Nursing Home Woes Part II
I take care of her because
Her 99 year old body cannot
Take care of itself.
I admire her sweater and she admits
She made it herself, a long time ago.
“I don’t knit much anymore,” she tells me.
I think to myself,
Her arthritic fingers must not be able to grasp the knitting needle well
Any more.
I think to myself,
Her cataracted eyes must not be able to allow her to see all those beautiful color patterns
Any more.
I think to myself,
Her deteriorating brain must not be able to remember how to weave the yarn correctly
Any more.
But I, in my limited wisdom and infinitely young body,
Am taken aback when she tells me
“I don’t like to start things I know I might not have the time to finish”
Death is a funny thing in a nursing home.
It bumps shoulders with the residents every day
But they do not seem to mind.