Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!

It had been a long day. Catherine awoke way to early for her tastes. The birds who usually begin to chirp were silent.  The sun still slept, leaving a blanket of blackness in her wake.  Hell, even the cats who normally prowl in the room, nibbling on her fingers and toes or who make a bed of her chest were still sound asleep. No. Catherine was awake because she was bothered. Bothered by the fact that the one who gave birth to her no longer knew who she was. No longer knew who her kids were. And she was bothered by him.

Despite the transitional nursing home snafus that usually come when one firsts enters a nursing home, Catherine felt fairly pleased. She and her sisters had communicated about their Mom's care (or lack there of) and she had worked hard on writing a letter, clearly articulating these findings. She had planned to address the Assistant Director of Nursing that morning while he visited with her mom that morning and then hoped to begin reviewing her charts.

"Genevieve," Catherine called her youngest, very curvy sister who was vacationing at the beach. "I need some power clothes. I simply cannot go in and speak to a Nursing Director in some flouncy shirt and shorts."

Genevieve, who had worked her way  up the corporate ladder at a major hospital in the area and now was a bigwig certainly had a wardrobe of power clothes. The glitch might have been that where Genevieve was curvy, Catherine was not. Where Genevieve was petite, Catherine was tall. Nevertheless, Catherine plowed through the plethora of clothing to finally spy an outfit that would do: a whispy salmon blouse to wear with a black A-Line skirt.

"A ha. Found it. Won't worry about the fact that I have on pauper sandals. I will look like a professional on vacation." thought Catherine who had taken off from her clinic work to spend time with him while they checked in on her mom.

I wish I could say that Catherine's meeting was full of drama and excitement that she conquered with great resolve and tenacity. However, it was not. The Assistant Director listened openly, kindly, taking notes as she went. Catherine mentioned that she would follow-up with a summary email and forward it to those who needed to be in the "know."

She hurried home to work on this and her mom's dignity plan while he was visiting with Mom. Unfortunately, Catherine is sort of a dweller. When it comes to writing, she is able to do it beautifully, but it comes at a price: It takes a long time.

So there she was, running into the Nursing Home 15 minutes late to pick him up. He simply did not want to be there when her mom ate. Catherine knew why. Her mom no longer embraced the pleasantry of manners, using her fork, knife, and napkin as a good housewife should. No. Now, she played with her food; dissected it; used her fingers and poured juice on her potatoes.  Catherine realized that her being late would be a problem, but she had hoped it would not emerge in her mom's presence. Her mom was sensitive and Catherine knew she would pick up on it.

"Let's go." he said to Catherine.

"GGGG876 bblack" uttered her mom, gesturing that she too wanted to get the hell out of there.

"Dad, " Catherine pleaded. "We cannot just leave now. They are starting to serve the food and there is no one here to act as a diversion. We are going to get Mom riled up."

"It's time" he said as he began his very slow, yet purposeful shuffle towards the door.

And in doing so, Catherine watched as her mother became a sprinter doing the 50 yard dash.

"Wait, Dad." Catherine stated firmly. "We are not going anywhere. We are going to sit with Mom while she has lunch. She needs to eat."

Reluctantly, Catherine's Dad shuffled back to the dining area, squeezing into  a chair at the head of the table, opposite of  Iamwatching the cars outside Maxine. And as he sat, clutching his lunch bag and frequently examining his Timex, he began to squirm. Until finally, like a volcano, he stood up, slammed his hands on the table and hissed "You were late."

Damn. She thought she might get away with it this time, but what a fool she was to think that a seed of patience might blossom during this time. Evidently, this was the wrong season for patience.

"I realize that." stated Catherine, gritting her teeth. "I was late because of a letter I was working on for Mom. I think that it would be best to talk about it later. We will leave after lunch. If you are hungry, pull out your peanut butter."

And from there, the passive aggressive volley began. First he would tell Catherine to let her mom alone and let her feed herself. Then he would take the fork and give her mom a bite, asking if she wanted any more. Catherine's mom of course does not know if she wants more. But she does know that she wants him to stop asking and then trying to shovel it in. Catherine watches her mom make that all-too familiar eye roll and lip pinch. She takes the fork and then begins to finger her food. He, because he is all prim and proper, covers his eyes so that he does not need to see the mess she is becoming.

With the last bite of her meal, he rose as if to leave when Catherine told her mom that "We are all going to go to your room and watch tv." Her moms feet seemed planted while her fingers continued to pillroll her napkin.

"Come on, Mom," Catherine said gently. "Let's go watch tv."

And so they sat. The Dad starting to squirm as if there were something in his pants til finally, another verbal explosion.

"Catherine, you may be a  nurse, but you know shit about this kind of nursing!"

Calmly, cooly, Catherine rose, looked her dad in the eye and told him to

"Fuck off" as she confidently left the room.

A multitude of thoughts were flooding her brain, but the predominant one was "Really? We have to go through this again?" And grace of all graces, there was the nurse that she had spoken with earlier that day.

"Catherine, do you need some help?"

As Catherine explained to the nurse that her dad was losing his cool and they were trying to extricate themselves without causing a big to-do for her mom, this wonderful nurse came into serve as the desired distraction, allowing the dad and Catherine to leave.

Upon entering the pristine, old man Buick, Catherine got in, buckled her seatbelt and sighed.

"Dad," she said. "I am going to tell you this once and only once. Do you remember years ago when I was driving the family to River Dance when we saw an older African American Man clutching his chest and staggering. Do you remember that I wanted to help and you retorted. 'What can you do? You are only a nurse. Keep going.'"

"Dad, do you remember that?"

Her dad nodded.

"And do you know that I have taken time off of my paying job to be here with you and to help mom? Do you know that I am sacrificing precious time away from my husband and kids to be here with you?"

Again, he nodded.

"If you think that I am going to put up with your bullshit and your denigrating comments when I am trying to help you, you have got another thing coming. If anyone does not know shit about this it is you. The three of us saw this coming years ago. We begged you to move into a smaller home so that mom wouldn't have to move and you could then pay a live-in caregiver. But no, you knew better. It was more comfortable in J Town."

"Let me tell you. You are not the only one hurting here. You may have lost your wife, but we lost our mom. Our kids have lost their grandma."

And as Catherine backed the car in reverse, squealing the beloved Buick Tires, her dad screamed


"Watch out!"

It was in that moment that all was clear. The Buick. Anything beautiful was beloved. Anything with flaws, anything imperfect, anything that might be rendered less than was a complete and total failure in his eyes.

And so she put the car in drive and drove back home in the imperfect, the less than, the totally failing silence.