Saturday, June 10, 2006

Guessing Game

Bea slept through the night, thanks to the new sleeping pill, delivered by FedEx one day after Nurse Jane placed the order. She seems subdued, although nothing hurts. I change her, feed her, and hope she will stay awake.

“Do you want to hear that wonderful Italian singer?” I ask.

“No. Let me sleep.”

With a shrug, I do as told.

When I peek into the room at lunchtime, Bea smiles at me.

“They’re there,” she says softly, extending a boney arm towards the ceiling. I watch her trace a line from right to left. “There. Don’t you see them?”

“Who is there?”

“They are.” Bea is having difficulty articulating, a frustrating new development. Again she raises her arm slowly and indicates an area near the door.


Bea says something that sounds like Emma, the name of her stepmother.

“Emma?” I ask. “Bertha? Helen?” (all members of her family).

Bea looks at me with exasperation.

“Is Daddy there?” (I know she has seen him in the past.)

No!” Bea is quite emphatic. She gives a little shrug as if about ready to give up on me but tries one more time: “There, there!”

I look back up at the ceiling. Neither of us speaks.

Then Bea says, “I don’t understand why she didn’t come and take me.”

“Who are up you talking about?”

“Whoever she is ….”

Bea turns her head toward the far side of the pillow and closes her eyes.


Blogger pincopalla said...

In the first place excuse me for my bed English. I only want to say that my father has nearly 85 years old, is sick of parkinson from 15 years and seven months ago the femore is broken. I want a good of the spirit, I attend him as I can. But it does not recognize me more and I do not recognize it more! It's a great joy to have him here but also a great suffering because he is no more the strong man I remember. My strong father.

5:52 PM  

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