Husk
It surrounds seeds...
Sid thought she seemed very polite and maybe a bit unnecessarily worried.
She was old, Sid thought, but then he reminded himself, he would be soon.
She was worried she would become incapacitated. And she wanted his help. Sid just listened.
She has seen her mother go through it. She described her mother as strong, wise, kind. She had seen the fading. Her mother, gardening, housekeeping, visiting had barely noticed the changes. But she had.
She said her mother would never have wanted to be like that. And she didn’t either. Could he help?
Sid understood the progression. It had happened in his downstairs. He had taken his mother nightly to the toilet and changed her diaper. Sid and his wife had made her meals, changed her sheets, and dressed her.
He studied the drugs and knew their futility. Toward the end his mother could barely speak. She had a Hemlock Society decal on her bedroom window. But she could no longer act on this.
And she wanted Sid’s help.
You don’t seem to be having any signs of dementia.
The small, maybe old hippy lady just smiled at him.
Tell me what makes you worried you are failing.
She took a deep breath. I’m getting older. I watched my mother. I don’t want that for me. Can you help?
Well I can do my best to tell you if I find any signs of dementia. But I can’t promise any decent medical treatment to reverse it. I can care for you. Sometimes people are depressed, and we can treat that. Depression in the elderly can look like dementia. But you don’t seem depressed or demented.
Would you make sure I don’t get like my mother? She was not a person when she finally died. She was a husk.
Husk.
Sid thought of his mother downstairs. He had taken the keys away years before. She had come up to him in his garage, angry that her car would not work. It was idling in the garage he had built for her. She couldn’t get it to shift. Sid followed her down the steps and got in. He stepped on the brake pedal and shifted it just fine.
It’s a safety feature, Mom. She smiled at him.
She’d gotten lost in a parking lot. Sid argued with her. He took the keys.
He put a safety knob on the doorknob when she had wandered.
Husk.
Sid looked up at the small old hippy woman from his rolling stool below her. What would you want me to do if this comes to you?
She beamed. You could make it so my family doesn’t have to be burdened with my decline.
Have you talked with your family about this?
She laughed. They think I am worried about stupid things.
Maybe I do too.
She frowned. But you know these things. You’re a doctor. If I am becoming demented, you will know.
Sid knew his mother, in the downstairs was failing. He watched her keeping lists, buying supplements, going to a lousy Neurologist in town who ordered MRI’s and prescribed useless medicines.
Soon she couldn’t talk. Then there were the diapers, the food, the bed, all the work Sid and his wife did to care for her.
Sid looked at the little old hippy lady. Why don’t you do something?
She laughed again. It was a clear, bright laugh like a mountain stream over rocks he had fished and not caught anything.
She gazed down at him on his stool. You know. When it happens, I won’t be able to. I will need somebody’s help. And you are a doctor.
Sid looked back at the clear sharp eyes, asking for his help.
Sid’s mother died downstairs. He offered her water to her parched lips. He held the glass up to her lips when she couldn’t think to bring it to her own. She choked and gagged. He put the grape she loved in her dry shriveled fingers. She looked at it and almost smiled. Then looked off vacant. She dropped it.
You need help from your family, he said to the little hippy woman. Doctors can only do so much.
Her eyes narrowed. You could help me, but you won’t.
What would you have me do?
When you see it coming, I want you to end me.
Kill you?
She laughed again, but more like tires on a wash boarded dirt road. You know where I would be going, you know the end. You could just ease all our pain and indignity. That is the help I ask of you.
Sid looked down at the industrial carpet under his rolling stool. The pattern gave him no wisdom.
Sid stood up from the little stool. He faced the intense old hippy lady. He reached out and held her bony shoulders.
I would be glad to care for you.
Her face softened, like spring snow melting on a south slope.
Thank you.
Spring on the prairie brought an annual old hippy festival. Sid’s daughters were grown, so he wandered among the booths by himself. He had sold bean burritos for the swim team in the past, but this year he was on his own. He bought some very nice wood light switch faceplates from a vendor from Montana.
The music was lilting from the stage, and Sid saw the dancers, twirling, arms out like old hippies do out in front. There she was. Happy like all the others, twirling and dipping, arms and hair flung out.
Sid looked up at the old trees over the park. The white puffy clouds held up there above. It was a beautiful day.
Martha found him and they compared their purchases. She had found some lavender eye bags. I could make these!
The music stopped, the dancers dispersed and Sid looked up from his wife to see the old hippy lady walking past. He saw her eyes a bit vacant, maybe joyless, like after a long time fishing a worthless stream.
Sid watched her go past.
Who is she? Martha asked.
No one. He smiled at her.
And then they went on.