“…What would you like for Mother’s Day, Mom?”
It was two days before Mother’s Day.
My wife Carrie and I sat on the deck in the bright sunshine visiting with Dad, Mom and Vera, Mom’s caregiver.
Less than two short weeks ago Mom had achieved her 80th birthday, smacking her nemesis in the face. Take that, Alzheimer’s Disease!
In my mind I was rolling over the scene from the middle of the previous night when Dad had called me at about 11:00, rousing me from the doze session I was having as Jay Leno cracked wise.
“Hi Brad. I need some help. Mom’s okay, but she’s on the floor and I can’t get her up.”
Having moved in next door to the folks seven years before in order to be available for just such times, I was at her side in about 53 seconds. She was fine and as Dad orchestrated, we got her to bed through a series of lifts and a couple strategic grunts.
“So, Mom,” says I, as the sun warmed her back, “do you remember me coming to help you off the floor last night at bedtime?”
“Hmmmm. Not sure I do. Did you bring the ice cream?”
“No, I don’t think there was any ice cream involved, just lifting. So we’re not gonna have a repeat performance of that tonight, right?”
“Right. Y’all come.”
As the listeners all grinned, I quizzed, “So, Mom, did you remember Mother’s Day is this weekend?”
“Is it?” she wondered from beneath her floppy sun bonnet.
“Yep. It’s comin’ right up. What would you like for Mother’s Day, Mom?”
Pause.
“Father.”
You’re in Home Care Country!
Make yourself comfortable because here you’re “at home.”
Brad