Gerry tosses a green beach
ball -- the color of a lime Popsicle -- to Anna. Although she is seated in a wheelchair, Anna
is able to catch the ball, which is slowly deflating and becoming cushy, and
send it back to the physical therapist.
I have joined the
half-circle of six hospital patients who are participating in this mild
exercise class. My friend, Louise, who has a broken right arm, is seated next
to me. I am able-bodied, but am allowed to accompany my longtime friend because
she threatened to skip the session to have more time with me.
After class, when Louise
choses a chair for her lunchtime, I perch on her hospital bed and attempt to
cheer her. The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be, Louise
sings as I remove the heavy cover from her vegetarian meal. As I cut the grain
burger into fourths to make it easier for her to do a one-armed grab, I remind
her, you'll recover and go home soon. I am trying to dissuade her from a
track that typically veers from the ditty to depression.
As our conversation
continues, several thoughts hit me: I am good at this and surprisingly, I
enjoy caregiving.
Then, a scary one bubbles
up: Could
this sense of enjoyment propel me towards a new male in need of rehabilitation
rather than an able-bodied one?
What if I haven't shucked
enough of the comfort and care I had bestowed on my late husband, and have
leftover succor that seeks a target?
That question frightened
me so much, that on the spot, I made a resolution: To avoid falling for a
failing fellow, I would abstain from getting involved with any male. I would
give up the idea of dating; for surely, with my proclivity for caring, I
couldn't be trusted.
Just then, I felt a soft
tap on my shoulder. The touch was so tender I knew it wasn't real or earthbound,
but instead, coming from a deceased loved one. It couldn't be Tommy because I
knew he avoids topics where other males are involved. And, I had recently
gabbed with both my mother and father. So, who was it that wanted a word in on
my latest vow?
"Sweetheart,"
came the familiar voice.
"Rita?" I said.
"It's great to hear from you. This is the first time you've come down to
chat since you died 14 years ago. I'm thrilled to have your presence, but why
now?"
"Just because you
haven't heard from me doesn't mean we're not in each other's thoughts. I notice
you dream about me quite a bit. And you wrote about me in your roman a clef, right?"
"You read that?"
I said.
"It's an eBook, so I
read it on iCloud. Loved your description of me: Rita had dark hair cut in a
pageboy, eyes almost too big for her small face, earrings that overwhelmed her
tiny lobes, and she wore a suit with shoulder pads that widened her slim
figure."
"You memorized
it!"
"Who wouldn't?"
she said. "Listen, the reason for my visit is I heard you declare you were
abstaining from men. Is that true, or did the words get garbled when they
travelled between earth and heaven?"
Of course, it would
be gorgeous, male-attracting Rita concerned about my total avoidance of the
opposite sex. My dear friend was never without a good-looking, fun-loving guy
at her side.
"I think it's for my
own good," I said. "I realize I like caregiving. Sure, there
were times with Tommy when fear and weariness took over, but generally, I got
pleasure from it. I'm afraid I'll find myself back in a situation that can only
end badly. Why not avoid it altogether and be solo for the rest of my
life?"
"What about
excitement, passion? Surely there's a spark left?"
"Rita, dearest,"
I said. "Up there, you're still a comely 67 or maybe younger. Down here,
I'm a shrinking 75. And, I'm not only talking about height, but also
libido."
"Stop, shush,"
she said. "That attitude is verboten up here."
"You mean..."
"Of course, we're
still horny in heaven. In fact, I've got a date tonight, so I have to say so
long."
"Anyone I know?"
"Think matinee
idol," she said.
"Cary Grant? Marlon
Brando?"
I heard Rita's adorable
laugh; and then silence; she was gone, likely primping for her date.
Instead of considering
Rita's view, I chose the couch and the remote. Here, my boyfriend Netflix and I
cuddled, where the only caregiving required is a switch from Cable to HDMI2.
You never know what a failing male might have to offer in return.
ReplyDeleteYou're right Chris. I could be failing at some point, too.
Deletexoxo