They live together in a small room in a nursing home. It is the sort of place that frightens and turns younger people off because it looks to them like death. She is a few years older but she is spry while he has many serious aches and pains. These two 90-year olds are lively but limited in energy, memory and other mental abilities and their awareness of who and what they currently are.
Their house still contains lots of their clothes. She has been a good housekeeper all her life and misses the work. She has been interested in fashion and good-looking clothes all her life. So, she wanted to go to their house and she couldn't do it alone. The heat and plumbing there are turned off and can't be used. Her stamina is low but his is lower and his interest in "monkeying around with clothes" is just about nil. I offered to stay with him in the little room as something of a hostage to normality while she and her daughter took winter clothes out of their tiny and overcrowded closet to the house and retrieved more seasonal threads for her.
The estimated time of arrival (ETA) back from this adventure was two hours from leaving. As soon as I heard that ETA, I thought of Deepak Chopra's anecdote where trapped miners managed to live much longer than expected on a very limited supply of air when the one with the only watch called out one hour for every two that passed. "Smart!", I thought, leaving the deadline safely far off and then maybe surprising us with a shortened ordeal of waiting.
It was discomforting and upsetting for both of them to separate. She didn't like his displeasure at her going and he felt abandoned and frightened by her leaving. He is still an accomplished soldier and something of a lion when aroused. I didn't relish too much of an outburst from him but for a few minutes, he continued to gaze in silence at the sports on tv. After about 5 or 10 minutes, he asked, "Where did they go?" That question recurred about every 15 minutes during their absence. After two or three repetitions, he added, "What are they doing?" I answered, "Clothes. They are getting her some clothes." With a dismissive wave of the hand, he accepted that explanation, indicating he had dodged a bullet of waiting while one garment after another was carefully considered for its value.
That dismissive wave was repeated several more times while I worked on my Buddhist calm amid the overly loud tv, the interruptions for the daily pills and room cleaning and the ringing of beepers asking for help in nearby rooms. It was a good lesson for me but I don't think I am quite ready to serve as a model of acceptance and quiet.
