Our venerable family friend Slim roused himself from his annual semi-hibernation earlier this month. He and his pack of loyal pups have since been gradually gearing up toward full participation in their beloved October activities. Now that Halloween is upon us, Slim pointed out that I’ve spent little quality time with him this fall.
This is true. I’ve been preoccupied with my new job. I’m a home health aide for my mother, who broke her hip in early August when she chose to exit her stair lift while the chair remained in mid-air, several feet off the floor. Her reasons for doing so are unclear. She was on her way upstairs when she forgot something and reversed direction. Her unreliable eyesight may have made her think she had arrived at ground level, or maybe she was in a hurry and thought she was close enough. It had apparently slipped her mind that she had been in the habit of rarely taking a step without the assistance of her rolling walker. My husband and I were away on vacation at the time. A good friend was staying with Mama. On that very first evening of her visit, she returned from checking the bird feeders to find my mother sprawled, alarmingly, on the floor in the front hall.
A rush to the ER followed. Then there was surgery to repair the break, a week in the hospital, and three weeks in a rehab facility. The rehab stay ended badly, with several days of an intense asthma attack, which wiped out nearly all of the progress my mother had made in PT. When she arrived home at the beginning of September, she was weak, shaky, and just barely mobile.
Slim has felt a bit slighted because I haven’t joined him as often as usual in his seasonal endeavors. And I found myself miffed that he wasn’t more willing to pitch in with the occasional caregiving task. Surely he’d had some relevant, nursing-adjacent experience in his long history? Yes, he admitted. But none that he wished to recall, or repeat. He refused to take the bait when I suggested, considering his sunny attitude and capacity for perseverance, that he might be uniquely qualified to teach a reluctant, exercise-averse ninety-one year old how to walk again. Or to coach her in the fine points of negotiating between rooms in a wheel-chair. To provide assistance as she struggled to get out of bed, or rise from the sofa? Nope.
Before long, though, Slim realized he had a captive audience in my mother for his tireless gift of gab. He’s been more than happy to help her pass the time by swapping treasured stories of hilarity and adventure from decades long ago. As I see the two of them chatting companionably, I realize that Slim is offering the valuable gift of presence. It’s one that I’ve been less inclined to provide these days, as I’m caught up in an ever-circling round of necessary elder-care chores. Mama has generally been appreciative of Slim’s garrulous company, although she whispered to me yesterday that she thinks she’s now heard all his tale tales more than twice.
As always, Slim and the pack were delightful companions at our church’s afternoon of Trunk or Treat.
While I was disappointed at Slim’s reluctance to engage as a caregiver, others have gone well above and far beyond. I got the news of Mama’s accident during a comedy performance at Town Hall in Provincetown, MA. Our daughter and her husband had arrived earlier that day to spend the weekend with us at the Cape. Our friend Angie had flown up from Atlanta to Virginia just hours before, expecting a quiet respite from her busy life. Instead, she found herself keeping vigil at Mama’s side in Fairfax Hospital for two days and nights. Another dear Atlanta friend, Connie, had planned to arrive on Monday for five days. She rescheduled her flight for Sunday so Mama was never without an advocate. Our family is incredibly grateful for these two capable, gracious, generous women. They were adamant in their assurance that I not hurry home. They knew I’d be there for the long, slow haul of my mother’s recovery, they said. They’d planned to be with Mama anyway, and the change in circumstances made no difference, they claimed.
Over the past three months, I’ve marveled repeatedly at the selfless kindness of these two friends. They remind me that unfortunate events may pave the way for the revelation of unexpected blessings. And Slim reminds me that I might pause a moment between tasks, and give my patient the simple gift of my attention.
Slim is gesturing for me now at the window, urging me to join him and the dogs as they bask in the bright October sunshine and savor the final days of brilliant tree-top colors. Halloween, he bellows, is tomorrow!