The Adorable Couple
He may not have a name, but he has a girlfriend.
The other day when I picked up my mom to get her glasses I found a new bear in her room…on her bed…laying next to the other bear. At the time, it all seemed so innocent. Just two bears, hanging out, in bed. You know, like you do. My inquiry into the new bear got me nowhere. Where did it come from? I don’t know. Does it have a name? I don’t know. How long have you had it? I don’t know.
It was all very suspicious. Clearly there was a scandal and an attempt at a cover up.
Several more attempts at answers over the course of the hour together getting the glasses fitted proved worthless.
Today, though, the truth came out.
While visiting with an old friend from high school, my mother let the cat out of the bag. The new brown bear was the girlfriend of the white bear. Girlfriend?! Mom had barely confirmed the gender of the white bear just moments earlier, and now he had a girlfriend! Of course, there’s no judgment here. There’s no concern about orientation, color, species, country of origin. We embrace diversity. Love is love. As long as they’re happy, I’m happy. And, at least this new bear is wearing underwear.
But, lo! Another twist to the plot! There was a baby! A brown bunny came onto the scene today that I hadn’t seen the other day. A tail like papa bear and brown fur like momma bear!
What kinds of activities do they allow in this facility?! The scandal!
It certainly gives one something to talk about that’s for sure!
We had arrived around 11 am in the hopes of getting in a little bit of a visit and then grabbing a bite to eat in the bistro downstairs. We wouldn’t have to go outside, or leave the facility, but she would feel as if she had gotten out and about. Upon getting to mom’s floor, we found many of the residents around the TV watching Mary Poppins. Thankfully they were already past the Tuppence song or else I would have sat down and watched it with them…and then cried because that song just pulls on the right strings for me.
Mom was sitting there watching the movie with her bear in her lap. When she saw her friend with me, she got up, started crying and then produced a very big hug. The poor bear was squished in the middle.
We made our way to one of the nice seating areas that allowed us to get some natural light as well as some privacy so we could chat.
For the most part, you can usually sit places without being disturbed by anyone. That said, there are still folks that wander. One gentleman told me he needed to call his accountant and asked if I knew where there was a phone he could use. Pointing down the hall, I told him it was that way. He said he had tried that but it didn’t work. He then asked if I worked there. When I told him I didn’t, he thanked me, apologized and walked the other way. I hadn’t seen him before, so I’m only assuming he’s new to the floor. Unless, of course, I’m just a jerk and was treating a family member like a resident. He had been holding a note pad with a name and phone number listed. The number had been written about 10 times in varying levels of legible handwriting. I admit that due to his age and look of wandering I just assumed he was a resident.
When my grandmother was still alive and living in her facility, I had a brush of awkwardness when I had attempted to keep an elderly gentleman behind the locked doors only to find out he was a husband trying to leave after a visit with his wife. Yeah, that was a mess. I didn’t see his visitor badge right away.
I’ll stand behind my decision of this gentleman being a resident, though.
At 11:30 we made our way downstairs to the bistro. The bear was welcome to come along so he could get out and about as well. No need for everyone to stay cooped up. Had I known the other bear was the girlfriend, I would have invited her to come along as well. It’s only good manners, but I didn’t know until after the fact. It’s just as well. We didn’t really have enough seats for the added company. As it was, I had to share a seat with the white bear so mom could successfully eat her gumbo. He sat behind me on the seat.
The trip to the bistro proved to be a great idea. While we were there several people stopped to talk to my mom. Damned near everyone in the facility, at least everyone that works there, knows my mom. We walk down the hall, she walks up to people, everyone says, “Hi, Kaye!” The woman has more of a social life than I do, that’s for sure. All of these people just adore her. The friggin’ laundry lady even told me she just loved my mom and always chats with her when she comes to change the linens. This Sunday she’ll visit, as a matter of fact.
Here’s the dirty little secret, though. My mom, like many older women in that place, reserves some of her “true” feelings for comments made quietly under her breath. Whether or not she really feels this way or even knows what she’s talking about is besides the point. While we were eating, a couple of women walked by. I thought they were visitors as opposed to staff, but I might have been wrong. Mom saw them walking past and said quietly, “Well, they’re just whores. They really shouldn’t be like that.” What?! Did I hear her correctly? I think so!
I don’t know that I’ve ever heard my mom even use the word “whore”, and I’m nearly certain she wasn’t saying something she actually meant. These days, words aren’t used correctly, so it’s hard to determine what she really intends to say. So, you have to take some things with a grain of salt. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t find what she’s saying extremely funny!
I keep meaning to write down some of the funnier things she says along with the accidentally profound things as well. Today she had a couple goodies, but I only remember this one. We were still eating lunch, she was digging through the chicken salad in her croissant sandwich (pronounced the French way ‘kwa-sont’ and not the McDonalds way ‘kra-saunt’), when she randomly said, “I don’t know where I’m going, but I sure hope I arrive soon.” Don’t we all, sister.
I’m not sure if she was referring to being finished with her lunch or that she wanted to get back to her room, or she wanted to leave the facility all together. Who knows. But, it’s a great statement.
We did, though, end up taking a walk to the CVS pharmacy close by. She needed a new little pad thing for her glasses. Yes, her new glasses. Already missing a foot. I call it a foot; that clear plastic thing that allows the glasses to sit on your nose. Well, one of hers was missing.
It was a lovely day for a walk. She brought her bear along on the walk which was really just cuter than all get out. The thing is so big she has to use both arms to hold him. And she doesn’t carry him like a baby on her hip. She carries him so he’s hugging her from the front. She carries him like he’s a thing of comfort for her. A security blanket of sorts. And, I’m sure he is something like that for her.
Thinking of this bear thing, I’m glad I’m in my late 30’s for this because if I were much younger, I think I might actually have a bit of embarrassment to contend with. Maybe not, I don’t know. But, at this point in my life and at this point in her situation, my stance is this, I just don’t give a shit. My mom has a bear, she carries it around because she thinks he’s her baby, do you have a problem with that?
While in CVS we were trying the Christmas dog-sweaters on the bear to see if they fit. A lady, who wasn’t entirely with it herself, made a comment about how we were treating the bear as if it were real. I turned to her and very matter-of-factly and unapologetically said that she, pointing to my mother, did think it was real. She stopped using the smart ass tone of voice right then and actually admitted she had a teddy bear collection. And then said she cuddled with a teddy bear every night that was nearly as big as she was. Well, then. You aren’t so different after all. I think she was just jealous that she hadn’t considered buying clothes for her bears. She started getting into it and even determining the best way to wear the dog-sweater.
Once we all drop that apparently socially acceptable act of making fun of someone who acts differently; i.e. The way we wish we could act in public, we then realize we’ve all got weird quirks and some of them are shared by others. If we weren’t so quick to judge we’d likely find we were more alike than different.
My point is that at this time in my life, I’ve already started carrying myself in such a way that I’ve given up giving a shit about what other people think. It allows me to be myself, be different, and be interesting. Jealousy’s an ugly thing. You should try unabashedly being yourself in public, it is very freeing. If your teddy bear needs a sweater since winter is just around the corner, don’t be shy about bringing him into the store with you for a fitting. You don’t want to have to come back out in the cold to return or exchange the dog-sweater you purchased for your bear. That would just be embarrassing.
Back at the ranch we fixed her glasses, sort of. Mom’s friend found the clear foot thing on the floor of the room, so I fussed with trying to screw it back on with the mini screws in the glasses repair kit we bought. You need to be Thumbelina to deal with the mini-screw without going crazy. The little screw driver they provide isn’t magnetized which is ridiculous because who the hell can get that little screw onto the little screwdriver. Well, I did, but it took 30 minutes.
While we were visiting with my mother, she was then telling us about the girlfriend bear, the baby bunny, and then talking directly to both of them. Still, no one has a name. It makes me wonder if she ever had stuffed animals as a kid. I know she wasn’t an only child, so she and I are different (clearly in more ways that one), but I named everything. Maybe she just doesn’t see it as important of a ceremony as I do.
Speaking of names, I had given her my new business card a few weeks back. She keeps it on her, in a pocket. Today she looked at it and asked me if Burgundie was my real name. I laughed and told her that only she could answer that question. I’ve been asked that so many times in my life, I can’t even count, but to hear that from my own mother was actually very humorous. Maybe somewhere deep down she really wanted to name me Kelly, and all these years she’s regretted naming me something wildly unique like “Burgundie”. Or maybe she’s just slipping and said the first thing that came to mind when reading a different name like mine. Much like the “I’m not really sure who your father really is” story, maybe there’s a secret story about my name. Maybe not.
Anyway. Today was a good day. We had a good visit. There were tears, but tears are healthy. Mom got to see an old friend and friends from the other floor. She visited with the resident cat & a resident’s dog. We all laughed at funny things. I laughed at my mother because she’s just a funny person. We determined that although things aren’t ideal, they’re really good for what they are.
My hope is that the next time I visit there isn’t another baby bunny, or worse! Another bear. That could get really complicated.
My Mother, Her Dementia and Where I Fit 