Day 7 part 1
Sep. 24th, 2010 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
outsdrMorning arrived, and I loaded my luggage into my rental car. On the trip to my father's house, I had been smoking in the car, failing to see the small "No Smoking" sticker on the driver's door window. I stopped when I got to my father's house, and had purchased a bottle of Fabreeze Car Interior deodorant spray, which I had been using liberally since then.
It stank quite badly. The spray, and therefore the car, but at least it did not smell of cigarette smoke that I could tell. The Fabreeze made the car seat surfaces slippy as well.
My father came out to say goodbye, and to thank me for setting up his new computer for him. I stood by the door; he stood by the house, and I could almost physically feel a barrier between us as we spoke of small things and my mother. It felt as though other things needed to be said, personal things, but neither of us knew how to break through that wall we'd built between the two of us over the years so that these things could be said. In my own head, I had nebulous feelings about my father that I wanted to put into words, but just couldn't.
I started to get into the car. He turned back to go into the house.
As I was about to close the door, he turned around and shouted to me, "So, you think I should jump on my Harley and drive out to visit you, do you?"
"Yes," I said. "I think you should do exactly that."
He smiled and went inside. I started the car, and drove away feeling a little comforted by that final exchange of words.
I made the drive one last time to the nursing home. I had promised my grandmother I would stop to see her before I left. She was happy to see me, as always, and asked that we go for a walk. I helped her into her wheelchair, and pushed her down the hallway. Her area of the nursing home was quiet and lonely, like always. Located in the original building that had first been an orphanage before becoming a nursing home, it was, as she liked to say, "Quiet as a tomb." Macabre, but accurate.
"Let's go out to your mother's garden," she suggested. She directed me to the doors, and we went out to the sun-lit area between buildings that my mother had claimed as her own when she moved in. Not that anyone minded; no one else seemed to care.
My mother had started vegetable plants in the raised planters, and planted flowers around their bases, as well as around the gazebo. My father had made small iron fences to go around the flowers, since rabbits liked to eat them. Between the two of them, and the help of other residents who were inspired to help out seeing my mother's efforts, it turned from a neglected, sad outdoor area to a cheerful little garden where people actually wanted to spend time.
My mother's cousin had special ordered a large rock with "Bernice's Garden" inscribed on it. It rested in the main flower bed. I had never seen it before, and to my surprise when I went to look for it, I found that people had been laying flowers on it after her death. My heart swelled and I teared up a little.
Even the plants looked wilted and sad, and while this was only from a lack of recent rain, to me they seemed to be mourning my mother and missing her attention and affection as much as I was.
We sat for awhile, simply enjoying each others company. My grandmother, as usual, prattled on about nothing and small important things. After about half an hour, I took her back to her room, and we said our goodbyes.
For one final time, I drove down the hill from the nursing home, and headed back to the highway to continue my journey.
My heart felt heavy, yet I also felt some odd sense of accomplishment, as though I had just survived one of life's milestones. And I had, really- I just always thought I'd be better prepared when it came. But I also realized that the death of my mother was not something I ever could have prepared for, no matter when it had come.
Regardless, it came too soon.
It stank quite badly. The spray, and therefore the car, but at least it did not smell of cigarette smoke that I could tell. The Fabreeze made the car seat surfaces slippy as well.
My father came out to say goodbye, and to thank me for setting up his new computer for him. I stood by the door; he stood by the house, and I could almost physically feel a barrier between us as we spoke of small things and my mother. It felt as though other things needed to be said, personal things, but neither of us knew how to break through that wall we'd built between the two of us over the years so that these things could be said. In my own head, I had nebulous feelings about my father that I wanted to put into words, but just couldn't.
I started to get into the car. He turned back to go into the house.
As I was about to close the door, he turned around and shouted to me, "So, you think I should jump on my Harley and drive out to visit you, do you?"
"Yes," I said. "I think you should do exactly that."
He smiled and went inside. I started the car, and drove away feeling a little comforted by that final exchange of words.
I made the drive one last time to the nursing home. I had promised my grandmother I would stop to see her before I left. She was happy to see me, as always, and asked that we go for a walk. I helped her into her wheelchair, and pushed her down the hallway. Her area of the nursing home was quiet and lonely, like always. Located in the original building that had first been an orphanage before becoming a nursing home, it was, as she liked to say, "Quiet as a tomb." Macabre, but accurate.
"Let's go out to your mother's garden," she suggested. She directed me to the doors, and we went out to the sun-lit area between buildings that my mother had claimed as her own when she moved in. Not that anyone minded; no one else seemed to care.
My mother had started vegetable plants in the raised planters, and planted flowers around their bases, as well as around the gazebo. My father had made small iron fences to go around the flowers, since rabbits liked to eat them. Between the two of them, and the help of other residents who were inspired to help out seeing my mother's efforts, it turned from a neglected, sad outdoor area to a cheerful little garden where people actually wanted to spend time.
My mother's cousin had special ordered a large rock with "Bernice's Garden" inscribed on it. It rested in the main flower bed. I had never seen it before, and to my surprise when I went to look for it, I found that people had been laying flowers on it after her death. My heart swelled and I teared up a little.
Even the plants looked wilted and sad, and while this was only from a lack of recent rain, to me they seemed to be mourning my mother and missing her attention and affection as much as I was.
We sat for awhile, simply enjoying each others company. My grandmother, as usual, prattled on about nothing and small important things. After about half an hour, I took her back to her room, and we said our goodbyes.
For one final time, I drove down the hill from the nursing home, and headed back to the highway to continue my journey.
My heart felt heavy, yet I also felt some odd sense of accomplishment, as though I had just survived one of life's milestones. And I had, really- I just always thought I'd be better prepared when it came. But I also realized that the death of my mother was not something I ever could have prepared for, no matter when it had come.
Regardless, it came too soon.
