Naked

Naked

  A Short Story

  Judith Falloon-Reid

  Copyright Judith Falloon-Reid 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews and critiques.

  Published by Independent VoYces Literary Works,

  St. Mary, Jamaica.

  www.independentvoyces.com

  Books by

  Judith Falloon-Reid

  Here's a Hundred Dollars...Buy Yourself a Life! ©2011. Independent VoYces Literary Works

  Aaah-Inspiring Antarctica: A Jamaican on Ice ©2011. Independent VoYces Literary Works

  Full Circle. Reclaiming Your Faith ©2007. Wingspan Press

  Time & Seasons. A Layman’s Guide to Overcoming Adversity ©2003. Xulon Press

  For more information on the author visit www.jfalloon-reid.com

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my mother, Daphne Klepper, here in body but not in mind. And to all those lives that have been changed by a family member living with Alzheimer’s or dementia. We live for the good days. Cherish your memories.

  The title represents the state of our loved ones. With so little memory left and dwindling abilities to care for themselves, they may as well be naked.

  The Story

  IN the cool of the morning, with the mist rising over the swamps, Delia ran. She ran through meadows covered in wild spring flowers resplendent with bright colors - orange, red, white and purple, like the wildflowers that framed the lone highway leading to her next adventure. She ran past the cascades she had grown accustomed to and down the steep hill where the country buses drove daily, laden with market goods and chattering ladies, school children in white and blue tunics and working men.

  Delia had been running her entire life. She had brought herself up from the sleepy little village in Jamaica where her mother gave her life and had gone on to see the world, literally. She had been to Japan, walked on the Great Wall of China, sailed on the Seine and watched bear hunting for salmon in the wilds of Alaska. She had read every book her hand could find and educated herself in a way that rivaled the best colleges and she spoke with an eloquence that made you stop and wonder which royal family claimed her heritage.

  She had married two husbands and mothered five children, and when the tangles of life became too much to bear, she had run from them too. Delia ran, because to stand still was to face the demons in her mind, the scars of her childhood that had never healed. And now that her body was imprisoned inside these walls where frail old people had to be wheeled in to “get some sun” everyday, she ran in her mind. Looking at the little old ladies, heads bent low as their weak necks could no longer support their heads, she proudly walked by, doing laps around the room, shaking her head. “Not for me,” she said and continued her walk out to the garden, safely tucked away behind these walls.

  Delia hadn’t known much happiness in her lifetime. Some thought she had been manic depressive her entire life, what was now referred to as bipolar. The voices in her head told her she was miserable, and so miserable she was. Now looking at her aging body in the mirror she shook her head in anguish. Her perfect perky breasts were now sagging sacks. She had lost the battle with gravity a long, long time ago.

  Naked she came into this world, and no doubt, they would take her out naked.

  She couldn’t quite remember when she first noticed that her mind was slipping away. She had always been forgetful, even as a child. She just assumed it was because she always had too many things on her mind. Too many wheels turning in too many different directions simultaneously. Perhaps she first realized it when she couldn’t recall her favorite granddaughter’s name or when her search for her diamond necklace ended in the freezer where it was neatly packaged with the frozen spinach. It irritated the hell out of her!

  She was an excellent cook and had always used only the freshest, most natural ingredients in her cooking, even during the early days when she cooked for a family of seven. She exercised regularly, did her crossword puzzles and took her supplements. At 78, her body was healthier than most 60 year olds. But it was her mind that she feared was slowly going south.

  She used to joke about it but now it wasn’t funny anymore. She wrote everything down in her notebook and kept exhaustive lists of things to do. Surely she couldn’t be losing her mind. It just wasn’t fair. Now staring at herself in the mirror, her uncombed hair framing her small face, she was a stranger to herself.

  “Good morning, Miss Delia.” A nurse had entered her room. This was her own private space and she guarded it jealously. She didn’t like intruders who entered without first asking permission. After all, good manners dictated that this be done and she was not one to tolerate bad manners. Delia stared straight ahead without answering.

  “Miss Delia, are you okay?” Nurse Jones was very familiar with Delia and her ever-changing moods. She had been her nurse for the past two years. She knew that most days Delia was pleasant and cooperative enough. But there were those days when she would lash out at anyone and everyone who dared to encroach on her space. Nurse Jones approached with caution.

  “It’s a beautiful morning and I saw your door open. I called but you didn’t answer so I thought I would come in and check to be sure you are doing okay. Sorry if I intruded on your privacy.”

  Well at least she had the manners to apologize, Delia thought. “Have you seen my baby?” Delia asked.

  Nurse Jones’ answer was right on the money. “Your baby is in the bed, Miss Delia. She’s sleeping.”

  Delia had several dolls, all of which she now thought were her children. But the newest doll, the one her husband brought recently was the one she referred to as her baby. It was a Chinese doll. A doll that looked like her. Same curly black hair, slightly slanted eyes and light brown skin.

  “She’s very tired, y’know. Was up all night crying. I don’t know why but she wouldn’t sleep. Can you take her temperature for me? Perhaps she has a fever.”

  Delia’s maternal instincts never wavered. She may not remember her real children, but this doll was as real to her as the children she bore and she knew enough to care for it. Nurse Jones put the thermometer under the doll’s arm, waited the appropriate length of time and then responded.

  “Your baby is fine Miss Delia. She just may have a bit of colic. Why don’t you let me comb your hair and dress you up so you can take baby for a walk?’

  “I can dress myself just fine!” Delia turned and marched into the bathroom.

  Truth be told, Delia could no longer “dress herself just fine.” She no longer knew the difference between underwear and outerwear – sometimes wearing them in the wrong sequence. But regardless of what dementia had taken from her, it had not taken away her defiant, independent spirit.

  “If you want to dress someone so badly, why don’t you go dress yourself!” Delia shut the bathroom door as she took her toothbrush down from the shelf. Her husband had lovingly installed a shelf above the bathroom sink on which he had placed a few pictures of Delia and her family alongside an artificial plant. The pictures had long since disappeared and the plant had been removed from its small pot and placed on the side of the bath tub. The pot now housed her toothbrush.

  Nurse Jones took the opportunity to put away the clothes Delia had left on the side chair. She laid out a fresh pair of slacks and Delia’s favorite blouse, the one with the bright pink flowers. Then she quietly left the room.

  Two hours later, emerging from her room, fully dressed in her slacks and her floral blouse with the buttons undone exposing her undershirt, baby in hand, Delia began her daily walk. Round and round the make shift walking track that ran around the perimeter of the building. She passed the old ladies in their wheelchairs, head h
ung low, getting their daily dose of Vitamin D and UV rays.

  “Not for me,” she said as she quickly passed them by. “Never for me.”

  She heard the door bell ringing. She wanted to answer it like she used to do, but for some unknown reason she just couldn’t remember exactly where the door was. She stopped and thought about it for a moment.

  “Oh well, that’s why we have the maids.” She thought aloud, summarily dismissing the ringing bell with a wave of her hand. “They don’t do anything all day anyway but try to get you to take pills. Pills, pills, pills. Everyday, all day, these darn pills. You get a pill; I get a pill; everybody gets a pill!” And with that pronouncement she was off again.

  Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her saying “Hi mom.”

  It was Sunday and her children had come to visit just like they do every Sunday. But this Sunday was different. It was Mother’s Day. The nurses had made a big deal about it the day before but like everything else in Delia’s life, five minutes after hearing, that too was long forgotten. The balloons and banners that hung in the reception area did very little to remind her. She could still read. It was the comprehension that posed a problem.

  “Hey mom.” The voice again. Where was it coming from and who was this person standing directly in front of her, blocking her path? The woman, if that’s what she was, seemed pleasant enough and the little boy looked somewhat familiar to her, but she couldn’t claim to know who they were.

  “Can I give you a hug mom?” Lorraine’s arms reached outward, lovingly. She knew better than to touch her mother without her permission. She had felt the sting of the slap she received for doing just that during the last visit. She hadn’t taken it personally. She and her siblings knew better than to take it personally. Their mother was not in her right mind, they knew. They loved her passionately despite it all.

  Delia looked from the face of her eldest, to the faces of the others now closing the gap behind Lorraine. One of the children carried a doll in her hands. She gingerly offered it to Delia, who without so much as a single word, accepted the doll and immediately hugged it close to her chest like a newborn.

  “The baby isn’t well y’know. She was up crying all night. I was up with her all night. You want to come see the baby?” This was Delia’s invitation to come closer; to visit the private space that was her room. No hellos. Her children didn’t expect them anymore. They were happy enough knowing that Delia was safe, well cared for and physically fit.

  Years of watching their mother decline had taught them many things. It had taught them compassion and forgiveness. It had taught them that true love transcends all things and it had brought them closer to each other. It also made them paranoid. Constantly wondering which one of them or their children, if any would be afflicted in the future.

  “Sure. We’d love to see the baby.” Renee, one of the many granddaughters responded as she followed closely behind Delia. This would be a good visit, Renee thought.

  Delia opened her room door and pointed to the bed. One by one her children and grandchildren entered the room. They knew better than to touch any of Delia’s belongings and risk offending her.

  “She is a beautiful baby grandma,” 10-year old Susanna chimed in. “Can I hold her?”

  Delia reached down for her baby, cradled her in her arms and with that she head out the door, her five children and seven grandchildren in tow.

  “It’s a beautiful day outside mom. Would you like to sit in the garden?”

  On most days, Delia may have retorted with something like “I’ll go into the garden when I darn well please.” But not today. Today she was in a good mood. These nice people had come by and brought her a gift, a new baby. Delia decided that a few minutes in the garden sounded good.

  The sunshine seemed to lift her spirits. The late Spring flowers were in full bloom and a few small birds had come to wash themselves in the bird bath. Delia loved the garden. It reminded her that she wasn’t trapped behind walls like the “old” people in wheelchairs. It reminded her that she was a free, independent woman living her own life, her own way.

  In the garden her family got a glimpse of the real Delia. For a while it seemed that she was fully in control of her faculties despite her poorly constructed and often incomplete sentences brought on by her struggle to remember words. She babbled on and on. Delia talked openly about things from her past, admonished her children for not taking care of their bodies (there was nothing wrong with them), told jokes she remembered and most importantly, she sang.

  Delia loved to sing. And she loved to dance. She sang nursery rhymes from her youth, though you had to pay keen attention to decipher the jumbled words. She sang and she clapped her hands joyfully, switching in midstream from nursery rhymes to her favorite hymns. And then Delia did something they hadn’t seen in years. She danced.

  Delia danced to a melody that only she could hear and her children danced with her. From behind the closed French doors, you could see the inquiring faces of the other residents, wheelchair bound, looking on with longing. How they must wish they could dance.

  Many of them had no mental issues. They were simply old or frail. How they must wish that they could change places with Delia and dance. That their children could dance with them instead being confined to sitting next to them feeding them bland porridges and puddings.

  Delia danced and danced until suddenly, without warning, she opened her arms and reached out to hug her eldest child. She called all her children into a group hug. She touched their faces and kissed their cheeks. For a short moment there was some semblance of recognition that these people somehow knew her. These people somehow belonged to her. It lasted but an instant and then it was gone.

  Without saying a word, Delia turned away, walked through the French doors that led back inside, passed the wheelchair bound residents while making her usual comment “Not for me”, made a beeline for her room and closed the door.

  She left her family behind like strangers. They were strangers once again, but for a few moments, they were family. It was indeed a good visit.