The Things You Learn

Mom arrived on the train early in the afternoon. She was already waiting outside when I drove up, not near the taxi area, but past it, at exactly the right spot for me to see her and pull up easily, yet we really never talked about this spot beforehand. I'll have to remember this the next time I get frustrated when she seems confused or disoriented.

The plan was to visit her brother today. In a small rehab facility attached to a big hospital. Crummy part of town. He's doing badly, cries when he is reminded of the old days, or when he thinks about the visits he gets from his family. And yet, he's not all that old.

I pushed his wheelchair around the hospital floor, taking him to the lounge so he could bum a cigarette from someone. I watched he and my mom talk. It was painfully awkward--it was as much of an effort to understand him as it probably was for him to speak at all. Mom is hard of hearing, so I pitched in occasionally to relay what her brother said. We mentioned going to the store to buy a lottery ticket for that night's drawing, and that reminded the both of them of their own father's favorite number. 742. We sat with him as he had supper, ground chicken, ground up noodles ground up vegetables. He really doesn't want to be there, but his choices are very limited. I left before Mom so I could bring the car around for her. He cried again for some reason, and I stupidly told him it "would all work out". He needs so much more than I, Mom, or most people have the power to give him.

Tomorrow is the funeral for mom's cousin's wife. I'll accompany her there, along with her sister Nancy. The visits, the funerals--they're the things we do together now. I go to meet the relatives I don't know, and to hear the old stories.