|Gerry Broome instagram|
I painted her fingernails red today and we laughed about how her mother would never allow her to paint her nails because she would look like a "loose woman". She is judgmental about "that colored girl", the lesbian with the nose ring and the tattoo that says Oscar, the man with the pony tail. Me and the lesbian are best friends now, the colored girl cracks me up, haven't met pony tail man yet, just heard about him. I found ants all over her night stand yesterday and asked that something be done. Well, a guy came in with a large jug of Ortho poison and sprayed it all over the back of the bed, the walls, the floor. I guess these people are dying in a few years, what's a little poison sprayed about for us all to breathe. I would have preferred the ants if I had known..... I bitched, he smiled at me and kept spraying.
I am becoming a thorn in their side about the nutrition they provide, tomorrow I told them to forget the meals, I would cook and bring my mom something decent to eat. Why can't we feed old people good food? Why must it be grey and unrecognizable? They scold my mom every day for not walking to the dining area to eat. She won't go. She cries. She says she doesn't want to eat with the old people. The ones with their mouths gaping open and food running down their face, the ones with the oxygen tubes in their nose, the ones missing legs, or hands....they are all alone with no family to help them eat. It is freaking her out. I went to the desk for the third time today and asked that they please quit badgering her about eating in her bed. She is scared of this place. She knows the routines of the hospital, God knows she has been there enough, but this is a dose of reality she was not ready for. I'm trying to help her through it, but I'm not making friends at this place.
I feel like I am walking down that lonely road in Gerry's photo. Here I am in my room now with my computer, a ball of yarn and a few books. The thermostat is set on 80 and I am in South Carolina in August. Imagine.......
I hear Hank Williams singing in my head, "I'm so lonesome I could cry". My daddy used to sing that while he was shaving, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, standing there at the mirror that was on the medicine cabinet, in his white T shirt and blue jeans, smelling of Old Spice and tobacco. I could lay in my bed and look across the hall into the bathroom and watch him shave. I wish he was here with me. I wish he would come into my room like he used to and kiss my forehead and say goodnight. I miss him so much. He died twenty years ago and I think about him still, every single day.
So, yes I am planting my own garden. I do yoga every morning, then I meditate for 20 minutes. A few laps in the pool, breakfast of whole grain cereal and fruit, and then to see the dead that are living......... I have a heightened awareness that is intriguing me. Everything is a slow reality...... I'm just breathing through it. I have learned a lot about myself this year and what I am capable of enduring..... alone.