Until Then, the Garden
By Susan Whitlock
April 15, 2023
April 15, 2023
Adrien pulled the brush back another stroke through the wispy, gray hair, her hand gliding over the bald part of Emily’s head. She felt a sigh rising up and swallowed it back before it escaped. Fluff the hair, brush back, fluff the hair, brush back.
Emily’s bright, blue eyes were closed in bliss, her head tilted back into Adrien’s fluffing hand. Her skull felt warm from the blow-drying, and so small. Almost like she was holding the head of an infant, instead of an eighty-eight-year-old woman.
Adrien was one of four staff that rotated in the big house taking care of the six residents. Not including the occasional hospice workers that came and went with the dying. They had three residents that were very old, and very helpless. These people seemed like they would outlive their children, who also came and went. Emily was one of those three.
She had Alzheimer’s disease. What a thing! Really, it had her. Totally eclipsing whatever and whomever she had been before her eightieth birthday. To watch the faces of her children and grandchildren sag in sorrow as they realized there was nobody home today behind those electric eyes, was crushing.
They were Emily’s finest feature - still hypnotic, staring out of the pale-skinned, bony face. Emily’s weight was down to eighty-seven pounds. She had the “Alzheimer’s shuffle” and was constantly in motion, picking at this or that as she wandered the living area and dining room, over to the kitchen, and back again. Over and over and over all day, each day; all week, each week. For seven months now, Adrien had watched over her little Emily.
She tried to comfort the daughters. The son rarely came, living out of town. Had tried to comfort the grandchildren who would bring Emily homemade gifts in their sticky hands, only to have the popsicle frame or crayon portrait slide to the floor unnoticed at most visits.
But the family would march in so cheerful and talk to the staff, sit patiently with Nana as she was spooned her liquid lunch, and tell stories of what everyone was doing and how much they loved her. They were forever looking for a glance, a flicker of understanding in the sapphire eyes that meant they would get a real smile this time, a pat on the hand. Maybe even a word that made sense. They longed to hear their names on her tongue again. They would finally turn away, tearful, stating they must be off, see you soon, call if she needs anything. They wanted her to need something, anything. Some sign she still had pleasures and needs in this world where she seemed to be stalled.
Adrien came back to the present and put the brush aside.
“Would you like a little massage, Miss Emily?” she asked without waiting for an answer.
But her glance shot up to the mirror Emily was sitting in front of and caught a returning gaze when she heard the little voice say, “Mmm, yeah.”
An answered question! Wait till she told Buck, Emily's occupational therapist.
“You would, huh?” Adrien began babbling, “well then you shall have the best.”
Her hands went to work removing the towel from Emily’s neck, and began lightly massaging her temples, brow, chin - moving up to the scalp for a light pressure rub to both sides of the skull, never taking her eyes from Emily’s. A cherub’s smile began to lift Emily’s lips, deepening the impression of understanding.
“Do you remember my name?” Adrian asked, knowing she did not. “It’s Adrien. I am your caretaker all day today!”
She acted as if this news should thrill Emily - but it was only her own surge of grateful surprise that Emily continued to watch her in the mirror with understanding. Nodding. Smiling.
People just do not realize what it is like to care for a sweet someone, who is almost always living far away in the past. Her hands touch the tabletop and try to sneak a French fry from her neighbor's plate, but in Emily’s mind, that neighbor might be her toddler son and she believes she is serving him lunch. Her feet shuffle down the hall, back and forth from the bay window seat to the kitchen, over and over all day long. But in Emily’s mind, she is walking to work, or taking the kids to school, or going shopping. She often takes things from other people’s rooms because she is in a place where that magazine belongs to her, or she was borrowing that tape dispenser from someone’s office to take it back to her own.
Who knew what memory was running her body through its storyline again?
But, every once in a while, due to some weird jolt of her brain chemistry or a miracle or whatever, Emily would look out on the same world as the rest of them. She would not be able to tell you what that date was, or who the president was, and it may not last more than a day or an hour, sometimes only a few minutes. But suddenly, she would be there with you. Present. Interacting in the feeble way that was left to her. With smiles, nods, patting your hand as if comforting you: touching, touching, touching.
Emily had taken a momentary break from her patrol over the River of Time to join Adrien for a chat, a lunch, a walk in the garden.
And on those days, Adrien knew why she went through the ritual of bathing, dressing, feeding, toileting, and dosing Emily the other 364 days of the year. Because Emily was just as alive as anyone. She was helpless, like when she was a baby, unable to voice specific ideas or carry a load. But incredibly, wonderfully human. An individual full of hope, wonder, and the need to be loved and touched and part of a family.
“Would you like to go for a walk in the garden, Miss Emily?” Adrien crooned as she helped her into her favorite tennis shoes. And, as she stood her up and began helping her down to the patio doors, she was rewarded with a loving grin, a pat on her arm, and the miracle of a little sentence:
“I take you garden if’n you want.”
To the hurrahs of the other staff, Adrien drifted out to the roses and daylilies, the koi pond and bluebells and little benches in the shade. Emily drifted with her, glancing occasionally at the little canoe she liked to paddle down the River of Time, eager to get back to it. But for now, this woman needed to be shown through the garden.
And as she was escorted by this little elf of a woman, Adrien saw her job as what she had wanted it to be when she got her license. It was an opportunity to watch a life so different, it made their families cry. But a life that still had meaning and value and purpose and pleasure. A life that had challenges and needs. It was her privilege to watch over this life and to love it. To watch and to serve until the canoe turned upstream and Emily paddled around a bend where she could watch her no more.
Until then, the garden.
Emily’s bright, blue eyes were closed in bliss, her head tilted back into Adrien’s fluffing hand. Her skull felt warm from the blow-drying, and so small. Almost like she was holding the head of an infant, instead of an eighty-eight-year-old woman.
Adrien was one of four staff that rotated in the big house taking care of the six residents. Not including the occasional hospice workers that came and went with the dying. They had three residents that were very old, and very helpless. These people seemed like they would outlive their children, who also came and went. Emily was one of those three.
She had Alzheimer’s disease. What a thing! Really, it had her. Totally eclipsing whatever and whomever she had been before her eightieth birthday. To watch the faces of her children and grandchildren sag in sorrow as they realized there was nobody home today behind those electric eyes, was crushing.
They were Emily’s finest feature - still hypnotic, staring out of the pale-skinned, bony face. Emily’s weight was down to eighty-seven pounds. She had the “Alzheimer’s shuffle” and was constantly in motion, picking at this or that as she wandered the living area and dining room, over to the kitchen, and back again. Over and over and over all day, each day; all week, each week. For seven months now, Adrien had watched over her little Emily.
She tried to comfort the daughters. The son rarely came, living out of town. Had tried to comfort the grandchildren who would bring Emily homemade gifts in their sticky hands, only to have the popsicle frame or crayon portrait slide to the floor unnoticed at most visits.
But the family would march in so cheerful and talk to the staff, sit patiently with Nana as she was spooned her liquid lunch, and tell stories of what everyone was doing and how much they loved her. They were forever looking for a glance, a flicker of understanding in the sapphire eyes that meant they would get a real smile this time, a pat on the hand. Maybe even a word that made sense. They longed to hear their names on her tongue again. They would finally turn away, tearful, stating they must be off, see you soon, call if she needs anything. They wanted her to need something, anything. Some sign she still had pleasures and needs in this world where she seemed to be stalled.
Adrien came back to the present and put the brush aside.
“Would you like a little massage, Miss Emily?” she asked without waiting for an answer.
But her glance shot up to the mirror Emily was sitting in front of and caught a returning gaze when she heard the little voice say, “Mmm, yeah.”
An answered question! Wait till she told Buck, Emily's occupational therapist.
“You would, huh?” Adrien began babbling, “well then you shall have the best.”
Her hands went to work removing the towel from Emily’s neck, and began lightly massaging her temples, brow, chin - moving up to the scalp for a light pressure rub to both sides of the skull, never taking her eyes from Emily’s. A cherub’s smile began to lift Emily’s lips, deepening the impression of understanding.
“Do you remember my name?” Adrian asked, knowing she did not. “It’s Adrien. I am your caretaker all day today!”
She acted as if this news should thrill Emily - but it was only her own surge of grateful surprise that Emily continued to watch her in the mirror with understanding. Nodding. Smiling.
People just do not realize what it is like to care for a sweet someone, who is almost always living far away in the past. Her hands touch the tabletop and try to sneak a French fry from her neighbor's plate, but in Emily’s mind, that neighbor might be her toddler son and she believes she is serving him lunch. Her feet shuffle down the hall, back and forth from the bay window seat to the kitchen, over and over all day long. But in Emily’s mind, she is walking to work, or taking the kids to school, or going shopping. She often takes things from other people’s rooms because she is in a place where that magazine belongs to her, or she was borrowing that tape dispenser from someone’s office to take it back to her own.
Who knew what memory was running her body through its storyline again?
But, every once in a while, due to some weird jolt of her brain chemistry or a miracle or whatever, Emily would look out on the same world as the rest of them. She would not be able to tell you what that date was, or who the president was, and it may not last more than a day or an hour, sometimes only a few minutes. But suddenly, she would be there with you. Present. Interacting in the feeble way that was left to her. With smiles, nods, patting your hand as if comforting you: touching, touching, touching.
Emily had taken a momentary break from her patrol over the River of Time to join Adrien for a chat, a lunch, a walk in the garden.
And on those days, Adrien knew why she went through the ritual of bathing, dressing, feeding, toileting, and dosing Emily the other 364 days of the year. Because Emily was just as alive as anyone. She was helpless, like when she was a baby, unable to voice specific ideas or carry a load. But incredibly, wonderfully human. An individual full of hope, wonder, and the need to be loved and touched and part of a family.
“Would you like to go for a walk in the garden, Miss Emily?” Adrien crooned as she helped her into her favorite tennis shoes. And, as she stood her up and began helping her down to the patio doors, she was rewarded with a loving grin, a pat on her arm, and the miracle of a little sentence:
“I take you garden if’n you want.”
To the hurrahs of the other staff, Adrien drifted out to the roses and daylilies, the koi pond and bluebells and little benches in the shade. Emily drifted with her, glancing occasionally at the little canoe she liked to paddle down the River of Time, eager to get back to it. But for now, this woman needed to be shown through the garden.
And as she was escorted by this little elf of a woman, Adrien saw her job as what she had wanted it to be when she got her license. It was an opportunity to watch a life so different, it made their families cry. But a life that still had meaning and value and purpose and pleasure. A life that had challenges and needs. It was her privilege to watch over this life and to love it. To watch and to serve until the canoe turned upstream and Emily paddled around a bend where she could watch her no more.
Until then, the garden.
Susan Whitlock lives in southeastern Kansas with her husband of 45 years and a mob of interested, furry onlookers. She recently retired from case management and is enjoying this new season to write. She loves gardening, family, friends, and the amazing universe she is currently traversing. She had many poems published as a teen, and in 1998 Grit Magazine published her short story, “Rain Dance.” Her essay, “At the End of the Street,” won an honorable mention for the Ellsworth Area Council of the Arts Fiction Contest in 2013. Grand Dame Literary Magazine published her piece, “The Archer’s Ball,” online on August 7, 2022. Her first novel has an initial offer for publication; her second novel is just being sent out and she is starting her third presently. She enjoys membership in two local writer’s groups and spends the rest of her time working with prisoners and people in recovery, and enjoying family life.