Memory Care. Mom and Dad together.
Taking Mom to urgent care for a cough.
“Where’s my purse?”
“Here it is.”
“That’s not my purse!”
“But it’s the only one you have.”
“There’s nothing in it.”
“You mean your ID?”
“Yes. I have to prove who I am.”
“Well, we’ll have to look for it later. Now we have to go.”
“Why can’t Jack go?”
“Because of the virus. Only the patient and the driver which is me can go. It’s the rules.”
“I don’t want to go.”
We went when Dad said he’d wait here.
A long day. Every three minutes, “What time is it?” “Why am I here?” “I don’t HAVE a cough!”
In the exam room. Nurse asks, “What’s your name?”
A long silence. Mom had no answer.
“I’m worried about Jack. He should be here. He’s going to be unhappy.”
“I’ll send his nurse a text to let him know we’re still waiting.”
The nurse texts back, “He’s fine.”
Tidying up their room while they were at dinner,
I found a note Dad had written while we were gone.
“I’m looking for you.”
I tore the page off the pad,
Put it in my pocket
Along with the pain in my heart.
Julie Bonderov is a voracious reader who enjoys children, animals, music and color. She is an RN who has worked in local hospitals in pediatrics and as a school nurse. She enjoys encountering other cultures, languages and cuisine. Julie collects how to say, “Don’t cry.” in other languages