As I'd done every day for several weeks, I arrived at the nursing home right as the shift changed. From the weariness on the nurses' faces, it was difficult to tell the departing shift from the incoming one. Not exactly like ships passing each other between ports, more like exhausted, overworked tugboats chugging to their next destination. Although I recognized the nurses from each shift, if I forgot which one was assigned to my grandmother's care, I only had to look for the one with the fullest cup of coffee. Although working at a place like this had to be hard, working with my grandma was an especially titanic duty.
Time for my own duty now, a duty motivated not by money or altruism but by love. Chin up and a smile welded across my face, I set off, all the while trying not to inhale too deeply. A cloying odor from the end of the corridor hung heavy like ammonia and smelled almost as bad.
Grandma's food tray, no doubt; she never did like room service.
I also tried to close my ears and to some extent my mind because some of the residents were noisy and others acted downright strange. If only I could drown them out and forget about them. But, of course, that would never happen. Every day I dreaded the sad morning walk down the hall a little less, though I hardly looked forward to it. Really, I had no choice. If not me, then who?
"Have you seen my fiancé, Howie? We're supposed to go on a cruise and he's missing!"
"Can you butter my pillow? BUTTER MY PILLOW!"
"Are we in Las Vegas?"
"Tell President Carter that they won't let me out!"
"HEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPP MEEEEEEEEE!"
I simply smiled at each person I passed. They reminded me of delirious children trapped in wrinkled and hunched bodies, adrift in ill-equipped lifeboats on a sea of madness.
At the end of the hall, when I reached 5A, I stopped. Just breathe, I told myself. No, not a deep breath; the stench was nearly unbearable. After a long, heaving sigh, I again put on a smile and entered her room.
"Good morning, Grandma." Did the cheeriness sound forced? I always tried to speak to my grandmother as if she still resembled the woman who waited for me after school with fresh pie and ginger ale. I still kissed her cheek as if it were an after-school visit, pretending that her cheeks were rosy and warm instead of cold and mottled.
"Grandma, it's Alicia. Alicia, Grandma. It's Alicia," I said in a loud clear voice, near her good ear.
Not much of a response.
Out of habit, I dutifully checked the contents of the morning tray. There are only six things they try to bleach away from places like this: the remains of feces, urine, vomit, blood, death, and the food. The tray today, as always, looked like it contained a little bit of each.
"Come on, Grandma, you have to eat something."
A stir. A moan. "Gooooo awaaaaaay!"
"Please, Grandma, try. Try for me."
"Yooou eat it."
The never-ending battle of begging her to take one bite began. "No, Grandma, I'm not going to eat it, but, I am going to sit here with you in case you decide you want any. Are you sure I you won't take one sip of apple juice? You used to love apple jui . . ."
"Gooo aaaawaaaay!"
I put my head in my hands just as one of the other patients rolled her squeaky wheelchair into the room. "Have you found my Howie yet? The boat sails soon," she said, wild hair flying around her face, bright eyes looking determined to find Howie in time to sail. I wanted to ask her if she ever got seasick when she sailed, but my grandma spoke first.
"Gooo aaaawaaaay!" she yelled at the woman then turned to me. "You too."
As I'd done every day for several weeks, I smiled at my grandmother and patted her arm. "I'm not going anywhere, Grandma. I love you."
BIO: ALICIA HUNT lives and writes in Michigan near her family. She attended Michigan State University and now lives with her cat, Muki. Contact Alicia at: huntali1@gmail.com
