"You'll Think I'm a Nut"

She was crying, out of the blue, during the late morning on Thursday. I put my hand on her shoulder. "Is something specific wrong, or is this just a sadness wave?"

"It's a sadness wave."

"Ok, then. I'm sorry... and, it will pass."

Later it was time for Martha's shower, and that's always our time to talk deeply. I don't know why. David thinks the analogy of being "exposed and vulnerable" leads to her willingness to open up and talk.

An hour before her shower, I warm up a couple of tablespoons of coconut oil and massage it into Martha's scalp. At the start of her shower, I scrub her back with a hot, soapy washcloth, and wash her hair with medicated shampoo. Then she takes care of the rest of her shower, seated securely on a shower seat. I return to dry her off and help her out of the shower to get dressed. I blow dry her hair into her signature bob after applying lavender oil or herbal balm to the scaly patches on her head.

As she calls "Okayyyy", signalling her shower is done, I gather hot towels from the dryer. I put a hand towel on her head, a bath towel around her shoulders, and one wrapped around her front. All are hot and fluffy from the dryer. Then I massage her arthritic shoulders through the hot towel, and go about the drying process.

Thursday, after I put the hot hand towel on her hair, she sighed and said "Ohhh that's so good. When I recover enough to tell you why I was crying, you'll think I'm a nut."

"Too late" I said, rubbing her shoulders.

This took her totally by surprise and she laughed. "You already think I'm a nut?"

"Yep."

So she took a deep breath.

"I can't bear the thought of all of Ralph's nice things being taken out of here in garbage bags."

Oh, wow. I had never thought of how that might feel to her. After being married for almost 67 years, and having him be such a Colonel, even at home, it would feel like a complete dis-honor to put his clothing and shoes into GARBAGE bags for transport to the second-hand store.

"I promise you, nothing of Ralph's will leave here in a garbage bag."

She sat silently for a moment. It was probably one of those moments where you realize all you had to do was ask, and all would be well.

"You know, my friend Betty lost her husband a year ago, and she still has his uniforms. Most of his other stuff, too."

"You can keep what you want! In any case, the Colonel's uniforms do NOT go to Goodwill."

Satisfied, we got on with the process of drying and dressing. I thought - how often do we suffer with what we perceived as the inevitable, when a simple request for help can change everything?

Don't dread. Ask.