Chapter 54
Chapter Fifty-Four
Delaney
In the end, it was an easy choice. Yes, the job in the records department was the more financially lucrative choice on paper, but that’s not where my heart is.
So, I’m now the new activities director at Meadow Creek Commons Memory Care Unit.
A week in and I’m already loving it. I can’t wait to implement the ideas I have.
On top of that, I have the support of the administration, but the nursing home administrator is especially enthusiastic about what we can do. Her dad had dementia before he died. This disease has affected so many lives.
Since it’s the end of the workday but not yet time for dinner here, I grab my bag and walk to Mom’s room.
Today, I’m going to do the one thing I’ve been avoiding for several weeks.
I’m planning to read the last legible message that Mom wrote to me in her journal.
I didn’t want it to be over. Yes, I can reread them, but it hurts that there will be no new ones.
Mom’s in her chair with the television on a channel that displays nature scenes as piano music plays in the background.
“Hi, Mom. It’s Delaney.” She doesn’t turn her head from the television to acknowledge awareness of what those words mean.
I approach her from the front to prevent startling her. She glances at me for several seconds before the television claims her attention once more. After I drag a chair next to her, I sit and pull her journal from my bag.
Dear Delaney,
My sweet girl. I’m so lucky I got to be yur your mother. There is nothing I would have rather done with my life. You were so easy to raise, even when you davel develuped that indeependent streak.
By the time you read this, I’m guessing you will have taken care of me for quite some time. Why did you do that? Don’t read further yet. Answer the question. I’ll wait.
You said because you love me, right? When peeple people care for and love each other, they often show it through actions.
Words can be nice, but they can also be cheep.
Don’t rely on words to figure out who really cares about you—watch their actions.
Don’t let your indeependent nature rob people of the chance to show they love you.
I can’t take care of you anymore, so please let others do it sometimes for me.
My heart will love you always, no madr madder what happens with my brain.
I love you,
Mom
I’m weeping now. I use the hem of my shirt to dab at the spots where my tears fell onto the pages.
Preserving them—my mother’s last written words—is crucial to me.
Seeing her spelling mistakes, both the ones she caught and the ones she didn’t, stings.
I imagine her writing this, struggling, and it makes my heart ache.
Then, I think about what she’d say to me right now, and I swear I hear her voice clear as day in my head.
“Focus on the good, baby girl. Focus on that I got through it so I could share my heart.”
I wipe my face. Yes, I’ll do that—focus on the fact that she could write the words, not on the difficulty she went through to do so.
I stand and walk to the bathroom to blow my nose and put some water on my face.
When I return, I push my chair closer to Mom’s and lean my body to the side, with my head resting on her shoulder and holding her hand. And then I close my eyes.
A while later, I startle awake from a gentle voice calling my name and touching my shoulder. When I open my eyes, Lydia is standing before me.
“Delaney, honey, it’s time for your mom to go to the dining room…”