The Final Touch

Margaret

Margaret looks around her living room. She wants to make a permanent picture of all she sees.

I have to leave it all.

She sighs and dries a tear.

    "It's for your own good, Mother," her daughter had told her. 

    My own good! Baloney! I may be old, but I can look after myself. I am happy here.

    They had been over it so many times. "You are getting older and you have a bad heart. You need more care and help."

    So what? If I am going to die, I will die. Care or not. I am going to make a cup of tea.

    Getting up and putting the kettle on, she wonders if she will be able to do this in the nursing home. "No electrical appliances," it says in the brochure. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she enters the bedroom.

    Oh, why did you have to go? We were so happy together. I feel lonely and sad. I miss your voice and your presence, but most of all, I miss your gentle touch. How can I explain to anybody that I hug your pillow in the night and pretend that you are with me? They would just tell me that people don't need that when they get older. But I need you! Now they want to put me in an old age home. Why can't they understand?

    "Stay where you are , dear," Tom had told her on his last day. "One day we will be together again." She smiles as she pours the tea.

    I will try to make the best of it. That is what Tom would want.

    She hears the key in the door and swallows hard.

    Come on. You can do it.

    Her daughter enters the room and smiles.

    "I am just finishing my tea," she says, forcing a smile in return. "Would you like a cup?

    Please say "yes" and let us stay a little longer.

    "Did you consider the offer on the house, Mother?"

    She nods. "I thought about it, but I don't want to sell yet."

    They drink their tea in silence. She gets up, washes the cups and, drying them, says, "I am ready." Still trying to smile, she puts on her coat.

    "I am sure you will like it there, Mother. There are people your own age and you can talk to them about everything."

    Again she nods, unable to speak. She is afraid her voice will crack. In the car, they approach the nursing home.

    So this is where I am supposed to be happy?

    Inside, the nursing home is light and smells fresh. But how big it is! A lady approaches and asks her daughter some questions.

    Why doesn't she ask me? I am quite capable of answering.

    She pretends to look outside.

    "Is she incontinent?"

    My God, what do they think?

    A nurse comes to take them to her room. She talks constantly about the activities available and shows them the only bath on the floor.

    "You get a bath once a week, and look! It is all hydraulically operated! But don't worry," she adds, "the nurses will help you in and out."

    The room looks bright and clean. Her bed is near the window. An old lady is sitting in a chair, watching TV.

    "Louise?" says the nurse in a loud voice. "This is Margaret, your new roommate." Louise glances away from the television and smiles.

    "Louise doesn't talk much since her stroke," explains the nurse.

    She is exhausted.

    "You go home now dear," she says to her daughter. I am tired and I want to lay down."

    Good. Everybody is gone.

    She lies down on the strange bed and pulls a spare blanket over her face. They tears come and they don't stop.

    Tom, I miss you so. What am I going to do? I feel thrust aside. A bath once a week? And a nurse to help me? What are they doing to my dignity? Don't I have a say in anything?

    She hears footsteps. "Margaret? Are you asleep?

    No. But I will pretend to be.

    The footsteps retreat.

    Good, I have to think. Please, God. Help me! You have guided me all my life. Don't you leave me, too!

    A small peace steals over her and she falls asleep.

    In the morning, a bubbly young nurse comes to ask Margaret if she would like to take a shower.

    A shower?

    "And, if you feel up to it..."

    I have a choice?

    "...breakfast is being served in the dining room. Three ladies sitting at your table are eager to meet you. They wondered if you would like to join them for lunch at a restaurant in town this afternoon?"

    Lunch at a restaurant?

     Bright sunlight streams in the window. Louise looks over at her and smiles. 

    "Would you like me to put out your clothes for you?" the nurse asks kindly.

    "No thank you," she says, "I think I will manage just fine on my own." She smiles to herself.

    And I will, Tom. I will.

Maria Hupse, of Langley, BC, volunteers in a home for the elderly, does needlepoint and crafts, and writes. She can be reached at (604) 533-4444