A Long Story

Today is a special day for me. In a bittersweet kind of way.
Three years ago today, I got a phone call very early in the morning which was one of those things that make your heart stop and your knees buckle, even though you were expecting it. Today is when I especially remember Bernice, because it is the anniversary of when she died 3 years ago.
Bernice was my first patient when I volunteered for hospice. She got kicked off of hospice a year later, though, for just flat out refusing to die. Which was SO like her.
She was 92 when I met her. She had advanced dementia, and used to think she saw cats coming out of the air conditioning vent, and suspect the nurses aide of being a prohibition-era night club bookie. She had sparkly blue eyes, a smile so dazzling that it was pretty even without teeth, and cheekbones that Heidi Klum would kill for. She was feisty as all get out, sweet as pie, and hilarious.
The problem with Bernice was that even when you're funny and friendly and don't ask for anything, if you are marooned in a nursing home with no one to watch your back, and you have a disease which makes it impossible to advocate for yourself, you get forgotten, and sometimes mistreated. Bernice'd had the audacity to have outlived all of her family and friends. She used to have bedsores I could have fit my fist into. She would often talk and talk to herself, which annoyed some nurses into routinely putting her on psychotropic drugs so strong she wouldn't be able to move or eat for days, just lie there and drool. She had untreated infections. And other things.
No one cared at all about the complaints of some random kid. And she was my friend. So to make a long story short, I found a man who blatantly disregarded all the stereotypes he's supposed to fill as a lawyer, and became an angel for me. He took my case for free, and we got the nursing home in a bit of hot water, and in the end I became Bernice's legal guardian. Which kind of means that, at almost 96 years old, I adopted her.
Bernice was old and batty. But she was an amazing person. We had a LOT of fun together. It never mattered that most of what she said made no sense, because it was still a conversation. I never told her that no, I wasn't Essie from the club or no, it wasn't time to milk the cows, or no, that toy was not a real dog. I just went with it, and it was like being a kid and playing pretend again. And we would laugh ourselves into exhaustion, and she would say things to me like, "I'm sorry you don't have a name. But I love you." I sometimes went over to see Bernice with a heavy heart for whatever reason, but I never left with one.
My relationship with Bernice was one of the strangest I could imagine, because in a way she was like my grandmother; she was older and wiser, certainly. In moments of lucidity she gave me a lot of really profound advice and insights into life. And even though she never remembered who I was, she could tell if I was having a bad day, and would pat my hand and tell me, "there, there, now. Smile at it and it will go away".
At the same time, she was like my child. I had to cart her around. Remind her to take her vitamins. We played with dolls and toys- stuffed dogs were her favorite- I read her stories, fed her, brushed her hair, tucked her into bed. Once I had that precious guardianship paper in my hand, I made all her decisions for her.
Now that I have Little One around, I realize that Bernice taught me a lot about being a mom. For one thing, she was good practice. Once you learn how to spoon-feed a grown woman in a bad mood who keeps forgetting that she's supposed to be eating and (understandably) hates pulverized turkey, feeding a baby is a breeze. I can trim nails on a flailing hand, I can change a diaper in a blink. I can notice signs of sadness when there are no words to tell me something is wrong. I can play pretend.
But Bernice taught me more about being a parent that just those things. She taught me what it means to love someone. Love, I believe now, isn't about glittering surprises and storybook moments and getting lavished with the Things and the Words that you want. It's about patting someone on the hand when they are sad, and laughing with them when they're happy, even if what they think is funny makes no sense. It's in wiping spinach off of a chin, and putting band-aids on cuts. It's about getting screamed at and not getting angry. Bernice taught me a lot about patience and about appreciating the little payoffs you get for loving someone- a smile or a hug. And she taught me that sometimes what makes Me happiest is realizing that it's not all about Me. I think that these are all part of being a parent, too.
Taking care of Bernice was a lot of work. At the end I was going to the nursing home 3 or 4 times a day, before and after work, and on my lunch break. Fighting with nurses and trying to get her to eat. And before I had a chance to do so many of the things I had planned for her- she was gone. But I'll never regret for a second the decision to tie her life to mine for awhile. Because she was fantastic and she was a really great friend. And she gave a lot to me that enriched my life and changed it in so many ways. And because I have her to thank, in a way, for everything I have now.
It was our third date I had to cancel when Bernice got pneumonia, and J brought me dinner and a book and stayed up with me all night in the hospital, holding her hand and talking with her quietly. And I knew there was something special about that guy. The day she passed away, I was so unprepared, suddenly having to sort out what to do with her, her stuff, her paperwork, and at the same time grieving. He sat in a chair in the hallway for hours without me even having a chance to speak to him. Not telling me what to do or trying to take over, but just being There. And I knew I was about to marry the right person.
I like to tell Bernice's story partly because I hope it sheds some light on a big problem that most of us tend to ignore. And partly to try to let people know that making friends with crazy old ladies can be super. And partly because it helps me feel like she's not being forgotten ever again.
Which as long as I'm around, she wont be. There are some toys in Little One's nursery that, if you look closely, have Bernice scrawled on the bottom in permanent marker. And She doesn't know it but the truth is that there are lots of other things, intangible ones, in Little One's world, that have Bernice's stamp on them too. Today I'm extra grateful for those things.