. Doing nothing is difficult for me to accept, yet doing nothing is just what I did. I called her, I visited her, and I called Bea. I just hung out in her chair when she was in bed. I had an exercise conference to attend in June and was reluctant to go. Lily’s baby was also due at the end of June. Mom was just being – being in her chair, being in her bed, being in her room, just being. As her daughter and a worrier, I tried to remain positive. The facts, however, were that my mother couldn’t stay strong without any sustenance. I didn’t want to think that she would end up in bed waiting for her life to end.

One afternoon, before I was scheduled to leave for my convention, I wrote Mom a note and read it to her. It is “the something” I could do for myself.

Dear Mom, Your inner beauty and outer beauty are as one. You are strong and have been strong your entire life. Your strength is the present I hope you on to me. You lived your life as a real presence. Everyone always knew where they stood with you except me, and now I think I see. You knew I was just like you, that I would rise to the occasion. I do know that. I have done it before and, hopefully, will do it again. Thank you for that strength. It has sometimes felt like a burden to me because it made me stand out as different, but I guess that’s okay because we are all different. I hope I have your quiet sense of humor, ing those little details like Michael’s goatee when you were recovering from your urinary tract infection. You made us laugh, and we knew that you are still a viable force in our lives.

I think I wrote Mom that note because I was afraid she might not make it while I

was gone. She wasn’t ill in the sense of having a specific illness. To me, it felt like she was giving up and was willing herself to just fade away. In hindsight, perhaps she didn’t have the energy to keep on going.

2005: The Conference

I left for Florida, where my conference was taking place, stopping at my home for three days, and then I drove from there to Orlando, where the Exercise Convention was being held. Julie went with me. She was going to do some sightseeing and have a little vacation while I went to three days of classes. On the way to the conference, I received a call from the new social worker, Diane Davidson, at The Montrose Home. Mom was eating even less and sleeping more. The social worker felt that Mom should be evaluated by the hospice nurses from Jewish Social Services. I was stunned. Although I had written Mom that note, I didn’t, in my heart, think that she was really leaving me. My rosecolored glasses allowed me to view my mother’s failings with extra hope; however, I always made certain that I told Mom how I felt so I would never regret that I had left anything unsaid between us.

I knew that my favorite social worker, Sandy Prince, was now a hospice nurse at Jewish Social Services. Diane gave me Sandy’s number, and I called her as soon as I reached Orlando and checked into my room.

I was able to reach Sandy, and she promised me that she personally would evaluate Mom in two days. The information that had come across her desk regarding Mom was not as alarming as other requests she had received. She encouraged me to remain calm and stay put at the convention, and she would call me on Friday. The convention ended Saturday evening, and she felt certain that Mom was not on the verge of dying. There – I finally allowed myself to say that dreaded word. I hung up and called Bea.

Bea too was shocked at all the attention Mom was receiving. Although Mom was eating almost nothing, she did eat some ice cream every few days, and she didn’t seem deathly ill to Bea. Bea was also able to get Mom to drink a little

Boost. My favorite aide, who istered the evening medications, Jill, got on the telephone. She assured me that Mom was not dying. She said she had seen many people who were ill and were, in fact, dying, and Mom was not one of them. She was surprised that hospice was coming in to evaluate Mom but urged me to regard this as a blessing. Mom would be receiving extra attention and love. Who wouldn’t thrive with all that attention?

Oy vey, Max, why are so many people coming in and out of my room? I’m looking for peace and quiet. Instead, it’s like a party in here, only, it’s a party I don’t want to attend. One lady came in here, sat down on the chair where Bea usually sits, and turned on some music. She says it will help me to relax. Relax! I’ll relax when you get the hell out of here. I’m trying to relax, can’t you see? Then there’s Edward. Whenever he’s here, he walks in and talks to me about food. “Mrs. Ellis, I want you to try and eat a little something. C’mon, Mrs. Ellis, your daughter Iris wants you to eat. She’ll be upset with me if I tell her you’re not eating.” Out! I scream silently. Get out! Just leave me alone. I’ll eat when I’m hungry. I just need to rest some more. Max, I thought I was going to see you soon, but they just won’t let me go. Don’t leave me, sweetheart. Yours is the only music I want to hear . . .

2005: Lily’s Baby

I was able to stay for the entire convention. Sandy Pierce called me back on Friday. She thought that Mom was weak, but she said that if they could encourage her to eat a little and get her sitting up again, she should pull through. However, since Mom was taking up so much of the staff’s time, the hospice nurses would continue to visit her for a few weeks. Only time would predict the outcome. She gave me the number of Mom’s primary hospice nurse, Sylvia, and I placed a call to her on my way home from the convention. Our conversation was not encouraging. She wanted me to be certain that I had told Mom everything I wanted her to know. I’m certain she thought I was nuts when I told her that I had told my mother everything I could ever want to tell her, that, in fact, I tried to do that every time I was with her. We hung up with her promising to keep me informed. I was planning on returning to Maryland in two days and would meet Sylvia at that time. Bea never changed her original opinion that Mom was not dying. In fact, Mom had sat up that morning. Bea had come up from the kitchen with Mom’s favorite ice cream. Bea had asked Mom, “Do you want to die, Sara?” Mom had answered her, “No, I don’t want to die.” Bea wanted me to stop worrying – as if I could. She assured me that Mom would pull through.

I saw Mom two days later. She was still in bed but was sitting up with the television on. I wiped the tears from my eyes as I watched her sitting there before she saw me. She still looked beautiful to me. Yes, she was thinner but not too thin. Her eyes were a little opaque, perhaps, but maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there. I walked into her room, put my purse on her chair, and leaned over to kiss her beautiful punam.

“Mom, I’m so happy to see you.”

“Who else did you think you’d see in this bed?”

“No one else, and you’re exactly who I want to see.”

“Sit down, Iris. Put your purse on my dresser and rest yourself.”

Yes, those were my Mom’s words, although spoken with a raspy voice, and I had never been so happy to hear them. I visited for a while, but she was tired, tired in a way that I had never noticed before. I later came to associate this deep weary exhaustion with my mother’s last years, but that day was the first time I had allowed myself to see it. As I left her room, with a promise to return later that night or the next morning, I met Sylvia, the hospice nurse. She told me that there was little they could do for Mom.

Mom was unresponsive to their ministering. In fact, the previous day, Mom had asked one of the nurses to leave. They would continue to try to sit with her, play music, or read, but if she continued to be hostile, they would leave her alone. I explained that Mom was a private person who preferred the company of only a few close people. She used her sleep as a way to escape, perhaps, and only with the right connection between Mom and another person would she be comfortable. I thanked her and hoped she understood. Hospice had been wonderful for my father-in-law, but he was a different person, and he had been at the end of his path.

Mom’s improvement was gradual. While she was recovering, Lily’s baby, Henry Colin, was born – my first grandchild. He was beautiful, and Lily felt well and was ecstatic. I couldn’t wait until he was a little older and Mom was well enough to meet her third great-grandchild.

Max, darling, I’m sorry I didn’t make it this time. I was so sure I’d see you. I felt your presence so close to me. I guess there’s nothing I can do. I must not be ready to leave. It’s not that I want to die. I just want to see you. What is there for me to do here? I’m a prisoner in my blue chair and my wheelchair. Food doesn’t interest me, although I’m eating a little more. I wasn’t starving myself. I just didn’t have an appetite. How many bingo games can I play in a lifetime? I don’t enjoy talking with the others in the family room. I wonder why they call it a family room. My family isn’t there. I can go to synagogue on Saturdays, but it’s a schlep. I can just as easily pray in my room. I love the visits I get, but I don’t always want to talk. I just like to see their faces, listen to their voices for a little while, and then they can leave. It’s okay when Iris stays and rests with me. Then we’re together, and we don’t have to talk. Bea is my best friend. She understands me, and she never forces me to do anything. So, my darling, I’m still here, and you’re there, wherever there is, but I know I’m on my way. I know I’m closer to you than I was before, so if you can be patient, we will spend our eternity together. I just need a little rest now. Perhaps you could sing a little . . .

2005, Fall

M om regained some of her strength. She was able to participate in some activities when she wanted to and ate some of her meals in the dining room, although her meals were smaller than they used to be. Her spirit, however, had diminished. Her conversations were shorter, and she slept even more than she had before becoming sick, but there were also some peak days, times that I will forever treasure in my tapestry of memories, which was widening daily.

One of those special days occurred when Lily brought Henry to The Montrose Home. Mom’s face lit up with a glow that had been missing for months if not years.

“Let me hold you little pussycat.

“You’re just a precious little pussycat.”

I was beaming as I watched Mom holding Henry. I ed that Mom had always called me her “little pussycat” when I was a child. I qvelled to hear Mom say those words again.

I took several pictures of Mom holding Henry in her arms, and Ken took several pictures of Mom holding Henry, with Lily and me on either side. I now had even more memories to cherish. Lily visited for an hour or more and left Mom with some of her earlier pictures of Henry, which we affixed to her wall. Now Mom could look at Henry whenever she wanted, and Lily would also send the new

pictures to Mom.

After Lily left, I visited with Mom a little longer, and we talked about how well Lily looked, and, of course, we talked about adorable Henry, Mom’s third greatgrandchild.

2006, March

M om’s ninety-sixth birthday was approaching. Shelia and I decided to keep it simple: birthday cake, fruit, and punch. We invited our respective families as usual and were looking forward to a quiet celebration. Indeed, we had much to be grateful for that year, the greatest gift being Mom’s presence.

When I visited her a few days before her birthday, she started talking to me as soon as she saw me in the doorway of her room.

“You know it’s not right Iris. It’s just not right.”

“What’s not right, Mom?”

“A man changing a woman. You know that’s not right.”

“When did that happen, Mom?”

“Yesterday. Well, it was last night, I think.”

“Why did a man change you, Mom?”

“You tell me why.”

“Talk to me, Mom. Who came to change you?”

“That new man, Delsi, was here. He’s a very nice man, but I said to him, I don’t think it’s right for you to change me. I’m a woman, and it’s not right for a man to be changing me. Just like that I told him. He was embarrassed, and he knew I was right. He told me they were short-staffed and that it was time to get me ready for bed. He was the only person available. Well, I said, it doesn’t matter, I would have waited. He put me to bed and left after saying good-night, but I still don’t think it’s right.”

“I agree with you, Mom. It’s not right, and we told the staff several years ago that you did not wish to be changed by a male unless there was a woman in the room or the man was your head nurse or doctor. I’ll tell them again and let it be known that it’s unacceptable to you and your family.”

I walked to the desk, glad that Mom had told me what happened but angry that she had to undergo such a humiliating experience. Mom seldom complained, but she was quite adamant about her feelings. My heart ached for her. She never talked about losing control of her bladder and bowels, so I knew how upset she was. She shouldn’t have to suffer this indignity, and I would make certain that the staff and the social worker knew about this incident and understood her humiliation. I never wanted her to suffer this embarrassment again.

2006, Spring and Summer

M om’s days ed uneventfully, which is just the way I liked them to be. Lily brought Henry back one afternoon, and Mom enjoyed him as much as she had on his first visit. I volunteered to help out for the second Seder at The Montrose Home. I sat next to Mom, and, with Bea’s help, we assisted the residents at Mom’s table with the over service and helped to facilitate the ing of food and refilling of everyone’s plate. Mom sang out with gusto during some of the songs, and I left her that night happy to share the holiday with her in her surroundings.

Bea related an afternoon she had spent with Mom. When Bea had first come into the room, she had heard Mom talking out loud. She had asked Mom whom she was talking to. Mom had told Bea she was ing some old friends she used to know. She hadn’t thought about them for a long time. She had related to Bea how she used to shop for everyone in her office. She would go downtown to the department stores in Baltimore and do errands for all of her friends on her lunch hour at work. She had said she would walk very fast and buy whatever they wanted or exchange their purchases. It was hard for me to picture my mother walking rapidly through the department stores and shopping for others, but I loved thinking about her during that time in her life. I did that she loved to browse and wander through the stores or go to the Lexington Market, where she would buy lunch for her coworkers. That was another memory in my photo-book of memories.

2006, Fall

M y good friend Pearl Warner met me at The Montrose Home on a beautiful October afternoon. She was doing volunteer work at the building attached to Mom’s building and hadn’t seen Mom in a long time. My friend Julie was in town also, and Lily was in Rockville visiting friends, so we decided to have a girls’ lunch with Mom. Of course, little Henry came too. He napped in his stroller. I had picked up sandwiches, and the sunroom on Mom’s floor was unoccupied, so we sat there and reminisced. Mom was having a good day and even ate her turkey sandwich. We girls prevailed upon Mom to share her “wisdom” with us.

“Please, Mom. We all want some advice to carry with us as we enter our golden years.”

Mom agreed to help us out.

“Cook.”

“What?” we asked in unison

“Cook,” she repeated. “Then eat whatever you want, but to eat in moderation.

“Don’t cook with a large light. Use a small light. The food will cook more

evenly and you won’t have to watch over it. Put a lid on your pot. Taste the food to see if it’s all right. Add pepper, salt, paprika, and garlic. Watch everything around you, and keep your mouth shut.”

I wondered if that’s what she had done. I suspected as much.

“This is for you, Lily. Listen to whatever your husband says. Then do whatever you want.”

Everyone laughed at this. It was so like Mom. I ed shopping with her right before she had gotten sick. I had been trying to decide between two pairs of shoes. Mom’s advice had been, “Buy them both. Your husband makes good money.”

I laughing at that time but being surprised. Mom had been careful with spending her money, yet she had told me the opposite, an interesting paradox, I thought.

“What else, Mom?” I asked. “Can you add some more of your wisdom for us to ?”

“Maybe I’ll think of some more later. Now I’m getting too tired to think. It’s enough.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Ellis,” Pearl responded. “If you , I love to cook. I even cater parties, so if you have any more cooking tips, tell Iris, and I’ll be sure to

think of you when I follow your hints.”

Mom was already drifting off, and I wheeled her back to her room after Lily kissed her good-bye. I knew she had more precious pearls to impart to us. I hoped she’d recall them soon and share them with us another time. She had already given Julie several knitting tips.

I kissed her good-bye and promised to visit the following day. I would call her later that evening.

“Okay, Iris. Take care of yourself. I’ll see you later. I need to rest now.”

After leaving her room, I ed another of her famous sayings: “Rest yourself.” She always told me that when I visited her. She also told each member of the staff, who stopped by to see her on their day off, to “Sit down, and rest yourself, honey.” She called all the staff that she liked “honey.” “You sit down, honey, and rest yourself. I’m going to sleep now. Just let me sleep for a little while.”

As I walked out of the Montrose Home with Pearl, Julie, Lily, and Henry, I was content and grateful that the girls had spent this time with Mom. She didn’t have much company, and, for a few minutes, she had been the queen whose advice was being sought. I think that was a role she had played often in her earlier years as a working woman who was beloved at her work, a woman people came to for advice. For that short time that day, Sara Ellis had again been that all-knowing woman.

Max, I enjoyed myself with Lily and Iris’s friends. Of course, the best was my

precious baby, my little pussycat, Henry. He slept like an angel and filled me with a contentment I seldom feel anymore. Oy vey, they did wrack my brain for my wisdom. I’m sure I could offer a lot more if I ed, but I don’t, Max. I’m starting to forget so many things. One thing I do is my rubber bands. Do you that I used to keep them on the handle of the door in my dining room? I took them all when I moved to my apartment, but I don’t where they are now. I hope the girls kept them. You never know when you might need a rubber band. I my knitting too. You either knit, or you don’t. I tried to teach my friend, but she never got the hang of it, and I didn’t have the patience to work with her. Iris brought me some wool a few years ago, with a pattern for a blanket. Max, it was too hard for me to do. I kept dropping the stitches, and I didn’t want anyone to know that it was too difficult. I, Sara Ellis, who knit all her life, who made beautiful clothes, I could no longer complete a simple pattern for a blanket. That was almost as bad as losing control of my bladder and my bowels. How does it happen? One minute, I was a useful woman, doing my job, cooking for the holidays, traveling to see Iris in Florida, helping Shelia with the Jewish holidays, and the next minute, I’m an old lady. And where am I living? I’m in a nursing home. The one place I said I’d never live. Okay, so it’s not like that other terrible place. It’s more like an apartment with help and food, but it’s a nursing home. The help doesn’t come every time I want them to, and I can’t always go to bed when I want. This is what it all comes down to. I know I can’t be alone, so I have to accept this place. I’m happy to have Bea almost every day and, sometimes, her daughter too, although I often forget her name. I think it’s Nora. She brings her little baby girl some Saturdays, and that pleases me. I still love when our daughters visit me. I get to see a lot more of Iris when she’s in town because she lives close-by. When she’s away, I always know she’ll call me every night. I sit by the telephone and wait. I love when she takes that time to call. Even for a minute, it’s my lifeline. It’s all I have left now, Max, a loving voice, a short visit, my television shows, and talking to you. I could sit here and talk to you all day, but I must rest now. I can picture you close-by. You feel closer every day, so I know our real time together will come soon. Oh, my Max, I long to touch your face. I hope I’ll be able to do that soon. Just to touch your face . . .

2007, Winter

N ew Year’s had come and gone, and Mom was sleeping more and more. Her appetite was diminishing, and she preferred to spend most of her time in her room. She generally ate her dinner there. She wasn’t difficult or moody. Those who knew her well could detect that her spirit was diminishing. She now had an almost daily visitor, Rose, Richard’s mother, who had moved to Maryland from Florida. We were able to get her into Mom’s building, and she was living down the hall from Mom. Rose liked to talk, and she talked incessantly. Although Mom loved Rose as family, Mom was not a talker, and she often feigned sleep when Rose peeked in the door. Unfortunately, Rose had glaucoma and was almost blind. She also had hearing problems, which made her life a challenge to navigate. She was going to undergo a second hip operation in a few months. The hip she had received ten years ago was wearing out and causing her pain. I was relieved that Rose was at The Montrose Home because I had been spending my time in Florida taking her for eye surgeries and worrying about her safety in her apartment. She had started falling and could no longer live alone. She now also needed a wheelchair because of the pain in her hip. I found myself expressing daily gratitude that The Montrose Home was available to help my aging parents.

Max, she came by again today, Iris’s mother-in-law. Max, she is a dear person, but honest to god, I don’t know what she’s talking about. She talks about these people I don’t even know. She goes on and on, and she speaks so softly I can barely hear her, and I don’t want to hear her because these people she speaks about are not important to me. I don’t care if one friend had a daughter who lost a child and another’s husband is in the hospital. Stop telling me all this mishagas. I don’t care, and I don’t want to listen to you talk. I’m sorry you can’t see me too well. If that’s true, then how come you always tell me I look so nice? I should believe someone who can’t see! Oy vey, it’s enough. I do like it when Iris’s sister-in-law, Sue, visits. She goes to see Rose and then she comes in here. If I’m awake, I open my eyes for her. She’s soft-spoken, and she always sits with me, speaks sweetly, and tells me about her daughter, Rebecca. When Bea is here, she tells Rose that I’m tired and that I have to sleep. It’s true enough. Some days,

that’s all I want to do, sleep. I tell the girls, when they come in my room to check on me, “Just let me sleep. Please, honey, just let me sleep.” Oh, Max, I forgot to tell you that a man tried to touch me in the dining room. I think it was last night, but I’m not sure. I was at the table first. Bea took me ahead of the others so I could leave early and go to bed. That big man at my table pushed his wheelchair over next to me, and he came too close. He put his hand on my knee. I started to scream. “Get him away from me. Get your . . . hands off me. Who do you think you are?” Bea and Miriam came running over and pushed him away from me. I was angry. You know I don’t like anyone to touch me, especially another man. I told those girls to take him away. I don’t care if he was mad and that he didn’t mean to touch me or to hold on to me. I don’t want some man’s hands on me. Bea told me later that everyone clapped, but I didn’t hear anything. After that episode, I was too angry to eat. I told Bea to take me back to my room. Now I’ve upset myself just thinking about that man. Maybe you could just sing a little song, softly, to me, so I could calm down . . . “once you have found her, never let her go” . . . good-night, my dearest.

2007: Mom’s Ninety-Seventh Birthday

I felt so blessed that year. Mom was with us, and we were again gathering together, this time, for her ninety-seventh birthday. Lily and her family were living in Florida now because Ken had been transferred for his work. It would just be for a few years and then they hoped to move back to Maryland. For me, their move was a blessing. I now had my daughter and family only forty-five minutes away from my Florida home. Lily sent Mom pictures of Henry that we put on her message board, and some we taped right on the wall next to her bed. Not only did we celebrate Mom’s birthday, we also celebrated my son Michael’s engagement to his significant other, Carly. I was thrilled to see Michael so happy, and Carly was the perfect match for him. She paid Mom a lot of attention at the party, and things felt right. Rose came to Mom’s party with Ellis, Richard’s brother, and his wife, Sue. Rose was quiet for a change. Mom too was quiet, yet she had a little bit of a glow since we were celebrating that day that was a miracle and a blessing. The grandchildren, Brian and Lee, were there with Mathew. He and Leslie were separated and waiting for their divorce to be finalized. I’m not certain if Shelia had told Mom. However, Mom never mentioned Leslie’s absence on any occasion. My cousins from New Jersey couldn’t make the party that year, so we were a smaller group, but we kept the conversation lively. Michael and Mathew, in particular, reminisced about old family holidays and Mom’s cooking. Mom smiled a little and spoke a little but only in a one-on-one conversation. I couldn’t help but notice how each year Mom appeared a little smaller in her pictures than the previous year.

Carly wheeled Mom back to her room after the party and told her about the wedding plans. She promised Mom that she would be a loving wife to Michael and would share all the details of the wedding, including the pictures and video, as soon after the wedding as possible. They were planning to be married in August.

After Carly left, I returned to Mom’s room, kicked off my shoes, and sat down on her bed.

“Rest yourself, Iris. You look tired.”

“What about you, Mom? You must be feeling tired.”

“I am, Iris. If my back didn’t hurt so much, I think I’d be more awake and alert.”

“Is it your arthritis, Mom?”

“Who knows? I guess so. I’m in pain most of the time. That’s why it feels so good when I lie down and recline on my blue chair.”

“I hope you enjoyed yourself today. I know I did.”

“It was very nice, Iris. You know I love to be with my family. I wish Lily and the baby could have been here. She called me on the telephone this morning. Oh well, she’ll be home this summer. I think that’s what she said.”

“Yes, Lily, Ken, and Henry will be here for a visit this summer.”

“When do you go back to Florida?”

“I go back next week, Mom. I want to work on the book some more and finish my Kabbalah course.”

“What’s that about?”

“Kabbalah is the study of Jewish mysticism. We’re concentrating on finding our path in life. For me, it’s a spiritual journey.”

“You like that?”

“I love it, Mom. The conversation is stimulating, and the teacher is brilliant. I love learning from her. I took Shelia with me when she visited.”

“Did she like it?”

“She fidgeted the entire time, even during the meditation. She asked me if I believed in this spiritual stuff. I think she’s shocked that I do. The class is exciting, and the others bring so much energy with them. Sorry to keep rambling, Mom. I hope all this talking isn’t boring you.”

“Stay a few more minutes, honey. What’s the big hurry?”

“Okay, Mom, I’ll sit here a little longer.”

Mom fell asleep in her wheelchair, and I shut my eyes and dozed for a few minutes. I hadn’t had such a lengthy conversation with her in a long time. It felt good, just being together, and now having this companionable time, when neither of us needed to talk. I hoped I hadn’t tired her too much. She could, hopefully, go to sleep early.

Max, another year has ed. I get older and older. Outwardly, I suppose nothing changes, but inwardly, I feel ancient. I didn’t understand a word about Iris’s class. Kaba-something. Why is she taking this class? Oh well, she raves about it, so it must be good. Carly will be our newest family member. She is beautiful, Max, and I hope her mazel is as good as she is beautiful. Michael is smitten. I hope she will be good for him. He deserves a nice woman by his side. He’s such a good boy, and he works hard with Richard. Richard’s mother, Rose, was at the party. For once, she was quiet. I was quiet too. No one mentioned that Leslie wasn’t there, but I think I had already figured it out a year or so ago. They must have been separated then. She’s a tough cookie, that Leslie. She told me off one day. I held my tongue after the first lashing I gave her. She was a cold person and not too respectful of me, although she acted all gooey at times. She was smart, though, and I think she did love Mathew. He’s a swell guy, my first grandson. I hope he meets another girl one day to share his life, and I hope this next one can cook. Leslie didn’t cook anything, and she didn’t even try. I don’t understand it. Why do these young people go in and out of marriage so easily? You make a vow. You keep that vow. It’s forever. That’s why I was so proud of Michael when he broke off his first engagement. He knew it wasn’t right, and he didn’t go through with it. Oy, Max, everything’s so hard. Even getting to you is hard. Yes, I’m tired. I don’t do much, and yet I’m still here. There must be a reason, but no one has given me the answer yet. In the meantime, I’ll wait for whatever comes my way. I love you so much, and I miss you. Let’s have a little rest now. I’m not going to eat any supper tonight. I’ll see you in my dreams, my darling.

2007, Spring and Summer

A fter Mom’s ninety-seventh birthday, she became even quieter. She seldom left her room at all, even to go to the dining room. She preferred to eat all her meals in her room. She always had her television on, but even with the volume turned up, I could sometimes hear her call out “Help me” as I was walking toward her room. Each time I heard her call out, it was as if she were calling out for the first time; I never got used to it. I was never sure that it was my mother calling out. I approached her room that beautiful May afternoon with the idea of taking her outside or, at least, downstairs to see the birds.

“Hi, Mom,” I called out as I walked through the door. Bea was sitting beside her, and I think they were both dozing.

“Are both of you sleeping on this beautiful afternoon? I thought we might go outside and see the new flowers that have been planted. I don’t think you’ve been outdoors in a long time, and today is the perfect day.”

“Not today, Iris. I’m not going anywhere today.”

“Okay, Mom, you don’t have to go outside. I just thought you might enjoy a change of scenery.”

“Your mother is having a bad day today, Iris. Nancy, who lived down the hall, ed away last night, and everyone is quiet today. Your mother is mourning another loss.”

I wish I had known before I had walked into her room. I would have been more sensitive to Mom. No one had been at the desk when I had ed by on the way to Mom’s room, so I had had no way of knowing. Generally, the nurses didn’t talk about a resident’s ing, yet the residents knew instinctively. Nancy was the last one of the three ladies who had attempted to befriend Mom when she had arrived at The Montrose Home. I felt saddened also. How terrible to be old and lose everyone you knew. It had happened to Mom before she came to live here, and now it was happening again in her nursing home community of residents. For lack of anything to say, I sat down and took Mom’s hand. I just held it for a few minutes, and the three of us sat together, each lost in our thoughts. I was the one to break the silence.

“Bea, let’s have some ice cream. I think we all need a little sweetness to help ease our sadness. I seldom eat ice cream, so eating it now wouldn’t be decadent even if it was close to dinnertime.”

“I’ll go down to the kitchen and see if I can find three ice cream sandwiches. Would you like that, Mrs. Ellis?

“I’ll eat a little if it’s not too much trouble, Bea.”

Bea returned to Mom’s room a few minutes later, and the three of us sat in silence eating the ice cream. That treat literally saved the day. In our own way, we were saying good-bye to Nancy and acknowledging to ourselves that, whether we like it or not, life does go on.

Hello, my dear Max. Were you listening to our conversation? Yes, Nancy ed away, and even though I didn’t spend too much time with her, I’m still feeling

sad. Nancy was lonely too. I suspect that she felt a lot like I do. Her two close friends had ed away, and she only had the one son to visit her, and he didn’t come often because he lives in New York. After a while, you start to wonder why you’re still here. I know I’m getting ready to leave here. I didn’t think I’d make it this long, especially that last time when they had all those people in here to take care of me. Why does a grown woman need all that help? I didn’t have any energy, and I sure didn’t want to waste it being comforted by people I didn’t know. I have you to talk to, so I don’t need anyone else. I know Iris meant well by asking me to go outside with her this afternoon, but I don’t want to go outside anymore. It makes me lonely for you and for the beautiful life we could have together if I could only find you. Try to tell me how to get to you, Max. It can’t be too much longer, and I don’t want to get lost. Let’s watch the last few minutes of Jeopardy together before I go to sleep . . .

2007, Fall

M ax, it’s getting harder and harder for me to have a conversation with anyone but you. I just sit here and watch my television, but mostly, I sleep. Shelia’s visits are growing shorter and shorter. She rushes in, puts down her pocketbook, rushes out to go to the bathroom in the hall, and then she comes back in, talks to me for a few minutes, and leaves. I don’t think she can stand seeing me fade away. Yes, Max, I’m fading away. I don’t have very much energy, and what is there to say? At least when Iris is here, I don’t have to talk. She looks at me, smiles, and even though I know she’s aching inside, she never lets on. She talks to me about the children. Michael and Carly got married in August, and something tells me that Carly may already be with child. Why not? Michael is in his late thirties, and he loves children. He always sits with Mathew’s boys and talks to them. I see how they love him. I’m not sure I can wait for Carly to have her baby. I forgot to tell you – or did I tell you? – Lily is having another baby. She says it’s a girl, but how does she know? That’s my question. In my day, we didn’t paint the room any special color, and we didn’t even put any furniture in until the baby was born. I guess it was another mishagas. Lily’s baby will be born in March. Maybe she’ll have it on my birthday. Oy, Max, it’s almost time for me to be with you. I hope you’re still waiting for me. It’s been fifty-five years since you left me. Will you still want me? I’m an old woman now. My hair is snow-white. I still don’t have any wrinkles. At least I was blessed with beautiful skin. My mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be, and I can hardly walk, but I can sing, and if you hold on to me, I can dance. I can kiss and hug and cuddle, and together, we can dream. Some of the residents here have asked me why I never remarried. There was never anyone who compared to you. It’s that simple. I did go out with your old friend, Joel Richmond. We had a few dinners, and I even helped him sort out Dora’s things after she died, but we never really got too involved. His kids saw us together one time, and he told me they were worried about him dating. What they were worried about was that he might get married again and that they might lose some of their inheritance. Why couldn’t they just let two old friends enjoy some time together? He was a fine man and your good friend. We had things in common and shared some nice conversations. I would never have married him. No, Max, you were the only man for me. Let’s just rest a little now, and maybe you could hum another song for me . . . “you may meet a

stranger across a crowded room… ”

2007, November

T hanksgiving was approaching, and I was watching the spirit slip away from my mother. Food was unimportant to her. She had no interest in it. I decided to celebrate Thanksgiving in Maryland that year. The previous year, we had celebrated in Florida because of Lily, Ken, and Henry, but I needed to be in Maryland, and Mom needed to see her grandchildren and great-grandchildren again.

Henry bounded into the room, and Mom’s eyes lit up. He never failed to cause a positive responsive in her. Even though he ran in and out of her room, she didn’t mind. We pushed the wheelchair into the family room, where there was a fish tank filled with brightly colored fish. Henry ed it from another visit, and we sat around the tank to amuse him. Mom wasn’t talking much, but she wore a beautiful smile that I will always because it was the first smile I had witnessed on her face in months. She never took her eyes off Henry. For those few hours, the spirit and energy returned to Mom. Before Lily left, Mom patted her belly. I know she was sending her spirit, energy, and good wishes to the new baby.

Two days later Mom suffered from another urinary tract infection. It was a mild infection this time, but it managed to deplete whatever energy reserves she possessed.

I visited every day before I returned to Florida, but I was doing all the talking now. Mom was doing all the listening. I didn’t want to stop talking to her because I was starting to accept the reality of her life. I prayed that she would keep on a little longer as long as she wasn’t in pain. There wasn’t anything physically wrong with her. She was just fading, a little bit each day, like a balloon that lasts a long time but, each day, loses a little air and becomes a little

bit smaller. I reluctantly went back to Florida to celebrate the Christmas and Chanukah holidays with Lily and her family. One life had to continue while another life was slowly fading away. I was having a hard time letting go although I knew the time was coming.

2007, December

I called either Mom or the nursing home every day, sometimes more than once. Mom spoke to me for barely a minute, if that long, when I called. Edward told me she wasn’t eating much of anything but that her vitals were good and that that was the best we could hope for. He said her appetite might improve, or it might not and that we would just have to take it one day at a time. Bea told me the same things that Edward had said. Mom was there, but that was all. She spoke a little, and she ate a tiny amount, sometimes ice cream or a little soup, sometimes just a little water. Bea tried to interest her in food by bringing in little bits of things Mom used to enjoy, like gefilte fish, pickled herring, bagels and lox, jello, and soup, which used to be a favorite. She did manage to get Mom to drink some Boost on days when she ate almost nothing, but every sip was a struggle. Sometimes, in the late evening, before I went to bed, I’d call the latenight nurse, and she’d check Mom’s chart and walk into her room to check on her. Everyone at The Montrose Home honored my calls and checked on Mom for me.

After spending Christmas with Ken, Lily, and Henry, I told Richard I needed to leave him in Florida and check on Mom for myself. I needed to see her since our phone calls were not satisfying. My mind was playing tricks, and I wasn’t going to rest until I saw her for myself.

2007, December 27

I flew into Baltimore on Southwest Airlines. My friend Pearl picked me up since my son, Michael, was working. Pearl dropped me at home, and I dropped my travel bag in the foyer, found my car keys, grabbed a warm coat, and left for The Montrose Home. It was lunchtime, but time, for Mom, wasn’t relevant anymore. As I walked down the hall toward her room, I felt anxious and fearful. Mom didn’t know I was coming. In fact, no one but my family and Bea knew. I took a deep breath and walked into her room. Mom was sitting up in her bed. Her eyes were closed, the television was on, and a lunch tray was across her lap. If I weren’t so nervous, I might have laughed. I whispered her name, but, at first, she didn’t respond. I said it a little louder, “Mom, it’s me, Iris. Wake up. It’s lunchtime, and I’m here to visit with you.”

I leaned over to kiss her forehead and smooth her lovely white hair.

“Mom, I’m here, and I want you to wake up and be with me.”

Slowly, Mom opened her eyes, and a smile began to form on her lips. I felt the tears fill my eyes, and I looked at her now small but beautiful face.

“Iris, Iris,” she whispered.

“Yes, Mom, it’s me, Iris. I missed you so much that I got on the plane and flew here to be with you for the next two days. I’m so happy you’re waking up now.”

“Iris,” she said my name again, but this time, her voice was a little louder. “Oh, Iris, I wish I could tell you about my journey. I’m taking this journey more often now. Soon, I think I may not return here, but don’t worry, I’ll be with your daddy and my Momma.”

“Where will I be?” I asked her.

She never answered me. She closed her eyes again. I waited a few minutes and then I called out to her. She opened her eyes, and this time, her voice was a little stronger.

“Iris, you’re here.”

I leaned over to kiss her once more. She never mentioned her journey again, and I never brought it up.

“Can you eat a little something, Mom?”

“Not right now, sweetheart. Maybe in a few minutes.”

“How about a drink? Can you drink a little of this tea?”

“Okay, I’ll drink a little. Can you hold the cup for me?”

I held the cup while she drank a little hot tea. As she finished drinking the tea, one of the aides came in. It was Terry. I knew him well. He was a fine young man who always took an interest in Mom.

“I wanted to see how you were doing, Mrs. Ellis. I see you daughter Iris is here. I know you’re happy now. Why don’t I call in one of the girls to make you more comfortable? You can sit in your blue chair, and I’ll get you something to eat that I know you’ll enjoy. I’ll help you so you can eat it.”

“Okay, Terry. I’ll try and get up.”

“Just wait, Mrs. Ellis. One of the girls will be here in a few minutes. She’ll take your tray and bring in something else.”

As he was finishing talking, Miriam, another of Mom’s favorite aides, came through the door. After we hugged, I walked out of the room to give Miriam time to get Mom washed and refreshed. Terry walked me out of the room.

“I’m going to find something for your mother to eat that I think she’ll like and then, as soon as I get free, I’ll bring it to her room.”

I sat in the hall waiting for Miriam to call me back into the room. I was so happy I had come home. When I returned to Florida for New Year’s with Richard, I would have a better sense about Mom’s status.

Miriam called me in a few minutes later. Mom was sitting in her favorite blue chair. Miriam had brushed Mom’s hair and put a little lipstick on her lips. I sat on another chair that I brought in from the family room. I did the talking. Mom sat and listened. I was so happy to be with her that I made that our time, no questions, no insisting that she had to eat in order to live. I just kept talking about Lily and Henry and the new baby that Lily was carrying and how it was due in March. I told her that Carly was pregnant too, which she had already surmised. Just as I was running out of things to say, Terry returned. He had some hot tea with milk and some soft cookies that were just baked.

Terry sat next to Mom and fed her. He was gentle and soft-spoken. He talked to us about his family and the two children he already had. He told us his wife was pregnant with their third child. I had always thought Terry was kind and caring, but seeing him sitting there feeding Mom, actually putting the cookies in her mouth and then spoon-feeding her the hot tea, was a heartwarming experience for me to witness. I knew my mom would surely live out the rest of her time there with wonderful, caring people. When Mom was finished, I walked Terry to the nurses’ station. I hugged him and thanked him for the extra-special attention he gave to Mom.

“I like your mother. She’s such a lady. I want to encourage her to eat if she can. Sometimes, she will eat if we don’t rush her. I’ll tell the other aides to be patient and give her extra time for her mealtime and an atmosphere conducive to eating. Try not to worry too much about her. I don’t think she’s quite ready to leave us yet. You’ll see.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon with Mom. I talked to her for a long time, and when I saw she was straining to keep her eyes open, I stopped talking so she could rest. I read my book and did some crossword puzzles. I didn’t want to miss a minute with her. When she woke up, she smiled the minute she saw that I was still there. She didn’t have to say a word. I too found the same comfort just being with her. It was as if we were each filling each other with peace and a quiet energy. Terry came back once more that day before Bea came. He waved and

blew a kiss. Mom just smiled at him and lifted her hand in a little wave. After Bea came in, I kissed Mom and told her I was going to get a little snack but would be back in a few hours.

I went outside and took a short walk, but it was too cold to stay out for long. I drove over to the Starbucks and bought a large coffee and a protein snack to keep me awake so I could spend a few more hours with Mom.

I returned to The Montrose Home a little later and spent time talking with the nurses and aides about Mom. Of course, they were not allowed to discuss too much with me, but we had become a family in caring for my mother, and they were aware of my worries. Everyone liked Mom, and the staffs’ concern was genuine. They assured me, as did Edward, that anything was possible with Mom. They didn’t think she was purposely refusing food because they had observed this phenomenon with many elderly residents. Food ceased to matter, and the residents were no longer hungry. My mother wasn’t critical, but she could be if her systems started to shut down. There was no point in assuming the worst. Time had always been important with my mother. She had time, but which way would it take her?

I spent the early evening with Mom and then returned home, where I spent the night reflecting on my visit. I was looking forward to spending the next day with her. Right before bed, Shelia called to ask what I thought about Mom’s condition. She was, as usual, full of doubts and nervous energy. I didn’t want her worries to darken my time with Mom. Obviously, I was concerned too. That’s why I had flown in for a few days. I wanted that time, however much time we had, to be peaceful. I worried enough when I wasn’t with her. We hung up after some meaningless conversation, and I took a few deep breaths to put myself in a hopeful, relaxed mood.

Max, I almost saw you today. I know you were close-by. I felt your presence. I was far away from here, but I heard Iris talking to me. I didn’t know what to do.

Her voice started to get louder, and I couldn’t refuse her. Now I know it will be soon. I’m getting closer and closer, and I’m ready. I did enjoy Iris today. I kept dozing, but each time I opened my eyes, she was there, reading or doing puzzles. She looked over, and we smiled. This is a nice way to end my last months. Now, when she leaves, I’ll be able to picture her clearly and see her face when she calls me nightly on the telephone. She looks tired too, but it will . She’s not too old, and she’ll continue her life with her new grandchildren. She’ll be busy, and that will take her mind off me. I’m still so tired and still not too hungry, although I’m hungrier today than I have been. Let’s just doze a little now, and we can talk more when I wake up. I think I saw some flowers when I was trying to find you. Were they irises or violets? Perhaps you could sing me the song about the flowers . . . “so if it’s raining, have no regrets. Because it isn’t raining rain, you know, it’s raining violets”

I returned to The Montrose Home around 10:00 a.m. I had stopped at Starbucks and filled my thermos with coffee. I brought Mom a cranberry orange muffin, not knowing if she’d eat it, but the angels were with me. Mom devoured the muffin and drank some coffee too. Her color had returned, and she looked refreshed. I was overcome with happiness. We talked and watched TV, and she slept. Before lunch, Miriam came in and got Mom out of bed and onto her blue chair. They had to use a hoist to get her out of bed now. I didn’t like to watch, so I waited in the hall.

Mom did eat some soup and ate her jello. Later, in the afternoon, she drank some Boost after she woke up from her nap. That day, she was more talkative. We talked about her birthday in three months. She would be ninety-eight. I told her I would be there, of course, and that right after her party, I would return to Florida to wait for Lily to have her baby. I wanted to be there to help with Henry and then Lily’s mother-in-law would come a week later to help. Both of us knew we were saying things that might never happen, but I have always been an optimist. Even when worried, I never wanted to speak my fears aloud to her. I never wanted Mom to latch on to my worries. Terry came in to help Mom eat, but that day, she didn’t need any help. He told her how proud he was.

“See, Mrs. Ellis, you’re eating because your daughter Iris is here. Now tomorrow, I want you to eat because I’m here.”

“I’ll try, Terry, and thank you.”

“You’re okay by me, Mrs. Ellis. You’re a fine lady.”

“Thank you, Terry. Take care of your wife, and bring me a picture of your children.”

“I will, Mrs. Ellis, and I’ll show you a picture of my wife too.”

Terry left, and Mom and I watched her soap operas. I got on her bed and had a nap with her while she slept in her blue chair. When Bea came in, we were both asleep. She brought Mom some ice cream. I declined this time. I couldn’t keep eating because Mom needed to eat. When Bea got Mom ready for bed, I took a walk and visited Rose, my mother-in-law. I apologized for not seeing her earlier but explained how worried I had been about Mom and that I needed to spend my time with her.

I stayed with Mom until 8:00 p.m. I promised her that I, of course, would call her every day, sometimes more than once, and that I wanted her to try to live. I hated to leave her, but Richard was waiting in Florida. He was exhausted and had just been in Florida for a few days when I decided that I had to leave. I was torn as I always was whenever I left. I never knew if this was just good-bye, see you soon, or a final farewell. I hid my tears from Mom until I got out into the hallway. Bea had already left, and we had said good-bye. She would be my eyes and ears until I returned.

I left for home with mixed feelings. I was elated that I had visited Mom and that I had watched her improve before my eyes. I had talked to all the nurses, and they all assured me that I could call day or night and that they would either talk when I called or get back to me. I knew Mom was in good hands and that I had to live my life, but it was hard. Living my life allowed me to function. I knew I couldn’t live there with Mom in The Montrose Home. I had tried that when she had first moved there. I also knew that I could leave with hope in my heart and feel good about the time we had shared these last two days. Yes, I was lucky. That night, before I went to bed, I wrote a note to the staff.

Dear friends and family of The Montrose Home, Thank you so much for helping my mother through this difficult time. Your caring and enable me to live away yet feel connected with my mother’s care. I feel your concern each and every time I call or see you with my mother. Thank you also for answering my questions and assuring me over and over that my mother is “all right.” I leave tomorrow knowing that you will continue to care for my mother with comion and understanding. It’s the “going the extra mile” that warms my heart and allows me to live in peace.

Bless you all, Iris Joy

2008, January

H appy New Year, my darling Max. This is the last New Year we will spend apart. I know it. I can feel it. I will try to enjoy these last months as much as I can, but I am making my way now to you. Oh, my darling, it has been such a long time since I saw your handsome face. I used to be angry at you for leaving me alone to raise our girls. Now I understand a little more, though I can never say it was an easy task. I was the one who had to be strong. I had to live. There was no choice. And so I did. I lived a half of a life for a long time. I didn’t have the leisure to bemoan my fate. You were gone, and there was just me. I did my best. I was so tired after work that I would fall into a deep sleep, like I’m doing now. Momma helped a lot. She cooked our meals those years when Iris was growing up. Momma was at home when Iris returned from school. Shelia graduated two years after you died and decided not to go to college. When Shelia went to work, things were easier, but there was always Iris. She reminded me so much of you, so earnest in trying to do everything. She sang in the choir with the adults. I don’t know why she wanted to do that. I would see her reading your yearbooks. I think she was trying to be like you in whatever ways she could. Even though I watched her develop my strength, she always kept that sensitivity. I don’t know how she became such a fighter with all that sensitivity, but she did. Now it’s time for her too to go on without me. My leaving will ease her burdens, though it will take her a while to realize it. I’m going to try to last until my birthday. It will be my last birthday here. I will never get to see those two new babies who are growing in my granddaughters’ bellies. Yes, Carly is our new granddaughter. Both girls are pregnant with girls of their own, though I still don’t understand how Lily and Carly know the sex of their babies. I think the two babies will be like sisters, only a few months apart. Lily’s baby already has a name. I think it’s Molly. Yes, Molly will be sweet like Lily, but she will have my spirit. I’m leaving her that. Carly’s baby may well be my namesake. I would be honored if my darling Michael named his daughter after me. What an honor for me to know that I will live on with these two new births. I’m so tired now, Max. I must sleep. After all, I want to be rested before we meet again . . . good-night, my dearest. There’s a song in my heart as I close my eyes . . .

2008, Late January

I talked with Mom every day, sometimes more than once. She was okay, meaning she was going through the motions of living. She ate every meal in her room, when she ate. She kept saying she wasn’t hungry. She did drink the Boost, and sometimes, she drank a little clear broth. Every few days, Bea would feed her ice cream. Yes, she often allowed herself to be fed. Was this the same Sara Ellis who would have pushed your hand away in the past if you tried to feed her?

Bea and I talked every day. She reminded me that no one could make Mom do what she didn’t want to do. Bea could still carry on conversations with Mom, but most of the time, Mom would pat her hand and tell Bea to “Sit down, and rest yourself.”

I could tell that Bea was having a hard time too. She was devoted to Mom, and they had established their own special relationship. Yes, Bea assured me that Shelia came almost weekly if the weather was okay but didn’t stay long. She didn’t talk to the staff too much. It was all too painful for her. Her remembrances would be of all the time they had together in Baltimore when Mom had been younger. Every night, I would call the desk just to check one final time that Mom was all right. I usually called right before I went to sleep. I was, of course, uneasy, but I never gave up hoping for that possible miracle. We had already received so many blessings. Who knew? Maybe Mom would be granted a reprieve.

2008: February

M ax, did you see me? I’m almost certain that I saw you. I saw this bright light, and there were those flowers again. Way ahead, I saw the outline of a man. He wore a hat like you used to wear. I think it was you, but now I’m not sure. What if I don’t recognize you? What if you don’t recognize me? Oh, Max, I can’t have waited this long to lose you again. I feel so certain that we’ll be together. I crave your comfort and your touch. I didn’t know I missed it so much until I had time to think about it. Now, one day runs into another. If the girls here didn’t tell me what day it was, I wouldn’t know. They are the ones making sure I don’t give up. Their voices and words, along with Bea and, of course, Shelia’s face, when she comes, along with Iris’s phone calls and devotion, that’s what’s keeping me alive. My spirit is fading. I’m living more with you in my eternal resting place than I am living here. I’m just a body here, going through some of the motions of life. Edward asked me last night why I had that smile on my face. I couldn’t answer him honestly. What could I say? “I’m smiling because I’m leaving you soon, and I’m waiting to be free again”? Would he understand, or would he think I was just another “crazy old lady”? Oh, Max, it won’t be too much longer. I hope my expectations aren’t too grand, but somehow, I know they’re not. I don’t have any more jobs here. I don’t have any more responsibilities either. My only responsibility is to conserve my energy so I can leave. Who would think it took such an abundance of energy to die?

2008, Late February

M ax, my sweetheart, I’m still here, closer to leaving than I was before. I only have a little time left without you. When I talked to Iris tonight, she was talking about Henry. Henry drew a picture of his grandparents and his only greatgrandmother. What a sweet boy. He wanted to know when he would see me again. He kept talking to Iris and Lily about the aquarium in the family room. He wanted to see his great-grandmother, Eppy, and see the fish again. I know Iris told me because she was trying to give me a reason to hold on. I won’t see Henry again. Lily can’t travel here for my birthday. It’s too close to her delivery date. No, Iris and Lily will have to keep my memory alive in Henry’s heart. There are so many things that I will never see again, but I can’t hold on and hope to see them. My time was, and now it will be another time for me. This might be different from what I think, but I’m ready. The newness of each day fails to embrace me now. Nothing here is fresh and exciting anymore. I’ve lived my life here, and it is fading now . . . Come sit with me, Max, and sing with me. Together, we will again make beautiful music.

2008, March

M ax, I’m coming soon. Don’t stop waiting for me. Who knew it would take this long to leave? It’s almost my birthday and then I will begin my final journey. Iris will be here tomorrow. She’s coming a week early before my birthday. That will be fine with me. I will push her away once the celebration is over. I don’t know how I will summon the energy to go to my own party. I’ll get to see Carly once more and be able to feel my great-grandchild when I pat Carly’s tummy. I’ll try and be alert for this one last visit with my family. I never know who will show up. I can’t everyone’s name anymore. When Bea came into my room yesterday, she said I was talking again to some people, but there wasn’t anybody there. I didn’t know who I was talking to, so I’d better get out of here before I really lose it. This afternoon, Bea brought Nora, her daughter, and her new baby. I kept myself awake for the short time they were here, but I almost fell asleep a few times. I wish everyone didn’t make such a big deal about my birthday. It doesn’t mean anything to me. I never could have imagined I would live for such a long time. Some days, I wonder why I was meant to be here this long when so much of my life was spent alone. Why, Max? Do you know? I did get to see more places than I ever imagined I would see. I went to Mathew’s graduation from Towson University. I went to Atlanta for Michael’s graduation from Emory University. I heard that wonderful speaker who had an interpreter with him. All Michael’s friends planned a luncheon for the parents, and I was the only greatgrandma there. They honored me with a corsage. Yes, it was a wonderful day. Then two years later, I flew again on the airplane to Wisconsin, to watch Lily graduate. I guess I was a lucky lady. They wanted me to come, and I did it. I even spent two nights in the hotel with Carl, Richard’s brother. So, dear Max, I guess I answered my own question. I had to live a long life so I could be a part of my family’s growth, so I could qvell in their nachas. Now I can take these memories with me and keep them intact for a lifetime. I’ll always know that these children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren will have their memories of me too. My brain is starting to hurt from thinking so much. Let’s just sit here in my blue chair a little longer. I feel content now. I’m tying up all my loose ends and some of my unanswered questions. Soon, I won’t need anyone to help me . . .

2008, March 10-15

I walked into Mom’s room not knowing what to expect. I had spoken to her every day and also talked with Bea daily. I had also talked with some of the nurses, especially the night nurses. Almost everyone agreed that Mom was becoming frail and weak, although she could still manage to get out of bed. She ate very little, not nearly enough to sustain her, yet somehow, she kept going. Her eyes were closed as usual, but I could see how thin she had become. Her beautiful, round face, which had a naturally healthy glow, had been replaced by prominent cheek bones. Her hair was dull, and her skin tone was beige rather than rosy. I called out her name, but she didn’t respond. I walked closer to her chair to observe her breathing. As a layperson, I surmised that her breath seemed shallow. She was sitting in her blue chair, with a large blanket over her legs. She had a red sweater on over her nightgown. She wasn’t wearing her usual slacks. I guess it was easier to keep her in her nightgown. As long as she was covered with a blanket, no one knew what she was wearing. I said her name a little louder, and I noticed her eyelids moving a little. I picked up her hand and held it in both of my hands. Then I said her name again, this time, a little louder. She slowly opened her eyes, but at first, they weren’t focused.

“Mom, Mom, can you hear me?”

This time, she turned her head toward me, and I could detect a hint of recognition in her eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart, I’m so happy to see you. Do you think you can stay awake for a little while now and talk to me?”

“Okay, I’ll try,” she responded.

“How are you feeling, Mom?”

“I’m ok. How are you?”

“I’m fine now that you’re talking to me.”

“What have you been doing?” I asked

Could I have asked a more ridiculous question? I was standing right by my mom, exactly where I wanted to be, and I had no idea what to say to her. My fears in seeing her so much weaker than she had been in December were keeping me tongue-tied. She had lost more weight and finally looked her age-old but not like that wrinkled-up, dried-up look that some older people get, just old for Sara Ellis, old for my mother, whom I loved so fiercely at that moment that I became speechless. So many thought were rushing through my mind: She’s really leaving me. She can’t live that much longer as frail as she is. Yet hope always sprung eternal for me. I could not and would not let her know what I was thinking. I would try my best to see her as that beautiful, plump woman who had the most gorgeous skin I have ever seen. I would love her for all the sacrifices she had made to allow me a college education and so many other gifts of unselfishness, while she herself went without. Yes, I could do this. I could spend whatever time she had left keeping her on a pedestal. She deserved that from me.

I continued to talk with her, and as I talked, she slowly began to acknowledge me in her glances and her eyes, although she spoke only a few words. I left her in the late afternoon and told her I’d return tomorrow and bring my lunch with

me so we could spend the afternoon together. Bea had arrived sometime during my monologue, and she followed me out. We sat together for a few minutes in the family room.

“Well, Bea, I didn’t know what to expect. What do you think?”

“She’s weaker, Iris. Your sister came yesterday, and she can’t stay in the same room. She drives here, goes to the bathroom, says hello to your mother, who doesn’t always hear her, and then she leaves. Your mother doesn’t always know your sister was here. She does wait for you to call though. When I pick up the phone when you call, she opens her eyes and then she puts her hand out for the telephone. I know she doesn’t say much. Maybe she’s just happy to hear your voice. Don’t ever stop calling her.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t stop calling. I’ll be here for a little while, until Lily has the baby.”

“Try not to worry, Iris. Only the good Lord knows when her end will be. She can live like this for a long time.”

“But does she have any quality of life, Bea?”

“She’s not in any pain, if that’s what you mean. I told you I thought when her end came she would go in her sleep? I still think that. One day last week when I came in, she was sleeping so soundly that I thought she had ed, but a few minutes later, when I called out her name, she opened her eyes. That night, she even asked for something to drink and then she ate some ice cream. I don’t think she’s ready yet. We’ll have to wait and see. Meanwhile, just keep

visiting her like you did today, and if you’re away, keep calling.”

“Thank you, Bea. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Now go home and have your dinner with your husband, and call us later.”

I kissed Bea goodbye and left. I was emotionally drained. I had to assimilate this new Mom into my being and accept the changes that had occurred in the last two and a half months.

Max, I’m still here but not for long. In a few days, I will begin my journey to you. I don’t know how quickly I can travel, but I will begin to pack as soon as my party is over. Iris is home. I’m happy for that. I’m comforted when she’s here. I don’t have to talk. We’re comfortable together. Why did it take us so long to become so close? Once I retired and we started to travel together, we found each other. We had some wonderful times together, even before she bought the Florida house. We’d stay in hotels in Florida and visit Rose and her Henry. We’d laugh and go shopping, and I’d nap while she read. She always loved to read. Oh well, those are all memories now. I’m tired as always. I’ll rest my eyes a little and then we can continue to talk. Soon, my darling, I will see you soon.

2008, March 14

I had been visiting Mom daily since my return. Each day, I sensed a little more responsiveness, but she was weak, and I didn’t know if she could get stronger with the small amount of food she was consuming. Shelia called daily when I was there, to get an update. She was saving her visit until the day of Mom’s party on March 16. Shelia convinced Bea to take Mom to the beauty shop on the first floor so she would look nice for her party. I had mixed feelings. I was afraid the shampoo and then the curlers they still used, plus the hot heat from the dryer would be too tiresome for Mom, but I gave in to avoid an argument. I visited with Mom all morning before her appointment. Yes, she said, she was looking forward to her party and to seeing her family. I picked out a red sweater from her drawers and asked her if she’d like to wear it. She shook her head in agreement. I left at lunchtime telling her I would return in the late afternoon and stay through dinner, not knowing if she would eat any dinner.

I did some errands and checked to make sure all the arrangements for the party were in order. When I returned at four, Mom was asleep in her wheelchair. No one had put her back in her blue chair, and her face was red. Her head was rolled forward, and she was in a sound sleep. Bea was just coming with Edward to put Mom in her bed, not in the chair. She said Mom was exhausted from the effort of having her hair washed and styled. It had taken too long, and she had endured it because she had to, but the effort had wiped her out. It was a good thing, I thought, that the party wasn’t until Sunday, and this was Friday. She would need the next day to rest up from the ordeal of going to the beauty salon.

I curled up in her chair after Edward put Mom in her bed. She never woke up for dinner. Right before I left, at seven, she asked for some water, which she drank, and Bea got her to take a few sips of Boost. Bea and I walked to the elevator together as soon as Mom fell asleep. I was concerned by how exhausted Mom was.

“She’ll be okay, Iris, but she’ll probably sleep most of the day tomorrow. She’ll make it to the party. You’ll see. Yesterday, she asked me if I knew how old she was going to be. I said, ‘You tell me, Sara.’ She got all puffed up and looked so proud, and she said, clear as a bell, ‘I’ll be ninety-eight years-old on Sunday. Can you believe that?’” I left The Montrose Home feeling a little encouraged after my conversation with Bea. Thanks goodness we had Saturday, another day for Mom to rest. I’d spend the whole day with her. I knew I needed to be with her every minute that I could since I wasn’t sure exactly what day Lily’s baby would be born.

Oy, my Max, Oy, I’m exhausted. Just when I thought I had a little more energy, I lost it. I’ll never go to the beauty shop again. All those years I went, every Saturday and then every other Saturday, but now it’s too much. It will be nice just to wash my own hair and let it flow freely. my hair, Max? You used to love to run your fingers through it. I haven’t worn it long in years. Maybe I could let it grow when we meet. Oh, Max, it will be soon. I have to get through my party and then I’ll be ready. I’ll rest all day tomorrow and try to be awake for the family on Sunday. I’m almost packed. I have just a few more things to settle and then we’ll be together forever. That’s a long time, but we deserve it, my darling. So, as the song goes . . . “kiss me once, and kiss me twice, and kiss me once again, it’s been a long, long time…”

2008, March 15

I picked up some coffee and a cranberry muffin hoping I might entice Mom to eat since she had enjoyed the muffin I had brought in December. Unfortunately, she wasn’t awake long enough to eat much. During the morning, she slept. She’d open her eyes every once in a while, and I’d immediately start talking. After several attempts to get her talking, I decided to remain quiet as I had in the past and enjoy, for lack of a better word, our time together.

While I was on Mom’s floor, I talked to all the aides and the nurse practitioner. They said that Mom was declining but that she could continue like this for a long time. They said that the lack of food would eventually catch up and that if she refused to eat, as I already knew, her systems would begin to shut down.

We did get to talk a little in the afternoon. Terry came in and was able to coax Mom to drink some tea. He dunked a cookie in the tea, and Mom took a couple bites of the cookie. She wouldn’t get out of bed, so Edward came in and cranked the bed up. I talked to her about her birthday, and she answered me speaking as few words as she could. I saw the effort it was taking her to keep up a conversation, so I opted to enjoy our time together whatever form it took.

I talked about Lily and Henry and Lily’s new baby, which would be born soon. I talked about Michael’s baby and how tiny Carly had gained so much weight, yet she still looked beautiful. I talked about Mathew and how well he was doing in his new business venture and about his boys, who were adjusting well to the separation, spending some nights with each parent. I talked about Richard and how we were trying to sell our house in Chevy Chase and buy a smaller one in Annapolis, near Michael and Carly. Richard couldn’t retire yet and needed to be closer to work.

Lily and Ken were planning to move back to Maryland in a year and hoped to live in the Annapolis area also. If we moved, Richard and I would be closer to all our children and wouldn’t have the long drive just to visit family. Mom nodded her head on some of my comments. I assured her I wasn’t moving for a while. In truth, I wouldn’t move to Annapolis as long as Mom was with us. I spent so much time in Florida that, when I was in town, I needed to be able to get to Mom easily. I kept talking and talking, hoping to encourage her interest.

I told her who was coming to the party tomorrow and how excited I was to celebrate this milestone birthday with her. Then I told her how much I loved her and how proud I was to be her daughter. I couldn’t stop talking again. Fear was ing in with my uncertainty. At five, I kissed her good-bye and told her I’d see her in the morning before the party. I hoped she’d be up to it.

Bea walked me out again, and I voiced my uncertainties to her.

“Bea, what if she doesn’t want to get up tomorrow? What if she’s too tired?”

I could have named a myriad of what-ifs, but Bea stopped me after the first two.

“The visit to the beauty shop was too much for her. I shouldn’t have agreed with your sister, but your mother used to love to go, and your sister thought it would be good for her. Sara will be okay tomorrow. Somehow, I’ll get a little food into her belly, and by tomorrow, she’ll be okay to get up and get dressed. Don’t worry. It will all work out.”

I kissed Bea, and once again, I left knowing there was nothing I could do.

I knew that my incessant chatter was due to my fear that I needed to keep talking to her while I could. Fear was in my heart. I knew the end was coming.

My darling Max, how will I face everyone tomorrow? I thought tomorrow would be my last family day and then I’d be getting ready to leave. Now I don’t know how I’ll gather the strength to go to my own party. Oh well, somehow I’ll be okay and then I’ll be on my way. Just watch over me until I get to you. It will be very soon.

2008, March 16: Sara Ellis’s Ninety-eighth Birthday

M ax, I wish you were here. It really is my ninety-eighth birthday. Yes, I, Sara Ellis, I’m ninety-eight years-old today. This will be my last birthday here in this world. I feel a little better. I can make it through the party if I use all my energy for living. This will be the last time I see most of my family here on earth, so I will do my best to get through the day. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I love my family, but it takes too much energy for me to continue here. It’s my time to retire with you. I earned the right to leave. So, my darling, I must concentrate on living for one more day and then I will prepare to meet you. Loving you as always, I say good-bye now. Later, my darling . . .

I woke up with much trepidation. It was really Mom’s ninety-eighth birthday. I had called the nurses’ station early that morning. Mom had had a good night. She had slept soundly and was drinking a little coffee and even eating a few bites of toast. I got dressed quickly and told Richard and my friend Julie, who was in town for that milestone birthday, that I’d see them in the afternoon. I wanted to spend all of that birthday with Mom.

I stopped in Rose’s room on the way to see Mom. I assured her that I would spend some time with her after the party and told her that Mom hadn’t been doing that well and that I wanted to spend that day and that time with her. Rose understood.

When I walked into Mom’s room, she was sitting in her blue chair. Bea was working in the kitchen and had come in earlier to make certain the staff dressed

Mom in her red sweater and black pants.

“Hi, Mom,” I said. “Happy birthday.”

I leaned over and kissed her.

“You look beautiful today. Your hair is lovely. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, Iris. You know, I’m a little tired, but I’ll take a nap for a few minutes before the party and then I’ll be fine.”

“That’s good, Mom. I’m so excited to be sharing this wonderful mitzvah with you. Did you ever think you would live this long?”

“I never thought about it. Who’s coming today? You never did tell me.”

“Richard and my friend Julie, Shelia and Pete, Mathew and the boys, Michael and Carly, and Richard’s brothers. Your nephew Joey and his wife Ellie are driving down from New Jersey. Of course, Rose will be here too. Everyone is coming to celebrate this milestone birthday with you.

I see Bea arranged all your cards so you can look at them. A lot of people ed your birthday.”

“Yes, they did. Did you see my card from my boss, Doris Warner?”

“She never forgets you, does she? It’s so wonderful that you have stayed in touch all these years.”

“Okay, Iris, I need to take a little nap. Wake me up right before the party. I just need a few minutes.”

“I’ll talk to you in an hour, Mom. You rest now.”

Mom was already asleep by the time I reached the door. I walked downstairs to the lobby to see if anyone was coming early and then I called Julie and asked her to come and keep me company. Richard brought Julie, and we sat and talked about Mom and that milestone birthday.

The Party

E veryone arrived at the same time, and I led them to the sunroom behind the family room. My old friend, Forrester, was the nurse on duty today. He was substituting for Edward, who had the day off. I was delighted to see him. He wanted to wheel Mom into the sunroom for her party.

“Mrs. Ellis, you’re still as lovely as ever. Can you believe we’re celebrating this amazing birthday? It seems like just last week that I was wheeling you into the sunroom for your first lunch here.”

“Yes, I’m a lucky woman. I have nachas, if you know what that means.”

“Of course I know. It’s like mazel, isn’t it?” Forrester answered her.

As I listened to their conversation, I knew I was witnessing a special day in my mother’s life. An hour before, Mom had only been speaking a few words. Now she was flirting, in a sense, with this wonderful man who had been at the nursing station the day she had arrived at The Montrose Home. What a remarkable coincidence for this special woman! We were blessed that day, but looking at my frail little mother, who had shrunk before my eyes, I knew she was near the end.

All of our family surrounded Mom and shared in the cake, punch, ice cream, and good conversation. The only one not talking was Mom. Mathew’s boys, Brian and Lee, had brought Mom a balloon, which we tied to the back of her chair. I was so happy to have this mingling of generations surrounding Mom. I felt more

like the observer than a participant. I knew, yes, I knew that we were coming to the end of a special life. Mom was so frail. I emphasize this over and over. She was there but more like a specter to me. She ate a little cake, sipped on her punch, and looked at her cards. She did spend some one-on-one time with Carly. They were holding hands and whispering, and my heart was filled with both joy and sadness. Mom would never meet this baby, but this baby would carry Mom’s name. No one told me; I just knew. My only regret was that Lily, Henry, and Ken weren’t there. I wanted Mom to bless them too, but I guess they didn’t have to be there to receive her blessings. Richard and Julie took lots of pictures. That was another blessing.

I was talking to Joey and Ellie and thanking them for again making the drive to be with Mom on her birthday. As I looked across the room at Mom, I knew it was time to end the party. She looked like she wasn’t there. Everyone said their short goodbyes. I wonder if they all felt as I did: That would be the last party for my beloved Mom. Shelia and Pete left early, so I wheeled Mom to her room. I kissed her and told her how happy I was to share that day with her, but it was like she wasn’t with me.

“Put me to bed, Iris. I want to go to bed now.”

“Okay, Mom, I’ll get one of the aides to put you to bed.”

As I was walking to the desk to ask for assistance, I saw Bea. She had just gotten off work and wanted to wish Mom a happy birthday.

“I’ll put her to bed, Iris. Don’t worry. She made it, you know.”

“Yes, Bea she made it, but she is exhausted, and she wants to get in her bed now.”

“That’s to be expected,” Bea said.

“I’m going to wait until she’s undressed and in bed so I can kiss her before I go home.”

“I’ll come out to get you once I get her ready. Get that worried look off your face. She’ll be all right.”

This time, my heart told me Mom would not be all right. She had pushed herself to get through that day for us, and now she was finished. I don’t know how I knew. I just knew.

Bea came out of Mom’s room a few minutes later.

“You can see her now, Iris. She may be asleep already. I gave her a few sips of water, but she’s exhausted. She just patted my hand and told me to let her sleep. When she says that, I know she means it.”

“Thanks, Bea. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. You need to go home now and be with your family. You’ve had a long day. Please take some cake home for you and your husband. I left it in the sunroom for you. After I kiss Mom good-night, I’m going to offer the fruit and punch to the rest of the staff and any of the residents who might want some dessert.”

I walked back into Mom’s room. She was already asleep, but I leaned over the bed to kiss her anyway.

“Good-night, sweet momma. You’ve had a long day, and you were wonderful. I know you’re exhausted. I just want to tell you how much I love you. I’m so proud to have you for my mother. You are a special light in my life, and I’m glad we were able to celebrate your ninety-eighth year. Good night.”

Mom never answered me, and I wondered if she heard me or if it was just too difficult for her to talk. I left after parceling out the rest of the food and drink and met Julie and Richard in the lobby. They knew, without my telling them, that I was happy Mom had lived to celebrate that milestone but sad because we could all see her eminent departure. Richard reminded me how many scares we had had with Mom over the last ten years. He was right, but I didn’t expect a scare this time, just a gradual departure.

2008, March and the Days after Her Ninety-eighth Birthday

T he days following Mom’s birthday were terrible for me. Mom refused to get out of bed. She just wanted to sleep. She allowed herself some sips of water and then she closed her eyes again. I talked to the doctors, the nurses, Bea, the medicine aides, anyone who would listen. No one had any answers. Mom wasn’t sick. She was just exhausted. She had used all her energy to go on living. Now she was exhausted.

I spent a lot of time sitting in her blue chair. I’d read, sip on my water, do crosswords, doze. I just wanted to be near her.

“Mom, can I get you anything?”

No answer.

“Mom, would you like to try a little something to eat?

“Mom, I’m here if you want to talk.”

I spoke to Shelia. She felt Mom had given up. It was too hard for her to see Mom

that way, so she stayed away.

I sat and thought and prayed and went out for coffee and tried to laugh and then I sat some more. After a few days of that vigil, I walked over to Mom’s bed and started talking to her. I don’t even what I said. Then I took her hand and rubbed it in mine.

“Get your hands off me!” Mom called out to me. “Leave me alone. Let me sleep.”

Every time I tried to touch her, she pushed me away. I was at a loss and feeling frustrated. Here I was, wanting to be with Mom, and she wouldn’t allow me to even touch her. I knew I couldn’t keep sitting there day after day. I couldn’t make this into a deathwatch.

In hindsight, it was a deathwatch, but I still would not take off my rose-colored glasses.

The following day, when she screamed at me to get my hands off her, I walked out of the room.

Bea followed and wrapped her arms around me. Together, we walked into the sunroom.

“You know your mother, Iris. She doesn’t like anybody to touch her. That’s just the way she is. Don’t do this to yourself. She doesn’t care if you’re with her not.

She just wants to sleep.”

I had experienced this with Mom two other times when she had had the urinary tract infections. Mom wanted to be alone when she was sick. She didn’t want anyone to touch her. No matter how hard this was for me now, I needed to honor her wishes. Lily had called me that morning and was hoping I’d come back soon. The baby was breeched right now. She would probably turn by herself, but if she didn’t, they would deliver her by a caesarian section. The baby was already full size. The doctors wanted to give it a few more days.

I walked back into Mom’s room. I spoke to her softly, telling her I had decided to go back to Florida to be with Lily and her family. If Molly was born early, I would have to be there to take care of Henry.

“I don’t want to leave you now, Mom, but since you don’t want me to touch you and you want to sleep, I’ll go and help Lily. I’ll get back here as soon as Lily’s mother-in-law comes after the baby is born. I love you so much, but you already know that. I want you to take care of yourself. If you have any fight left, don’t give up. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. So please, momala, try to get better.”

I spoke to the nurses at the desk. No one had any advice for me. Bea urged me to go and be with Lily.

“Your daughter needs you now. Your mother doesn’t need you. There’s nothing more you can do here for your mother but drive yourself nuts. Go, Iris. I’ll be in touch with you every day. Try not to worry. Your mother’s in good hands.”

I left The Montrose Home with a heavy heart. I wondered if my mother would be there when I returned.

Max, my darling Max, I can barely talk to you now. I endured the party. I was able to touch Carly’s belly and feel dear Sophie, my namesake, moving around. Too bad I’ll miss the actual birth, but I can’t stay around forever, can I? Iris knows I’m leaving. I had to push her away. Lily needs her now in Florida. With the new baby arriving soon, I had to make certain that Iris would be there to help with Henry and to welcome Molly. I’m sending all my energy to the new blessing, Lily’s first daughter. She will be sweet like Lily and Iris but strong like me. She will be calm and loving and carry my spirit forward. This is my gift to Iris for all the times I couldn’t give her the answers she wanted, for all my silences and time away at work. I’ve freed her to be with Lily and Molly when she arrives. That’s why I’m conserving the rest of the energy I need to leave this place. I already feel your presence. It’s been too long. A few years ago, you came to Iris and told her to take care of me and that you would take care of Shelia. Iris did her job well, and so did you. Now I can you in peace. Don’t forget our dance . . . “it’s been a long, long time…”

2008: Birth and Death

I left for Florida with a heavy heart, yet I knew that was the path I had to follow. I spent time with Lily, Henry, and Ken. Henry and I laughed, which surprised me. I didn’t think I could laugh, but he had a way of bringing me out, of making me forget my worries.

A week later, Ken called me when I was grocery shopping. Lily’s doctor wanted her to be itted to the hospital. The baby hadn’t turned and was breech. She would have to be born by caesarian section as we had suspected. Ken asked if I could come and stay with Henry who was with the babysitter.

I packed an overnight bag and called Julie. She said she’d come with me for a day or two and that we’d make it fun for Henry. He had never been separated from his parents for more than an evening. I called Richard. He said to call him as soon as they picked the time for the delivery, and he’d get on a plane.

I talked to the nurses at The Montrose Home every day, sometimes two or three times, and I spoke to Bea every night. She always put the phone to Mom’s ear. Now I called them with an update. I wanted Mom to know that she was right to push me away. Lily needed me in Florida.

Molly was born on March 29, a Saturday night. Richard made it to the hospital as they were putting Molly in the nursery with the other infants. Julie’s husband, David, brought Richard to the hospital, while Julie stayed with Henry. Molly was, and is, beautiful. She was the most beautiful and the happiest baby born that night. Her temperament was perfect from the beginning. I stood outside of the nursery crying while they bathed her. I silently thanked Mom for pushing me

away so that I could witness that miracle. I knew then that I would always feel Mom’s presence in Molly. That was the gift my mother had left me.

Mom died eight days later. I talked to her every night, either silently or by phone, when Bea would put the phone up to her ear. The night before she died, I finally told her that it was all right to leave. I had talked to the night nurse, to Bea, and to Mom. I did my silent meditation, extending a golden thread from my heart to her heart. Then I told her that it was all right. “You can go now, Mom. It’s all right. You don’t have to stay here any longer. You can go.”

The nurses called me the next morning, Sunday, April 6. Mom had died in her sleep. She had no pain. She just didn’t wake up.

I was in the car when I received the call. I was driving to Lily’s to say good-bye to her and her family. Her mother-in-law had arrived to help with Henry and do some light chores since Lily couldn’t lift anything. I pulled over, cried, called the nurses back to make certain I had heard correctly, and then continued to Lily’s to say good-bye and book my flight home. Richard was in the airport in Maryland, going away for a business trip. He never got on the plane. Instead, Richard went to The Montrose Home and drove with the driver from the funeral home in Baltimore to escort Mom on her way back to Baltimore, where she would spend her eternal rest. I didn’t want my mother to make that journey alone. It was too painful for me to contemplate, and Richard, as always, came to my rescue. Shelia couldn’t figure out how to make that trip, and I was relieved that my husband would be with Mom.

I knew that Mom was watching over us. The night she died, Richard was home since he had canceled his trip. The doorbell rang, and he answered to find a neighbor at our door, with a friend. This friend was interested in buying a home in our neighborhood, but he had missed the open house which had occurred that afternoon. He wanted to see our house if it wasn’t too much of an imposition.

Richard showed him our house, and he bought it. Just like that, that man decided to buy our house after seeing it that one time. Richard would not have been home that night if Mom hadn’t died. She knew I wouldn’t move while she was alive. Her death ensured that we could now feel free to move. Thank you again, my dearest momala. I know that you were watching over us.

2008, April 6: The Funeral Home

R ichard picked us up from the airport. Julie had flown with me to give her love and to me and to my family. We drove directly to the funeral home to meet Shelia and the funeral director. Pete, of course, was there with Shelia. Shelia and I had talked, but seeing each other in person was difficult for both of us. We had lost our mother, the thread that held us together. Now we were both grieving. The arrangements were easy to make. When Mom got sick in 1999, we had made that fateful visit to the funeral home to choose the casket and prepay all the fees. It had been a wise decision, and I am grateful to Shelia for insisting that we do that onerous chore so far in advance. It would have been heartbreaking to have to choose a casket now, right after her death, when we were numbed and in mourning.

The director asked if I wanted to see my mother. Shelia was going to view Mom’s body then. I asked if I could come back later that day. I had just arrived from the airport, and I needed time to gather my thoughts and my strength. We agreed to go back to Shelia’s for some lunch and plan the Shiva, the mourning period Jewish people observe after the death of a loved one.

Richard, Julie, and I stopped to pick up lunch for everyone and then went to Shelia’s. It didn’t take long to plan the week. Shelia had already called her rabbi, who was going to officiate at the funeral, and he agreed to meet us after lunch to talk about his eulogy. This was happening so fast. I was numb, and I knew I needed to function to make certain the rabbi understood my feelings too.

I have no idea what we ate, or even if I ate, but the meeting with the rabbi was a nightmare for me. He was Shelia’s rabbi and had been Mom’s too. Shelia wanted

him to focus on Mom’s earlier years, when she had been younger and vital, in other words, when she used to help Shelia and spend weekends there. That was wonderful and worthy of mention, but how do you pretend the last ten years never existed? What about the type of woman Mom had become? What about her dignity as she became ill and unable to care for herself? What about the way she lived her life, surviving all those moves and managing to maintain her grace? We couldn’t discount those last years of her life as if they never existed. The old rivalry between us was emerging again. We were both tired, and we both had strong feelings about what needed to be said.

I left Shelia’s agreeing to meet with the Rabbi later that evening to go over lastminute ideas. We would ask Mathew and Michael to come also to add their memories of their grandmother, their dear Eppy.

Richard then drove me back to the funeral home. Shelia had assured me that Mom looked beautiful. The funeral director led me to the room where Mom was laid out. I found myself trembling. I wanted to you the way you always looked to me. I walked over to the casket and looked down into your face. I turned away in disbelief. Your face was different. I saw my grandfather, your father – may he rest in peace – not you, my beautiful mother. I recognized your body, but I knew your soul was with your beloved, and I knew that I could walk away feeling that you were finally at peace and happy.

I spent that evening in a fog. I meeting the Rabbi again and feeling satisfied that he would portray you as you lived your life, all of your life. I missed my rabbi, but this had been Mom’s home for over eighty years. She was being buried where she should be, in the same cemetery where my father’s grave was, but unfortunately, she couldn’t be buried next to my father because there were no cemetery lots available there after so many years had ed. I already knew in my heart that her soul was united with my dad’s. That was the thought that kept me grounded, dear Mom, when we finally buried your remains at the cemetery.

2008, April 8

I don’t know how to describe your funeral, which words to use. I was pleased that so many people attended to honor you and to offer their condolences to us, your daughters, and your grandchildren. The rabbi portrayed you as a tribute to the era you lived. By describing you, he painted a picture of Baltimore during your lifetime. I could picture you living in your world, and I know, if you were listening, you would approve of his words and of the portrait he painted. Both your grandsons spoke, and each described the woman you were to them.

And yes, the rabbi honored the way you lived your life right up until your death, with dignity and courage. Oh, my mom, this is so hard for me to write. I miss you more as I’m writing than I ever knew I would, but to end now would not do our story justice.

Your Shiva, again, was a tribute to your effect on those in your family and on my extended family and on Shelia’s extended family, where you shared so much of your life. Your nephews, Joey and Larry, were by our side. All were saddened by your death. Each of us needed each other to reminisce about your life. I was surrounded by Carly and Michael, Richard, of course, Julie, and some of my friends you had met through the years. Of course all of Richard’s family and brothers were there, ing all the holidays we shared with you and how you always spoke your mind. Carl, in particular, had many memories to share from all the time he spent with you. You were his surrogate mother for many years. I missed Lily and her family more than I can write. She wanted to be there, but she couldn’t travel. You were her special love, and she will always have her memories of you to comfort her and to help keep you alive to Henry and Molly.

As expected, the Shiva was at Shelia’s. Baltimore is where you spent most of

your life and was the most central place for all to gather to pay their respects to you. Richard’s Aunt Fannie came to see me too. She was a year younger than you, and I know the effort she expended to make the trip. Her visit was another testament to the of extended family in times of mourning.

The Shiva lasted for three days at Shelia’s house. Every evening, a different rabbi or spiritual leader led the mourning service. I was ready for this period to end. I needed time alone to mourn you and to spend time with Lily and her family so we could mourn together too. One of the rabbis called Shelia and me orphans. I had heard that expression before, but it rankled me in hearing it before the Mourner’s Kaddish. Michael was especially bothered by the expression. Now that time has ed, I can honestly say we are not orphans. You are in my thoughts every day. I have your name on a plaque in my temple in Florida. Daddy’s plaque is right next to yours. How can I be an orphan when I have my parents in my heart?

And so I returned to Florida ten days after you died. I spoke with my rabbi and felt comforted. I spent time with Lily, Ken, and the children, and the month ed, not quickly, but nevertheless, it ed. I went through the motions of participating in my life, but I felt a deep ache inside. I didn’t know how I could assuage that ache except with time. I wore my black mourning ribbon every day under my shirt so I wouldn’t have to answer questions about why I was wearing a torn black ribbon.

I woke up on the thirtieth day of mourning knowing that this was to be the last day to wear my mourning ribbon. I found I would caress it during the day, almost as if I were patting a talisman. How was I going to take this ribbon off? I felt that something would be missing from my life.

Henry solved my dilemma. I was driving him back to my house in Florida after a visit to the Turtle Farm. As we approached my neighborhood, he said to me, “You miss Eppy, don’t you?” I didn’t know how much he knew. I didn’t think he

would have understood about death yet. He wasn’t even three years-old. My eyes brimmed over with tears. I didn’t want to frighten him, so I answered him “Yes, I miss Eppy, but it’s okay, she’s with the angels, and I’m okay.” Then we started to laugh about the bridge in my neighborhood, and the tension, for me, ed. Until he had asked me that question, I had been afraid of the loss I’d feel when I took my ribbon off, but his sensitivity to me and to you assured me that life would go on, and I could take off my mourning ribbon and begin to acknowledge that all was well in both “your world” and in my world!

That same day, when Lily left my house with Henry and Molly, she called me to come outside. As they were leaving, Henry told her he needed to see me for a minute. When I walked out to the car, Henry leaned out the window. He wanted to kiss me one more time before they went home. For me, that gesture, after his earlier sensitivity to me, reminded me of the purity of a child’s love. Yes, I could go on!

2008: Ending Our Journey

M om, you changed my life when you got sick. Suddenly, I was that little girl who so desperately wanted to make you better. I heard you for the first time in years. I really heard every word you spoke, and I listened harder than ever for anything I could take with me when you were gone, any of your wisdom to keep you around me. I saw you in new ways, and because I was with you so much those last ten years, I also learned to appreciate your silences. I learned to be grateful when you opened your eyes and smiled because I was still there. So, although you ailed for a long time, for me, it was time out of the ordinary boundaries of time, time I was blessed with to share with you.

I’ll always know and feel your presence in Molly. She is now over four yearsold, and her sweetness and the funny way she looks at me remind me of you. Every so often, Lily sees one of your expressions cross Molly’s face. Michael says too that he sees your expressions on Sophie’s face. Sophie has your Jewish name also, “Sprintza.” Who could ask for more of a legacy?

By the way, you have another great-granddaughter. Caroline Anna was born last year on June ninth. She looks just like Sophie – so you see, your lifeline continues.

2009: The Synagogue Story

I know now that our family will always be ed together, my dearest mamalah. In May, 2009, I went to a Bat Mitzvah at our old temple in Baltimore, B’nai Shalom. Of course, it has changed since I went there. It’s larger, and there are three rabbis instead of one. My class had been the first class to have confirmation there in the new sanctuary. I arrived early so I would have an opportunity to walk around and see if anything was familiar to me. I found a wall that continued on for the equivalent of several blocks. On this wall were pictures of all the confirmation classes in the temple’s history. I found all of us, our pictures. You were there with your class, the class of 1925. I found Shelia’s picture with the class of 1952. Finally, I found my picture with my class, the class of 1960. I stared at your picture with your class, and I knew that you too were watching me and seeing yourself as you were then, a beautiful fifteen-yearold girl, almost a woman. I have that same picture of you at my Maryland home, and I can see you anytime I wish. I that Daddy was your Hebrew school teacher in the first building where the temple was housed. Now here we are, all together in this synagogue. Daddy’s spirit surrounds us, and we are united by our religious upbringing. We will always be together in this synagogue.

To me, this visual truth of us, our family, further emphasizes our connection. I have the memories. I need never say good-bye, for you are always with me. My heart is always full with your presence. What a legacy I have!

I do not need to go to the cemetery to pray for you or to talk to you. I close my eyes, and I listen. I look at my hands, which are so much like yours. I see your face. Over and over, I hear your standard questions from The Montrose Home. “What did you do today? What’s for dinner? How’s the weather?”

Not Goodbye

A friend asked me if I thought you were happy your last years, if you had any quality of life while you lived at The Montrose Home. Of course, I don’t know how you felt for certain, but I do know that we were blessed with people who cared for you, whose last words to me after you left us were, “It was an honor to serve your mother,” “She was a lady.”

I keep in touch with Bea. She loved you and understood you. You were a lady until you left us. You were dignified and proud. As much as I hated it, for you, when you could no longer take care of yourself, I was grateful for the time we were able to share, for the hours when you could just be, be the Mom who gave me life, be the woman who mourned her beloved husband for over fifty years, be the loving grandmother and great-grandmother, just be alive those extra years and allow us to be with you whenever we could. I didn’t save you from the nursing home, which was my original intent, but I did provide you with a home with loving care and extra resources. In the end, well, we never end, do we?

I know that you’re reading this book as I write it, sitting in a blue chair, with daddy beside you, and I can hear you qvelling that I’m finished writing at last. “It’s enough,” you’re saying – and I say, “That’s what you think!”