A Long Journey Home

My Mom on One of the Family Horses

My Mom on One of the Family Horses

I went to visit my mother yesterday at the nursing home.  When I arrived, she was still in bed but dressed and waiting to be lifted into her wheelchair.  I leaned over and greeted her.

“Is that you, Dorothy?”, she asked.

“Yes, it’s me, ” I assured her.

“Am I almost home?” she asked me.

Gulp!  When I had first walked in, I was struck by how sunken her face looked.  It reminded me of how my Aunt Selma had looked shortly before her death.  Now my mum was asking me this?

“Yes, I do believe you are,” I told her.

“So what have you been up to?” I asked, trying to get her engaged in conversation.

“Just trying to get home,” she continued.

“Well, which home are you trying to get to?” I responded. “Your home in Michigan or your home in Minnesota?”

She thought for a minute and then said, “Oh, I think my home in Minnesota.

“Well, that’s a good choice,” I agreed.  “I wouldn’t mind heading to Minnesota myself.”

Still enjoying the Easter Bunny at age 99.

Still enjoying the Easter Bunny at age 99.

Then the nurses arrived and got Mom into her wheelchair and darned if she didn’t perk up.  We ended my visit quite pleasantly with me reading more of a book we’re plowing through together and Mom commenting on it a bit now and then.   I left her in the dining room when her lunch was called, happily anticipating diced peaches for dessert.

Her words haunted me, though, as I drove home.  “Am I almost home?”

Selfishly I hope not yet, Mom, not yet!

 

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