With the plethora of elderly cliques to choose from, we also have as many types of domiciles. You can pick from The Son's House, The Daughter's House, The Trailer Parks, The Campers, The Timeshares, The Condos, The Dream Homes in Snubville and the very dreaded ghetto of elderly places lovingly called The Nursing Homes.
Of course, I got to visit again one of the lesser known domiciles: The Rehabilitation Center. Let's just call it The Limbo Lodge. That is where Nan lives while we wait for her to recover from her surgeries.
Yesterday's visit was a steep exercise in emotional control. I didn't maintain it nor did I try harder to keep it after I got home. The burden of knowing what the elderly endure is almost as bad the crime of stashing them away so you're not reminded or bothered.
Nan was glad to see me as was her roommate Maxine. I hadn't been the only visitor at the Lodge today. My cousin Dave's recent visit was evidenced by the chocolate shake still sweating on her table. I inquired about her dinner menu, but she couldn't remember. I then turn to Maxine and asked her what dinner was and she replied, "It was liver, but I turned it away". Blecch -- liver!
Here was a freakish moment: Nan mentioned that her husband had died on Sunday and he was buried today. Consequently, her son with the same name did die on Sunday and he was cremated today. (Enter Twilight Zone theme.)
Nan's memory timeline and facial recall kept rearranging itself as we spoke about her childhood Christmases and growing up in her parents home. I didn't correct her on some things. What would be the point? Would it matter 20 years from now? I hope her ignorance IS bliss while we wait to take her home to The Son's House.
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