“Are you sure you want to go?” I ask Violet.
“Oh, yes, the evening sounds delightful,” she answers in her proper English, with a slight quiver to her voice. Violet’s small, hazel eyes beam, the thin white hair on her head moving as if in a breeze as she nods her head.
“Dinner might be enough. You’ve just only been feeling better,” I suggest. Violet and I became friends while she attended my writing classes. We’re a strange combination: she is an 80-year-old widow from New Zealand and works in a New Age city bookstore; I’m married, decades younger, and work in the suburbs.
“I read the book, Violet. It’s a sweet romance, but it’s sad too. I’m not sure the movie…” Continue reading
When her birthday cake was placed in front of her and someone said “make a wish, Grandma!” Dolly closed her eyes and thought, okay, here’s the chance to try it.
She rubbed her back right heel on her left toe, crossed her left arthritic index finger over her third finger, took in a deep breath and chanted,
“Now may be the time, time is what we find, find the time that’s right for me. And let me see!”
“I think we need to return,” he whispered in her ear. An ear he knew so well, shell-shaped and as pink as a wish.
“No!” she protested. “We’re safe here. Let’s just roam.”
His smile, small and protective, told her everything she needed to know.
“It’s okay, you know. It’s okay the way things are,” he assured her. Continue reading
I look at you and wonder
Who you see
I watch the worry in your eyes and
Pray you see the one that you desire. Continue reading
I’m on my way to see my mom this weekend, and taking little with me except some old albums.
When I visit her in late summer, she seems so less of what she used to be. Because of dementia, she can’t remember what I told her five minutes earlier, like “your clean clothes are in the drawer” or “dinner is in 45 minutes.”
Seconds after the conversation, my once bright, quick mom asks: “where are my clean socks?” and then “isn’t it time to walk down to the dining room?” Continue reading