The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,21
where this thing is heading. I’m so mad, I could just spit!
In a perfect world, I would do something to get Davis to look my way, but I’m nothing compared to Jessica. She’s super popular, beautiful, and confident. While I know I’m pretty because I look like my mom and she gets loads of compliments, I don’t have the confidence God gave a sewer rat.
Right after the main course is served, I notice that Davis’s grandmother has become very still. I turn to ask if there’s anything I can get for her when I recognize the faraway look that often lays claim to her features. I reach out and touch her hand. “Mrs. Frothingham, are you okay?”
The rest of the table quiets as everyone waits to see if she answers. She doesn’t. Jedd is the first to talk. “I want to cry,” he says. “I wasn’t sure my mama would ever recognize me as her son again, and now that she has, I feel like I’ve lost her all over again.”
Lee takes his hand and squeezes it. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry, but honestly today has been such a gift.”
Jesse agrees. “This is the first time she’s interacted with us as herself in more months than I care to remember. Occasionally, when I’m visiting her at the home, I see signs of recognition, but nothing like today.”
I put my napkin in my lap. “I don’t mean to be a party pooper, but it’s best if we take Mrs. Frothingham back to the home now. After times of animation, she can become agitated. I think it’s a good idea for her to be in a familiar environment in case that happens.”
Lee says, “I don’t want today to end like this. I wanted the other grandchildren to have a chance to see her, too.”
“We’ll try it again, Mama,” Davis tells her. Then he asks me, “Can you come back again next Sunday?”
I nod my head. “If that’s all right with your family.”
“Honey,” Gracie says, “It’s more than all right. You’re doing us such an amazing service, I can’t tell you.”
Davis and his dad gently help Mrs. Frothingham to her feet. Typically, dementia patients struggle to walk as their disease progresses, but Davis’s grandmother starts to move like she’s on autopilot as soon as her feet hit the floor.
When we get to the car, I hurry into the backseat first, so I can help my charge. Jedd gives his son a hug then leans in to say, “Ashley, we’re in your debt. We look forward to seeing you next week.”
Davis gets in the car and waves to his family before pulling out of the driveway. We ride silently for several minutes before he says, “I’m sure you see this kind of thing all the time in your line of work. It must be hard.”
“It’s more rewarding than difficult,” I tell him. “Every one of the old folks there used to be a young, vibrant person. Most of them probably never imagined they would ever be without all their faculties.”
“How in the world do you find that rewarding?” he wants to know.
“My job offers them a little bit of dignity back. I don’t judge them when their minds go wandering and they do things they would have never done had they been themselves. I just accept their journey as part of their life’s course. Helping them helps me feel connected to a bigger picture. Does that make sense?”
He nods his head but doesn’t say anything else, so I continue. “It doesn’t matter who they were when they were younger or how much money they had or what kind of car they drove. Age is the great equalizer.” Then, as if suddenly struck by verbal diarrhea, I add, “No one at the home ever thinks less of me because of my start in life. When they’re able to, they just appreciate having a helping hand to get them through their days.”
“Why would anyone judge your start in life?” he wants to know.
Heat flushes my cheeks and rapidly moves down my neck. I wish I had kept my mouth shut. After several long and uncomfortable moments, I answer, “You know how kids are. They can be cruel.” Although, I’m fairly certain Davis was never on the receiving end of the kind of nastiness I had to endure. His silence on the subject certainly speaks to that conclusion.
We get Davis’s gran into her room with little effort once we get back to the nursing home. My co-worker, Ellen,