Watching the Pendulum Swing

I entered a Nursing Home and looked around at the misery. In fact, I became very depressed as I realized that the people in these people were at their last stop. This was the last stop for them.

I knew her as Lucy. Technically- I always referred to her as Ms. Lucy. I do not know her last name. And, although, nobody in this world will remember her, she will always live deep within my heart. In fact, I think of her often. Yet, I do not think of her death- but rather the vivid conversations we held. Annie and I were just there to help cheer up people, but we found ourselves entwined in conversation with this wonderful women. I would find that time on this earth is not only short but cruel.

---------------------------------------------------------- 

My friend Annie, and I got out of the car. I was wearing a Tommy Hilfiger shirt and a heavy sports jacket with khaki pants. I always dressed with grace and elegance. The breeze swept by and I wrapped my arms around myself in an attempt to help keep the little warmth that I had from being robbed of me. Of course, anybody who was not raised in the South would probably wear a T-shirt and short pants. Well, maybe not a T-shirt and short pants, but they would find the weather extremely comfortable. However, this was Louisiana. I was born and raised here�" and the cold was something that would eat away at your bones. At least that is how it felt.

At first, I stood in front of the nursing home, and I had an expression of extreme curiosity and wonder as I looked at the frail building that was desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint. Annie and I began to walk towards the entrance as the wind picked up and brushed brownish-yellow leaves across the ground.

“It is cold Annie,” I said and looked up as our eyes met. Annie was an unusual person. Not in a bad way- no- she had a heart that was filled with love, and the compassion she showed made her unique in a good way. Although she was a good deal older than me, we shared a similar perspective on life. I met her a long time ago. We clicked- we frequently did things together.

As the door to the nursing home was opened hastily by my hands, a wave of warmth washed over us. It also brought a stench that was as foul as the nearby chemical plants that spewed chemicals into the air with little, if any care. 

“That smell,” I whispered to Annie with clenched teeth. I barely turn my head, and my voice was quiet but audible.

“I know,” she says with an equally tuned tone. I am not sure why we were whispering, but we were.

We walked around the nursing home handing out magazines we had brought with us. I was not sure if this was a private or a public nursing home, but regardless, I knew then and there�" this is the type of place you would be brought to as you grew old, and you had nobody that wanted to deal with you. Would I wind up here? No- I was sure I wouldn’t.

Annie and I separated as we engaged in conversations with the tenants. There was a big room where they all ate and gathered. I looked around at the people scattered about in chairs at the tables. These were people that once drove cars, had families, and loved people. It was incredibly sad seeing them helpless. Some looked drugged out of their mind, and although, I understood it- I was still bothered.

“Hello, how are you doing today?” I asked a woman who looked the most alert of her peers.

“Father!” she replied in a robust tone. At first, I look to the right and left of me and back at her as I realize she was speaking to me. I just stand still as my eyes looked into her own faded blue eyes- faded by time. Her hair was matted, much as if she had not bathed in a very long time. Although she was dressed, it looked like a morning gown.

“What’s that Mam,” I said with a smile on my face. My school taught me to say “Mam or Sir,” and this was the courtesy and warmness of the South.

“When are you gonna get done with that damn farm work. You are always spending all day driving that tractor,” She said and tossed a scowling glance upwards at me. Then she looked me up and down.

“I think you’re getting me confused with somebody else,” I continued to be unswayed by her insanity as my smile rested consistently on my face. I was beginning to understand that reasoning with this women was not within her abilities. My eyes twitched back and forth with anxiety, and I handed her a magazine. “I hope you enjoy this,” I said in an upbeat tone.

I turned and walked away as she continued to babble remarks that were ludicrous. As I walked away the thought that this could be me in several decades was chilling. I could not imagine losing my mind and being locked up in Hell’s waiting room- there was only one last stop for these people- A coffin. This was their last bus stop in life.

I shook a few of the gentlemen’s hands, but none of them were able to carry on a coherent conversation. This was extremely disturbing, and sometimes I set the magazines in front of them and hoped this would offer some type of relief. Yet, I knew they would be left on that table, forgotten and thrown into the trash.

I entered a narrow hallway. I was determined to find somebody to talk to. There had to be one patient in this huge building that was not completely out of their mind? 

“Is there anybody in their room’s who would like to talk?” I asked a worker. The workers were all remarkably detached from their tenants, and I would watch them constantly looking at the clock. They were waiting for their shift to be over so that they could retire to their own home. I just did not get it, and I still do not get it. How could a person work with these individuals who had absolutely nothing and not be affected? How could they look into the eye’s of these poor souls and not have deep empathy? 

“Try room 8- Ms. Lucy might be up to it,” said a worker as she passed me ever so slowly. It was as if her feet were made out of lead, as she made lazy strides down the hallway. I pay minimal attention to the sight, but my mind was spinning in circles of depression, as I turn and walk down the hallway.

I knock on the door of room number 8. There was no answer, and I slowly push it open; it was already ajar. “Ms. Lucy?” I asked. The women turned towards me and smiled. I found her smile to be a light in this dark world, and I smiled back at her. 

“How are you doing today Ms. Lucy?” I asked with a smile that was forced across my face.

“I am doing quite well,” She replied and smiled back.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to talk? A friend of mine and I came here to talk the patients and show the common courtesy to your generation of people.”

“My generation?” She laughed at this. “Come sit down. Just toss that junk on the floor and take a seat.” Although she was frail and her age was remarkably noticeable, her brain seemed attached. I moved a few newspapers and some hard candy out of the chair that was stationed near the door, and I take a seat.

“How are you doing today?” I asked nervously.

“You already asked that question,” She says and laughs mildly once more. She continued, “If you’re not careful- you will find yourself sharing the room with me! My roommate cannot remember what she says either!” I smiled gently at this- a genuine smile.

“So I did ask the same question twice,” I say and continue, “Well, then, tell me something about yourself?”

We talked for about 15 minutes before Annie entered the room and I introduced her to Ms. Lucy. Having a female in the room seemed to create a spark of intimidation in her.  

“Oh gosh, I look awful like this,” She said to Annie, but Annie was never one to judge, and she pulled up a chair as we talked to Ms. Lucy. She told us about her life, and vividly described her days of growing up. In fact, she had several children, and one of these children still came to visit her. 

She announced that her favorite show was coming on the Tube, and we had to get going. Yet, for that hour, the smell, the lazy workers, the cries of distress- it all seemed to vanish- this was an amazing woman. 

We would visit her many more time. I recall one time she told me to open the mini refrigerator that she kept on her desk. It was a small two bedroom, but she made adequate use of the space.

“What exactly am I looking for Ms. Lucy?” I asked as I peered into a stuffed fridge.

“At the very front. The two stuffed Bell peppers,” she said.I pulled them out and gazed at the delicious Southern delicacy.

“Do you want me to get you a fork?” I asked.

“No- silly- they are for you and Annie. I told my son about the two of you and asked him to bring this for you. They are delicious,” she said as she smacked her mouth as if she imagined the sensational taste they had.

“Oh- Ms. Lucy- you’re too sweet,” Annie said. I noticed Annie’s immense happiness, and I often wondered what was going on inside Annie’s head? And although I never asked, I knew that Annie loved to help people, and much like me- seeing the smile on the face of a person in this type of environment was incredibly satisfying. Perhaps Annie was only thinking of this, but I had a suspicion that she was contemplating her own mortality.

The food she had her son bring was a dark green Bell pepper cut in half, and you could still see a couple seeds in the pepper. However, it was a stuffed pepper- stuffed with rice and dressing. Annie and I ate it all, and it was very good. Ms. Lucy seemed to be extremely satisfied.

We would go see her often, and as time passed- she got ill. Although, I blame the nursing home for her sudden decline in health- I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not a damn thing. 

Ms. Lucy died on August 17th, but when Annie informed me, I was in complete distress. Ms. Lucy had so much love and wisdom to offer, and her mind was completely coherent until the very end. “Max, they are having a funeral, and I am going. It is being held on the 24th,” Annie said over the phone. I stuttered in desperation. I had nothing to say back- in fact, a bit of anger washed over me, “I- I- I am- I can’t believe it. I do not want- I really do not want to go.” Annie did not press the issue.

“She is in heaven now. Ms. Lucy is in heaven with God,” Annie said. I replied with a very somber tone,

“I suppose she is,” but I was uncertain of religion at that point in my life, much as I am now. I just could not wrap my head around the idea that there was a God that allowed pain and suffering. Trust me- I went to the top Christian schools around, and I know all the rationale- but yet, it still did not make sense to me.

I would hang up the phone and retire to my bedroom to my house. I got on my bed and stared at the ceiling fan as it spun endlessly. I remarked into the air, “You are such a lucky fan. You get to spin endlessly, regardless of time.” I paused for a few seconds in thought and continued, “I guess even one day you will break and be shoved into the trash without a thought.” I shook my head and stared at it.

Annie went by herself to that funeral, and I would let her think I was a coward. And I was. Yet, Ms. Lucy was a dear soul and somebody who I took to my heart. I found it ironic that such a beautiful thing as love, could offer such remorse. It was true, I carried some sort of love for Ms. Lucy. It was also true that I had never attended a burial, and perhaps the realization that time ticks regardless- maybe that also scared me.

They carried on the burial procedures, and although, Annie thought I was not there… I was.

Standing 300 feet away, leaning next to a tree in a densely wooded area- I smoked a cigarette as I watched the burial procession be conducted. There were only three people there- four- counting me. I was in a black suit and watched as I replayed the wonderful memories of her in my head.

I knew that the world would continue turning without her, and she would be just a memory- that is all she would be. Life goes on. As I thought about this, I recall a quote from T.S. Eliot, “It ends not with a bang but with a whimper.”

No- There were no fancy building named after her, nor did she have any strong ties with her family. The only mark she made would be a picture in the paper, alongside a densely written obituary. I cut this out of the paper and keep it in the first sports coat I initially met her in. The world may continue, regardless of her- for that is the truth- but another fact existed�" she would always hold a special place in my heart.

Author's Note

This revolves around a nursing home that would be the last stop for these sad souls. I looked at the patients with sorrow, and sad, drooping eyes. Yet, I would find one sane individual. Yet, like all the people in the nursing home- Death was inevitable- And I did not take it well. This was the end.