Taylored Words

  Upon entering the room, I saw her lime green nightgown loosely encasing her frail body as she sat on her bed.  Her full head of white hair neatly combed, and her glasses sat on the nightstand.  It was only 6:15 p.m. “I’m sorry, were you getting ready for bed?” Even though I could see her aged, long legs beneath the night gown, she made no attempt to cover herself neither with blanket nor bathrobe.  “I always get ready for bed early”, Easter explained, “but come on in”.  She motioned for me to sit in her wheelchair, which sat near her bed, heavily laden with towels, tissues, and straws. I sat down in the wheelchair, and she began explaining that because she didn’t have anything to do after supper, she usually prepared for bed and laid down.  She shared how she had once stayed in her wheelchair and sat in the doorway but felt the employees didn’t like maneuvering around her while going down the hallway.  As I sat down and surveye...

                The years have been harsh. I feel as if I will not walk this world much longer. I have tried to live well, but alas, my many years of high living have taken a toll on this old shell of mine.                Why, even my morning showers have become a grotesque wrestling match, as I attempt to scrub every nook and cranny! I shudder to think of the pimply road map the medical examiner might find upon my demise—a relief map of areas I strained to reach, all foretold by the highs and lows of those adolescent bumps!                Not to mention those areas that were often neglected in my youth but now appear to be areas in deep need of constant attention. Like behind my ears, around the corners of my mouth, and those unforgiving pimples in my nostrils! At what point did daily washing necessitate ...