Today, I went for a visit. 3pm. It took me till 3pm and lots of cussing to go and visit. I watched a Carol Burnett movie about AA, slam down the remote and storm out the door. I sit in the parking lot and smoked a cigarette. The greeter at the door suggested, due to a highly contagious rash spreading through the nursing home, I should come back January 19th. An out. I'm not turning back. I go to her room and the bed empty (except maybe behind the curtain, I sense there is a person, but I know Rita has the bed closest to the door). Physical therapy they say...down the hall, make a right, last door on the right. MANY wheelchairs with MANY gray haired occupants. I greet them all....hello...how are you...hello...zig....zag. I stand in the doorway with my balky navy blue wool coat and pocketbook and look at her profile. The blond color is growning out along with her hair. 'Canary croche' blonde was her color she said. Now it has an auburn color and much more flattering growing out, without the makeup. When I see her, I want to wash her hair and blowdry. I don't even do my own hair, why do I want to do hers?? Her eye(s) is brighter, alert, watching all in the room. The room is half the size of my living room with 15 people....staff, patients, stove?, tables, chairs. I finally drop my pocketbook behind her wheelchair and curl my coat under my knees as I squat on her left side and mental kick myself for the 'left side' mistake. Vision good on the right, but she turns her head past center and we look into each others eyes. No words. So instantly aware of each other. So connected as we've always been. Hey. Hey. Whatcha doin'. Color pegs on a grid to match the picture. It's correct, and I change the picture...helping? She puts the orignal picture back and waits. I check out the company. I'm surprised that the age has dropped dramatically from the hallway. My age. A little younger. Do you think we, the non-stroke survivors have a hard time with this because we see ourselves in this position? Fear? And if we think the fear, can you imagine living the fear?? She is a very good 'student', following directions. So unlike her...this 'go along, get along', good student mentality. I wonder, does she think this is a test, and if she does well, they will let her go home. I know this is what she is thinking!! How unlike her! I always expect a 'frigg you', but since this stroke, it's been 'is this good enough, can I go home now??'. I just know this is what she is thinking. I'm charged with taking her back to her room, manuver her, road block, waiting...hello, thank you....and I see Denis, her....boyfriend? Is that what you call them when you are in your forties?? Sounds juvenile. We make eye contact and I'm thankful and happy to see him. Back in the room he shares the joy of a first step made, by herself, earlier in the day and it's so intimate between the two of them, his hand on her shoulder and her cheek stroking the back of his hand...the kissing and tears. He reinforces with her they are tears of joy...joy...joy. Her son is getting married earlier then expected and she will be going home in March. Her son's wife will be taking care of her full time. Does she know what she is getting into with all this??....I knew they were getting married early. They stopped by to see me two days before at work and showed me the marriage license they applied for. We hug....I hug her and whisper in her ear congratulations, softy and gently and she whispers back thank you....we both know.

Denis leaves before dinner and Rita and I watch 'oprah'....so unlike us...lol. Dinner is served and the staff and I talk about sneaking in wine late night, would Rita be interested....no...good patient. Her roommate appears from behind the curtain, dinner smells and she wants to be rid of the brocalli and meatloaf. She hands it to me. I work with the staff to scrap off the offending meat and veggies and get her settled in. Rita is engrossed in her meal and I find it's time for me to leave. I kiss her forehead and have this urge to wash her hair....be back soon.