Mother

The journey had been quite smooth, it was not even 10 AM when I walked around my Mother's house to the backdoor. It was the natural way to do it, like I had been entering the house since 1961. Through the window in the back of the house I could see her sitting on her chair. She immediately noticed me, looked at me with wide open mouth. Near the backdoor everything still was like it always was. The metal bins in a row, a piece of a broom and a rag on a nail in the wall. The backdoor still made that strange sound, like it would break; nothing had changed in all these years.

In the kitchen I noticed little notes on the window ("Close before you leave!"), refrigerator ("Be certain the door is properly closed"), cupboards ("Leave everything like it is!").
Even the oven had a note attached to it: "Be certain it is turned off before you go!"
I recognised the writing of my youngest sister who obviously had some problems with people handling things in the kitchen.

I hung my coat on the coat rack, dropped my backpack under it and walked in the living room where she already had opened her arms for me. She was wearing a Christmas jumper, a bit surprising when Easter is near. I embraced her and kissed her on both cheeks: "Hello Ma. Are you surprised to see me? I did tell you."
She laughed: "So lovely to see you, my boy. I always have to see things first before I believe them. How was your crossing? Was the sea a bit friendlier this time?"
"It was very nice. I had a nice evening on the ferry and had a great sleep. I could catch the early train this time. It was all quite perfect."

Mother pointed at the chair of my Father: "Please sit down, don't keep standing there."
I sat down, but could not prevent myself saying: "It almost feels like sacrilege sitting in this chair."
She shook her head: "Don't be silly, my boy. He wouldn't mind you sitting there. Of course not."
I asked her how she had been and she assured me that everything was fine and had been fine. I knew this didn't mean anything. I had witnessed her being in a lot of pain and still saying that she was fine. She didn't like to moan, according to her it didn't bring you anywhere.

She yawned, so I asked if she was tired.
"I'm always tired, I never sleep. What I really would like is to sleep forever, being with your Dad."
I understood very well that she was a bit lonely in the house on her own, but knew too that she had some regular visitors.
I pointed at all the stuff around her: "They do keep you busy."
Mother nodded: "Medicine to swallow, it's almost a pharmacy over here; then there is the water to drink, two liters per day; I have my fruit, today it's apple and grapes. Also I have milk and had a coffee. Oh yes, I still have to finish breakfast, but I don't really fancy that last bit of the sandwich anymore."

I picked up a puzzlebook: "Do you still manage to do these?"
"Yes, I prove to myself by doing them that I didn't lose my sanity."
I picked up the coffee mug: "How about if I make us some new coffee? I certainly could use one."
She was about to answer, but there was some loud banging upstairs, almost like somebody lifting a bed and letting it drop from their hands. "What's that?", I asked a bit alarmed.
"Don't worry. That is Lisa, the new cleaner. You haven't seen her yet. She must be making the bed."

I knew about Lisa. My sisters were quite annoyed by her bullying character, she was very bossy towards our mother and didn't take any notice of what was required of her. Instead of cleaning she would reorganise the kitchen, so my sisters had to search for everything that was needed.
She had taken over from a Bosnian woman whom my mother had liked very much, but who was hired by a care company that was undercut by the company Lisa worked for.

Before I could get up from the chair, she sort of galloped down the stairs and came into the living room.
"I already thought I could hear voices...", she came to me with her hands in rubber gloves, took one off and offered me the ungloved hand. "My name is Lisa."
Mother answered for me: "This is my boy from England. He has an English wife."
Lisa nodded: "So I heard. But look at you! You're not presentable like this, certainly not with your son around."
I wondered what was wrong: maybe the jumper. But no, it was the hair!

I didn't notice it before, but it was a bit longer than normal and this morning it was a bit wild. Lisa grumbled about the nurses who only did half their job.
I defended them by saying that the schedule of these nurses was incredible. They only have a few minutes per client or patient and then have to race to the next one. Lisa was adament: they should have done my mother's hair properly.
"I'll get the brush!"

"Oh no!", my mother moaned softly. I kept silent, I was flabbergasted.
Lisa ran upstairs, came downstairs again, opened every drawer she could find. Sometimes my mother would say: "The brush certainly is not in there." It didn't stop the cleaning lady, who even opened the drawer next to my mother. I knew she kept some cash money in there and so Lisa now knew about this too, but maybe she had done this routine before and this was not new to her.
Lisa sighed, grumbled, even cursed and after every drawer in the living room had revealed it's secrets she ran upstairs again.

Triumphantly she came down again, hairbrush in her hands: "It was in the bathroom after all!"
I thought she was going to brush my mother's hair, but instead she first went to the kitchen and came back with a dripping brush and started to work at my mother's hair. When I was young we were never allowed to come near her hair, could not comb or brush it, we always said that she probably had hairpain. Lisa did it quite roughly; I was surprised Mother did not complain at all.
In the end the hair was sort of glued to her head, it looked a bit ridiculous.
Lisa stood behind her, very proud about her handywork: "See! It's much nicer like this!"
Mother rolled her eyes and pulled a face.
I wrestled not to burst out in laughter, managed to say: "I'll make that coffee now" and almost ran to the kitchen.
=============================================