Dear Emily:

I stopped in to see Mom yesterday on my way back from school. I don’t usually stop on Monday’s but something told me I should pull in and spend some time with her. I’m glad I did. Actually, she was glad I did and she even said so which is something that is highly unusual for her to say.

Come to think of it, in the hour and a half or so that I was there, she was all over the place with what she talked about and up and down with all kinds of different emotions. It must be so tiring living in her head and so frustrating being stuck in a body that no longer works and not really understanding or knowing why.

When I got there the arm of her wheelchair was kind of wedged underneath one of the dinning room tables and she couldn’t get out. I could see she had been working at getting herself loose for a while and by the look on her face I knew she was frustrated. “Unstuck me!” she said in French, when she saw me walk in. So I pulled her away and asked her if she would like to use a walker and go for a little walk with me down the corridor. “Yes!” she said.

Once I stood her up behind the walker, I could see the expression on her face change to one of, stubborn determination and it was as if she wanted to take off and walk the rage right out of her system. And she did! Step by step, little by little as I guided her along she let go of a little bit of steam.

When I asked, “Are you tired, do you want me to get your wheelchair, do you want to sit down, do you want to turn around?” She got madder. “No! I’m going to walk to the door.” She said with a stern expression on her face. For a minute there, I really thought she might find the energy to somehow walk out that door and keep on going.

So I stayed with her. I walked by her side, supporting her a little in case her legs gave out, and all the time I kept talking to her in a calm, quiet voice hoping to soothe her and calm her. “Look at you, you’re sure walking like a trooper and you’re driving that machine around like a pro”, I said. “I’m going to wash the dishes and sweep the kitchen” she responded but her energy was petering out.

Step by step her frustration and anger slid away and her breathing got heavier as she slowly made her way back to her wheelchair. “Good job”, I said, “Now let’s go see if we can find you a snack.” So I fed her a pudding, brought her to her room, washed her, changed her into her nightgown, took her to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and put her to bed. I covered her with the blankets and tucked the puppy I gave her for Christmas under her arm. “Goodnight Mom, I have to go now”, I said.

She looked me in the eyes and said. “I’m glad you came.” And then she started laughing. “What’s so funny?” I asked. “Do you still have those waves in your hair in the back of your head?” “Yes, I do, and it’s your fault”, I said. She smiled; shut her eyes, and off she went to sleep.

Writefully Yours,
Annette