Published at: 12shortstories.com
Monthly Prompt: Leftovers
Word Count: 500
END of THE LINE
by T.R. Kisgen
Volunteering at Bowers Retirement Home would give me a firsthand view of how a full life lived can diminish to scraps, much like a full feast turns into leftovers.
To graduate high school with honors, I needed thirty-two hours of community service. My counselor told me about a part-time gig at Bowers assisting the orderlies twice a month. Hired to work February through May, what began with greeting residents turned into surprising friendships.
First there was Mrs. Rose. She insisted I call her Gladys but I couldn’t bring myself to address this regal lady casually. Mrs. Rose was proud of her natural teeth and was full of smiles. She said I reminded her of her own ‘sweet boy’ and she shared stories of her teaching days and of her own family. The staff treated Mrs. Rose with disdain and it broke my heart.
When I addressed her dismissive behavior, Nancy quipped, “Gladys don’t know her ass from her feet. She don’t know what day it is, or what year, or even who the President is. She’s dementic.”
I defended her.
“Mrs. Rose doesn’t care about the calendar or current news since her husband passed, but she’s smart and funny and should be treated with respect.”
Her laughter was cruel. Nancy was unable to see Mrs. Rose as the person she was. This was truly unfortunate because Mrs. Rose was one of the finest women I would ever meet and in her final days she was treated poorly by her caregivers.
Trying to help, I went to my supervisor first, then escalated my complaints to the cold director where my report was met with rebuke.
Mr. Clancy seethed and spoke with a clenched jaw.
“Mrs. Rose was brought to Bowers by her own son who determined that she ‘may’ have dementia. With Power of Attorney, Mr. Rose sold his mother’s home and placed her at Bowers to live out the rest of her years.”
If this was true, I couldn’t imagine doing that to either of my parents.
Mrs. Rose wasn’t the only person I cared for. There was also Mr. Tipton. He asked me to call him Cliff and it felt natural to do so. Cliff lived in the South wing for residents with limited mobility. Cliff was a paraplegic with MS. Though he struggled to speak, he had shiny eyes and a quick wit. Cliff spoke well of his wife and son but the facts were disturbing.
She divorced Cliff once she could no longer “handle it”. All of Cliff’s possessions were sold including his home to pay for life at Bowers. His wife remarried and Cliff said he was happy for her. Cliff’s depth and selflessness was a real lesson for me.
Now at fifty-three, I face my biggest challenge with the diagnosis of ALS. My wife is devastated and so are my grown children. Memories of Mrs. Rose and Cliff Tipton are serving me well as I remember how to live with grace in the time remaining.