I set down my travel mug filled with Bengal Spice Tea on her side table and moved a small chair over to the edge of Veronica’s bed. Her new bed adjusted to help her sit up as it was now too hard to move her to the chair. The days of using a walker or wheelchair to enjoy the outdoor gardens are long past. We used to talk together but those days are nearly gone as well. She is having a hard time moving her finger along the letter chart to spell out words so we mostly watch TV together.
We watch cooking shows. I can’t conceive of why. Veronica hasn’t been able to eat for a while. The last soft loaf of bread I brought in for her was given away because her swallowing had become more difficult. She depends completely on the stomach tube now. But we’d still watch the cooking shows. I’d laugh and tell her she must think I needed help cooking. Her eyes would laugh with me.
You can tell a lot from someone’s eyes. Her room phone would ring and her eyes would dart toward the phone asking me to pick it up. I’d answer it and then hold it up to her ear so she could hear her mom talk to her. Her eyes would flicker in response to her mom’s words. They’d tear up and, even though I couldn’t understand the language being spoken on the phone, I knew her mom was saying how much she loved her. Calling her precious.
She could tell me to change the channel with her eyes too. I’d go for trial and error until her eyes said it was the correct channel. Sometimes she just gave up because I couldn’t figure it out. If Keith Urban was on, it was always the right channel. She loved his songs. She and her husband had recorded themselves singing his songs back when she was well and they were together. She didn’t hold the fact that he couldn’t handle her illness against him. She told me he did his best. Magda, her sister would stop by too. She’d talk enough for all of us. I would rarely find a pause long enough to comment. Her English was broken but her stories of the old country were fascinating and I’d sip my tea and listen. I could tell Veronica sometimes didn’t agree with the way her sister was telling a story – but she couldn’t verbally correct her. She’d just comment with her eyes.
I miss those tea times. Her mom welcomed me at her daughter’s funeral. I don’t see her, Todd or Magda any more but that’s OK. I learned so much about grace in that chair beside Veronica’s bed when her eyes could still speak.