There Is No Blue by Martha Baillie

Author:Martha Baillie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Coach House Books

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On the night she got out of bed to pee and lost her balance, our mother lay on the floor unable to get up. Several minutes passed, then she remembered the small device she wore and pressed its button. Alerted by the company that monitored the device, I got out of bed, pulled on some clothes, and cycled over to her house.

The year before, I’d rolled up the carpets and moved them to an upstairs room, so she’d not trip, not on the ground floor. Handrails were installed in strategic places and a hospital bed moved into the book-lined back room so she could sleep downstairs. The tiny washroom off the kitchen met most of her needs. She rarely had to climb to the second floor. She wanted to live in her house on her own for as long as possible, she said.

The fall fractured her shoulder. To monitor her heart, they kept her several days in the hospital. Her shoulder had not yet mended when they decided to send her home. The slightest movement caused her pain. When I pressed them to do better, insisting she was not yet ready to resume living alone, they relented and provided her with a room in the rehabilitation wing of a residence for seniors.

With a graciousness I felt sure I could never emulate, she accepted her new surroundings, made bemused comments regarding the routines imposed on her, and took an anthropological interest in her fellow residents. There was Monica, who’d escaped the firebombing of Dresden by walking, and walking, sticking to small rural roads, staying out of sight of soldiers and begging farmers for food. From Monica our mother learned, she said, how to obtain an extra serving of ice cream at dinner. There was Patricia, a former dog breeder, who’d yell ‘fetch’ as she hurled her fork and spoon across the room.

Our mother grew accustomed to having someone come to her aid whenever she pushed the buzzer beside her bed, no matter the hour, night or day. She did not mind waiting for her helper to arrive, she said. She trusted they would appear, and if they did not, she could buzz again. ‘I’d not realized how frightened I was, living alone. Now I am safe and can relax. There’s lots to observe, always someone coming or going.’

To my surprise, she decided against returning to her house. ‘If the time has come that I can no longer live alone, I’d rather leave than share my house with someone else. I’ve loved having my home to myself. Living there with a stranger wouldn’t be the same. Since I now need to live with others, I’ll do that in a new setting. I’ll miss my house very much, but nothing lasts forever.’ Her mind was made up. I admired her courage. I stopped looking for a live-in caregiver and began taking her instead on visits to residences for seniors, adding her name to waiting lists for the ‘homes’ where friends of hers were already settled and could welcome her.

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