Pages

Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Fences, Part Two


Driving back from Mom’s nursing home today, I whizzed north on a road between sun-streaked horse pastures, most with multiple horses out munching on grass and hay. Blue sky, trees in various autumn stages, yellow leaves covering rolling lawns, pomegranate-colored bushes, and several dozen gorgeous creatures in various shades of brown. I especially liked the elegant stance of their slender front legs. Some horses ate grass under the split-rail fences near the road.

Today these fences struck me differently than they did on the dark gray day, April 4, 2011. Since then, fences have represented for me how a nursing home defines a person’s world. On that horrible day, my father had his loving homey free world reduced to a lonely regimented bare room. Because of his Alzheimer’s, he didn’t understand this move, and he couldn’t really converse with anyone. Imagining his sense of abandonment has made that day stand out as the absolute worst day of my life. On that day as I drove by these same fences, my heart, lungs, and stomach all constricted in agony.

Today, not so much. I feel sad that my mother’s homey free world has been reduced to one room in the nursing home. She told me yesterday that anxieties of adjusting to new routines and people keep her awake most nights. And the Medicare rules, oh my goodness. The poor woman has had to fight for five weeks to get a pill that she used to be able to walk in to Walgreens and buy over the counter. I am sorry she has these hassles and restrictions. But Mom is sharp and determined to look on the bright side of being in the nursing home. When I visit, chances are good she’ll be out of her room, involved in a trivia game or Songs with Susan or a special celebration.

When Dad began nursing home life, all I could see was one gray horse far off in a tiny muddy pen. But with Mom’s new beginning, I see fences, yes, but around huge rolling pastures of green grass. A fence is an apt metaphor for an institution; but if you’ll forgive my comparing my parents to horses, I will say that Mom, well, I’m guessing she’ll be among those feeding out near the edges.

No comments:

Post a Comment