Both ways

Right up until I actually typed that title up there, I didn’t know what I was going to say. Would I joke around about my internet friend getting a Zoop computer for Christmas and my having to look it up and then getting the idea to make-up crazy names for types of yet to be imagined crazy computers? Would I write about my friend at the nursing home who had a stroke two weeks ago sometime while I was first exploring our hotel in Las Vegas?

Well, I just mentioned both so now it’s not so much an either/or thing as it is a priority aspect. And although I am almost constantly manufacturing off the wall thoughts in my mind, I can’t just write about the zany AmeliaJake without addressing the somber background to these days.

I came home to a message about the stroke and the information that she had not been able to move her right side or swallow adequately . . . and that she had improved considerably. When I got to the nursing home, I walked straight to her room and found a bed, neatly made. Retracing my steps, I found her sitting in a wheelchair on the other side of the nurse’s station. She smiled when she saw me.

We go into the assisted eating dining room for meals and when I ask where she would like to be, she usually just tells me she is fine right where she is. I found her one day in at the bingo game, which she hadn’t attended for a long time because it was so hard for her to hear and see that it upset her. That day, she was there, with her card and one chip on the middle spot. She seemed content and smiled brightly to see me, and watched as I moved chips to the numbers called.

When an aide moved her into her bed she asked if she wanted a pillow under her knees; for years this is the way she preferred it. That time she said no, it was fine to have both beneath her head.

I have talked with the social worker and asked how much she understands because I sometimes sense she has the feeling she should know me, but isn’t really sure. That lady shook her head and indicated it was a “maybe” answer. She leaned down and asked who was the lady sitting next to her. My friend looked at her and repeated the question back and then said slowly, “Well, it’s Jo . . dee.”

I think, or want to believe, that she is living in the moment, free of fretting about those gone and the dragging of time passing.

On Christmas Eve Day, she ate the Dairy Queen sundae we brought her all by herself – every bit of it. She was sleeping when I left. When she awoke I don’t think she remembered that I had been there, but I tell myself she is aware that there is a presence that comes and goes and a bit of which is always there, sitting beside her, reading, with her feet propped up on the bed.