The Old Woman In the Nursing Home

I’m an old woman – 92 this July. I have one biological daughter. The child has provided me grandchildren and even great – grandchildren. Yet here I sit gazing out the window of my room at the Golden Age Assisted Living Facility. I need help just one step down from a nursing home. “There’s got to be a better life!” How often I made that statement with no idea of the power of words.

My married daughter had me come live with her and the family on three different occasions. Each time I abused the opportunity and had to move on. Many would think it an awe-inspiring thing for three generations to live under the same roof. To have a family home large enough to accommodate all of us comfortably. Some would even picture me, the matriarch of the family surrounded by children, telling the stories of my life. The truth is everyone avoids me as much as possible – like the flu. Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t that inviting. My other favorite saying, “Other people have money, I have children.”

My mother lived to be 100. She lived with my sister until the day she died. Yes she died at home in her own room. Her grandchildren served as round the clock private duty nurses. She died surrounded by love. I remember my daughter whispering in her grandmother’s ear, “It’s OK Mom. You can go home. We’ll be fine because you loved us, and you’re in our hearts – always.” My mother squeezed her hand good – by and died.

My sister was crying on the other side of the bed. The children were hugging and praying. Where was I? I was walking out of the room in search of a drink. I was remembering my mother’s words to me, “Enid, you’re not going to be young forever. Appreciate your daughter, your grands.” I was tired, and I needed my bed and a drink, not necessarily in that order. The children will do whatever I tell them, and be quick about it.

I couldn’t wait to get back to the east coast and my house. My unmarried sister and I were the last of surviving siblings. It was always her and my mother after I got married and moved. My sister and I got along for short periods of time. It was a good arrangement having them across the country. I didn’t have to see them too often. My mother flew by herself cross country at 90 to see her only granddaughter and her first great-granddaughter. She stayed at her granddaughter’s house, not mine. My mother didn’t want to stay with me. She said I was always complaining of being tired, always in bed with a can of beer.

What did she know – my mother? It was only her and my sister. My sister had a good job with a lot of money. What did I have? My husband was 15 years my senior, a widower with three pre-teens. I was only 25 years old with all this responsibility. My husband Lee worked at the Navy Yard. It was a job but he didn’t make nearly enough for us to have the house, car and things my sister had. Lee got injured on the job right after our daughter was born. He was home with the baby and I had to go to work. I’d come home from work, and have to deal with kids, baby and a husband. All I wanted was a beer and to get into my bed. I yell at the older kids to go to bed. Their father had plenty of time to help them with homework. The oldest Jean is 12 and old enough to take care of the house. I needed a drink and my bed.

I was too tired to nurture my daughter Carol. My husband was home with her for a long time. She spent a lot of time with my mother and sister before they moved. They spoiled her, taking her on trips and buying her clothes. My sister was her godmother anyway. She had the money and time. My daughter spent so much time with them, she called my mother Mom. Can you believe that? I gave birth to her. What did she call me – mother! Like very formal and cold. I told everyone how she is. When I’m home in bed with a beer or drink, I relax by talking on the phone. Yep I make sure everybody knows how unloving Carol is. My step kids treat me better. I tell her that too.

Carol was a difficult kid. I remember one time we were going to the beach and Carol was about three, wouldn’t put her foot in her shoes. Granted the shoes were a little tight, but she cried all the way to the beach. When we got there I discovered her toes were bending inside the shoe. When she was five she had to have her tonsils taken out. Everyone kept telling her she could have all the ice cream she wanted. Why would adults encourage giving a kid ice cream after having her tonsils out? No I didn’t give her any ice cream. I made her a nice bowl of chicken soup. You think she ate it? Oh then it was that Easter when she was twelve and she got chicken pox. My whole vacation ruined by a sick kid. She was the only one in the entire school infected. Just like her to get something no one else has.

Well I did live with Carol and her family three times and each time was worse than the last. She complained when I opened the window in my room because the air conditioner was too cold. Then she told me I was drinking too much. Having a few beers and a drink of vodka was a problem for her. I was buying it. I didn’t ask her to pay for it.

My daughter put me in this place, just threw me away. I’m entitled. She should take care of me. At least this place is more cheerful than the nursing home I put my husband in. I was retired and he got sickly. I didn’t retire to spend all my time caring for him. I was too tired.