Vigil

When she finally went to sleep, fitful though it was, she looked like a sad bobblehead whose noggin has gone slightly askance. Hanging to her left, my right as I studied her intently for any sign of distress, her head looked too big for that tiny, wasted body.

On the wall at the foot of the bed was a bulletin board with cards from her friends; only two friends, actually, apparently a married couple. There was one Christmas card with a Collie looking through a wreath and several birthday remembrances adorning the board. And a valentine that made me cry.

She isn’t a fan of the dark, nor of her diaper, which between the two of us we managed to undo and cease its evil annoyance. Me? I’m not a fan of the staff around her – waking her thoughtlessly and for no obvious reason.

She wakes, partially, and fusses and moans and readjusts the remnants of the evil diaper. Her movement is my magnet and I am at her side in a flash – vacillating in a calm yet frantic manner between holding her, just in case, or just settling for proximity so as not to wake her fully if it’s just a false alarm.

She’s an old lady with no one, really. Waiting to die yet not quite ready. There is a photo on a piece of utilitarian furniture in her room of two ladies – “a friend is forever” the caption reads. I assume one of the ladies is my tiny Ms. Bobblehead but I can’t tell – there is so little left of her. She’d blow away in a stiff breeze yet would maintain a death grip when her hand would find mine. She doesn’t know me from Eve – but she knew she wasn’t alone.