IN NOVEMBER OF 2023, CLOGH WRITERS GROUP LAUNCHED ‘WHERE I AM’, A COLLECTION OF POETRY AND PROSE FROM ELEVEN DIFFERENT WRITERS. AS CO-ORDINATOR OF THE WRITERS GROUP JANE MEALLY SAID: “WHERE I AM” IS A PUBLICATION WHERE EACH WRITER COMMUNICATES THEIR PASSION TO THE READER.”
Having attended the launch in Clogh, The Kilkenny Observer Newspaper was quite taken with not only the publication, but the work ethic of the writers group. Over the next 11 weeks we reproduce some of that work, and are delighted to work hand in hand with this North Kilkenny writers group.
WEEK 9: This week we feature the work of James Norton
I Never Say Goodbye These Days
James E. Norton
It was a spring afternoon like any other; bright and colourful with the smell of freshly cut grass wafting in the air. Primroses and daffodils were displaying their wonderful colour in the warm sun as the buzzy bees moved from flower to beautiful flower; working tirelessly and seemingly without a care in the world. Travelling the forty-minute cross country journey, my mind often wandered, thinking of the joyful times past and what may be ahead of me. The past I could not change, but the present and the future filled me with anxiety. I felt my body tense as I slowly left the main road and turning in a long avenue to the nursing home, I noticed the few cars in the car park. Criss-crossing the tarmac were various people, most of them middle-aged, with heads bent as if in deep meditation. Occasionally, one might look up and catch my eye. We would nod to each other in passing like pilgrims on the same journey. We didn’t need to engage in conversation because that would be futile. Our stories and our journeys were the same. We instinctively knew and understood that.
Having parked the car, I walked across to the main door, pressed the security button and the door automatically fell open. The first thing that hit me was that distinct smell of a nursing home, the pungent smell of ‘old age’, caused by the ageing of skin and the body’s natural production of nonenal.
Having signed in, I took the long walk down one of four corridors that met at a junction. As I turned to the left into a small hall, I saw her there sitting all alone on a couch and looking agitated. She looked small and diminutive, as if she had collapsed into herself. On the wall opposite, a television blared out the news. Oblivious to it, she looked up and recognised me.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she said, ‘I’ve been sitting here for ages waiting on your Daddy to collect me. He just left me here and I don’t know where he’s gone. It’s terrible, but I’m glad you’re here as I must be getting home. Have you the car with you?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘My car is broken down so I got the bus.’ Lie number one.
I sat beside her and noticed her ruddy cheeks and shaking hands. She seemed quite distressed and close to tears. Her hands were shaking. I reached to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek but she didn’t respond with any reciprocal show of affection. Notwithstanding, she was happy to see me.
‘Why don’t I make us both a nice cup of tea,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t you like that, a nice cup of tea and a few biscuits? You stay here and I’ll be back in a minute. Okay?’ She didn’t reply and just stared at me blankly, raising her hand to her face as if to say something, but nothing came out. I repeated my suggestion again and this time she nodded.
As I went off to make the tea, I could feel her cold stare on my back. I wondered what she was thinking and if she was worried that I might have abandoned her there too. Soon I returned with two cups of tea and Marietta biscuits. She greeted me as if for the first time that day.
‘Ah, there you are. Your Daddy left me here and I don’t know where he’s gone. He went off just like that ages ago and left me here. He said he’d be back but I don’t know where he’s gone,’ she said, with tears welling up in her eyes.
‘Will you bring me home?’
‘That’s okay. I’m here now and look, I’ve brought you a nice cup of tea and some biscuits. We’ll wait for Daddy and in the meantime, we will have a nice cup of tea and have a chat, won’t we?’ She didn’t respond.
I placed the tray with the tea and biscuits down on the small coffee-table in front of her and moved her walking frame, bringing it closer so that she didn’t spill the tea. As I sat beside her, I looked up at the TV for inspiration. I was searching for something that I could weave into our conversation to distract her from her anxiety. The news from the television was depressing; war, murders, disputes, destruction and death.
Two ladies slowly turned into the corridor, they looked like mother and daughter as the younger lady pushed the wheelchair. We smiled. ‘Hello Maura,’ said the younger lady, ‘you’re looking lovely today. It’s nice to see you out and about. Is that your son? Sure, isn’t he the image of you.’ Mother smiled, we laughed but there was no reaction at all from the poor old lady in the wheelchair.
‘Your Mam is looking great,’ continued the younger lady as she whizzed by.
‘Thanks,’ I replied,‘but she has her moments though. Don’t you Ma?’ We laughed again.
‘Don’t they all,’ she said, in a tone of resignation, as she continued down the corridor towards the bedrooms. ‘Don’t they all.’
Alone again and thinking of something to say, I took out my mobile phone and started checking my messages. ‘Well, have you any news for me?’ I asked, more in hope than anticipation. She never initiates a conversation these days. ‘Sure, what news would I have,’ she abruptly replied.
‘Have you had any visitors lately?’ ‘No, sure what visitors would I have?’
‘But did your sister Carmel and her husband visit you on Wednesday?’
‘Well, I haven’t seen them.’ She slurped her tea, holding the cup with both shaking hands.
Then suddenly, she exclaimed, ‘Where am I?’
I ignored the question and pretended to be watching the TV.
‘Would you ever go and get your car and drive it around to this door here,’ she asked, pointing at the glass doors down the corridor. ‘I want to go home.’ She was quite emphatic in her request. ‘And where’s your Daddy? He can’t leave me here, I’ve been waiting for him all day and I don’t know where he’s gone. He’s terrible like that going off and leaving me here.’
I struggled to give her reassurance. ‘He’ll be back in a minute. I’d say he had a job to do.’ Another lie. I felt awful. But how could I tell my mother that her husband of fifty years, her life partner and father to her children died four years ago?
‘Will you go and get the car and bring me home. Will you do that please?’
Grasping for excuses, I said, ‘I’ve no car today, I got the bus.’ The third lie. I was expecting the proverbial cock to crow three times.
‘You got the bus!’ she exclaimed with justified incredulity. ‘What’s wrong with your car?’
‘Ah, it’s broken down.’ Another lie. At this rate I felt sure to trip myself up with my white lies.
‘Just give me a minute now to drink this cup of tea and I’ll see what I can do,’ I said, trying to think of a way out as I noticed that she was getting anxious again. Suddenly her
attention was caught by the television. It was a programme on the death of Princess Diana. Mother looked concerned but clearly, she could not comprehend it all. ‘Is she dead?’ The question in itself told me that she recognised the face of Princess Diana but not the name.
‘Yes, Mam, she was killed in a car crash many years ago.’ She stared up at the television. Sipping my tea, I was searching for a way out. ‘That’s terrible,’ she said as she munched through another Marietta biscuit; the crumbs trickling down her pink cardigan onto her floral dress, where they joined some old tea stains, ‘that’s terrible.’ Minutes seemed like hours and the strain of trying to initiate the conversation was exhausting.
‘I have to go now, I have to get home.’
‘Will you bring the car around and we’ll get going? Will you do that for me?’ she asked again.
‘Of course, I will,’ and gulping down my tea, I had told my last lie for today. Selfishly I saw the opportunity to make a hasty escape and leave without even saying goodbye. In fact, I never say goodbye these days, because that would lead to more questions and would have increased her anxiety.
‘I’ll just take this tray of stuff back to the kitchen and I’ll be back to you in a few minutes. Don’t move away now and we’ll get you home in no time.’ She nodded. I looked into her eyes but they did not have the same glow and sparkle as they had before she got dementia. She seemed to be very distant as if she was thinking rather deeply about something. ‘I’ll be back in a while,’ I told her.
She nodded again and in a barely audible voice replied ‘Okay.’ She seemed to be getting tired. Gathering up the tray, I left her there in that lonely corridor sitting on the couch. Before I turned the corner for the exit, I looked back to check that she was alright. She seemed more relaxed and
was staring up at the TV, but I was unsure as to whether she was taking any notice of it.
On my way down the corridor, I met a lovely Indian healthcare assistant. She smiled as she recognised me from my frequent visits.
‘Hello and how is Maura today?’ she asked with a smile on her face that would light up a hundred dreary corridors. ‘Ah sure you know yourself; she’s a bit agitated and she’s looking for her husband. She’s sitting out there in her usual spot in the corridor watching things like a hawk!’ We both laughed.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’ll be around there to bring her down to the dining room shortly as tea will be served soon.’ She took the tray from me.
‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘You are so kind to her.’
Having reached the entrance hall and signed myself out, I pressed the security button and the door slid open. The cool breeze of a spring evening washed over me. It was refreshing. I had only been there for an hour and I felt drained. I wondered how healthcare assistants do this all day, every day. I concluded that they are angels.
As I reached the car, I felt my eyes well up. I sat in, plugged in the phone and composed myself before I rang my sister. ‘Hiya. Well how is she today?’
‘All good. She was sitting out in the usual spot in the corridor on her own. She was a bit agitated at first and blamed Dad for leaving her there.’ We laughed, a knowing laugh of relief, rather than joy.
‘She wanted me to drive her home again. I had to tell her that I got the bus.’ More laughter. My sister said that she would visit Mam the next day, bring her in fresh clothes and take home the washing.
