To Old Friends

The convalescent home is outside of Boston

It’s the warmest winter on record

Yet on the ride from Connecticut

It snows

The flakes don’t really stick though

They float

They float like angels

Doing somersaults and back flips

Melting on my windshield

In small suicidal gasps

Near Worcester the snow falls even harder

It tries to cover the ground in white

And partially succeeds in the recesses of the forest

That catch my eyes as I blaze down the interstate

But my focus needs to be ahead of me

As trucks and cars careen dangerously

On this wet road

We take the right exit but drive by the home

I do a U-turn and make my way back

Getting things right on the second try

I leave my mother at the entrance to

Go in alone

While I find a place to park

But there is no parking

I drive further through a maze of spaces

A maze of small, segmented and disjointed lots

Finally finding an opening

When I enter the Home

I am greeted by an old friend

She is eating lunch and has the

Impassive orderly bring us a meal

It is institutionalized food but it is palatable

To some degree

After eating we push our friend back to her room

The insouciant orderly’s and nurses smile benignly

Enough

But there is a sense of indifference

As if they are waiting for the next break

That will take them out for a cigarette

Or a coffee

To bitch about this

Or that

It is written on their faces

And I overhear their complaints too

As I walk by their main desk seeking the toilet

They do not hide their disdain

Appearing to be overworked and underpaid

While at the same time

Bored and listless

Our friend has had a stroke

However her mind, as always, is incisive

I remember her as a child

Her loquacious banter with my father

Never failed to make me smile

Her words rolled

Or tumbled

From her mouth smoothly and eloquently

Now they are halting

But I read behind this

Realizing her mind is untouched

Later she insists that we visit the physical therapy ward

It is another world

The therapists are caring and comforting

Though she is not scheduled

She is allowed to demonstrate

For us

How much better she can walk

How much better she can reach

It is not the results that impress me

It is her stoicism

Her desire to share

We return to her room

We need to leave before rush hour

Fills the roads thick with cars and trucks

Heading back to Connecticut

It hurts to leave

-As leaving always hurts-

Yet we do leave

My mother and I

Feeling like we accomplished something

Feeling like we performed some atavistic mitzvah

Seeing an old friend

On a day when it was not supposed to have snowed

My mother and I

Old friends.