Spuddy Retreat Day 2: Getting a New Job

Saturday, April 23, 2005

Spuddy was pleased to see me tonight, eager and hungry.

Because I was a little late getting here, my "retreat" will only be about twenty minutes or less long—I’ve already been here a while, petting, feeding and watering Spuddy.

Getting a New Job

“I am thinking of quitting my job here and looking for a new job,” my mother says when I arrive at the nursing home. “I’m just not sure what else I can do.”

I don’t know how to respond. All day, my mother has been parked in front of the TV in her wheelchair in the lounge. I cannot guess what kind of work she thinks she’s been doing. “You don’t like it here?” I ask, somewhat ambiguously.

“It’s okay, I guess, but some of those other girls are so bossy.” She waves her hand toward the aides.

“Are they mean to you?” I ask, a little worried.

“Not exactly, but they won’t let me leave. I need to do some shopping. I want to go home. But sometimes, they make me spend the night.”

“You have a room here,” I say.

“Is it the one at the end of the hall, with the picture of Erin?”

“Yes, that one. You live here now.”

“I have two rooms. I have two rooms now.”

“Where is the other one?”

“I think it’s on Ellsworth Ave. In the house on Ellsworth Ave. Or did they sell that house? I’ve been wondering, are Mom and Dad still alive?”

“No, your Mom died before I was born, fifty-eight years ago. Your Dad is dead, too, and your brother John and his wife Roberta.” I watch her face to see if this upsets her. I can’t tell.

“How old am I, anyway?”

“You’re 81. You’ll be eighty-two in August.”

“That’s why I need a new job. I’ve been working here too long. I need to go back to the house on Ellsworth Ave.”

“They sold that house. More than 50 years ago. You have another house.”

“What house is that?”

“The one in Liverpool where you lived with Pa. The brown house with the birch in the front.”

“I don't remember that house. Where is Pa, anyway? The rat. He hasn’t been around to see me in a long time.”

“He died, Mom. Seven years ago.”

“That’s why I need another job. Because Pa’s not taking care of me any more.”

“Mom, you don’t have to work. Pa left you enough money to pay your bills. Don’t worry about it. No one is putting you out on the street.”

“I wish they would, so I could walk back to Ellsworth Ave. They won’t let me out.”

“Let’s go out Mom. I’ll take you for a walk. It’s nice out. The daffodils are open.”

“I can’t go. I have to work. I need to get a new job.”

“They said you could leave for a while. I’ll take you for a walk.” I push her wheelchair toward the elevators.

“Okay. I want to stop by my grandmother’s house and say hello to her. She lives on Ellsworth Ave, just down the street from Mom and Dad, remember? She might know where I can get a job. I’m getting tired of this one.”

Mary

After I write this, I get a heavy feeling in my heart. I realize that is because I had a dream when my father died, one of a series of dreams about him. In the dream, he left me (died) because he had gotten a new job (“in heaven” or in the afterlife). Getting a new job becomes a metaphor for death, in my father’s case. But my mother is her own person. She has her own set of metaphors. Her search for a “new job,” and for her parents and grandparents (who have passed on, of course) does not necessarily mean she will die soon. At the moment, she seems pretty healthy, physically .