Coming Home

My mother comes/goes home tomorrow.  This will be my last night staying in my own house, sleeping in my own bed, for who knows how long.  Years?  No matter, I guess.  On my second to last night of sleeping in my own bed, I barely did.  Rough night.  I finally gave up and put on the coffee just before five.  Maybe I don't always sleep well here, but I do love the nights I spend listening to music while working on pictures in the office on my big computer.  Those are not lonely nights, and I will miss them.  

When I went to see my mother yesterday, she wasn't in her room, nor was she in the Great Room or on the veranda.  One of the workers told me she had gone upstairs to listen to the concert on the 4th floor.  The concert started at three.  It was three-o-five.  

When I got to the "concert," there was half a room full of people, many of whom were sitting in wheelchairs.  I'd not seen any of these people before, and I realized this was where the residents of assisted living were housed.  My mother was sitting with another woman from her floor in a row of chairs.  The other woman saw me and tapped my mother.  There was nowhere to sit with them, so I waved and sat at a table in the back where I had a disadvantageous view of the unfortunate crowd.  It was obvious that many didn't know where they were.  Heads hung, chins on chests.  

The "concert" was a man singing karaoke.  He wore a tropical shirt and played a Tamborine along with the recorded music.  In truth, he wasn't bad.  He had a good voice and a nice selection of songs, and watching him, you might think he was performing on t.v. before a live studio audience.  A few in the crowd were able to bounce their heads along with the music while the caregivers who worked there were smiling and giving the singer all the support they could.  The caregivers were all women, most Jamaican.  They busied themselves with shuffling people around to make room for the new patients who were rolled in.  It was obvious these people were not going home.  This is where they would spend the rest of their days.  

I applauded the singer after each song and smiled and nodded my head.  As I said, you wouldn't know if you didn't see the crowd that he wasn't performing before a lively bunch, but I knew that, as nice as this facility is, my mother needed to get out of here.  

The singer finished another song, something like "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown," and said, "Alright. . . now we're going to kick it up a notch."  The crowd went breathless.  O.K. Joke.  But when he dove into The Temptations "My Girl," two of the staff stepped up before the small stage and began to dance.  God, I have to give it to them.  They were really going at it like they must have on some club's dance floor in their disco days.  And all around me, the caregiving staff started dancing and singing, too.  At first, I thought it was spontaneous, that the song really registered, but of course it was part of the schtick.  Throughout the room, people in industrial wheelchairs, akin to couches, drooled along.  

As heart wrenching as it all was, I was giggling because back in the days when my band was performing, I used to sing a little New Wave version of this song.  I have a live recording from one of the pubs were played in.  I certainly was no Smokey Robinson.  This guy, however, was nailing it.  

My mother kept looking back to see if I was still there, and about forty-five minutes in, she got up with her walker and came back to where I was sitting.  

"Let's go," she said, and so we took the elevator back to her floor.  I made us a couple cups of coffee and we went out to sit on the veranda.  

"Are you feeling better?" she asked.  

"Yea.  I went to the gym today and was talking to a fellow.  I told him I'd had a bad gut for the past few days and he said yea, it was going around.  Some stomach virus that causes diarrhea and vomiting for three days.  Bingo, I said, that is what I had.  I was glad to know it wasn't just me."

"This is my last night here," she said with enthusiasm. "I get to go home tomorrow."

"No you don't."

"Why?"

"You go home on Friday.  Today is Wednesday."

"You mean I have two more nights here?"

"Yup." 

She was really upset by this.  I didn't blame her.  I wouldn't want to be stuck in this place, either.  I can't imagine what it would be like in one of the other places.  The one she is in is top of the line.  

In a bit, her across the street neighbors came out.  

"We've been sitting inside waiting on you," the woman said.  

"Well, I'm glad you are here because I was just leaving," I said.  "You can keep my mother company."

Of course, I couldn't leave right away, and I was stuck hanging around for another half hour.  

Earlier in the day, when I was at the gym, I was talking to the retired nurse who was asking about my mother when a big Brazilian girl waked into the room, grinned, and said hello.  She is a three or five time world Brazilian Ju-Jitso World Champion, a real badass who has a twin brother who is also a fighter.  When she walked over to shake hands, I did something that Tennessee told me he had done to her before.  It is a Krav Maga move meant to counter someone who is aggressively grabbing hold of you.  He has shown me how to do it several times, so I thought I would do it to her.  As we clasped hands, I pulled her toward me while hooking the back of her elbow for leverage.  Fortunately for me, she thought it was funny.  She was quite chatty, and in a bit my retired nurse friend excused herself.  I don't really remember now how the conversation went, but it was settled that I would be photographing her in the gym where she teaches.  I was excited at the time, but when I got home from visiting my mother, the reality of it set in.  Shit.  When I had the studio, I used to take a thousand or more photographs a week.  I knew what I was doing.  I was confident.  Now I don't take any pictures and I was overtaken by the epiphany. . .  WTF was I thinking?  

I decided I would photograph her with the beautiful 4x5 camera that I haven't taken out of its case for. . . how long?  More than a year.  Before making a Negroni, I thought I should go get it out and set it up.  

But I had forgotten how!  After futzing about for a bit, however, I started to remember.  There are a whole lot of movements with the camera's front and back standards that are crucial, and I was recalling how many times I had not set them properly and had strangely out of focus pictures.  And "how many times" was not so many times as I never really used the camera much because it was a pain in the ass.  But holy mackerel, sitting there on the tripod, it sure was beautiful.  

I told the fighter I'd come to look around the gym at noon today without a camera, just to get an idea.  Once I do that, I am fairly committed I'd guess.  I can see the picture in my mind, but I'd sure as heck better be able to translate that into something everyone else can see.  

Oy!

So today, my last day of semi-freedom, will be very busy.  I need to prepare my mother's house for her return.  I need to pack up all the things she has had me take to the rehab center and truck them back to the place.  I need to clean out the refrigerator and go grocery shopping for victuals.  And I need to pack up a whole lot of my stuff to take over there.  

I wish I had slept better.  Maybe tonight.  I am trying not to take any sleep aides before bed, and I am cutting back on the alcohol, so. . . .  Last night I had two cups of hot chocolate while I listened to music and worked on pictures.  

O.K.  "My Girl."  You can imagine that this is EXACTLY how my band performed the song every single time!