I lean forward and put a hand on her knee as a show of support, nothing more.
“No, tell me. I want to know.”
She shakes her head and stands. “It’s nothing. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Do you need anything before I get back to work?”
I stand and shake my head. “Let me walk you to the door.”
I get to the door before her and grab the doorknob. “Again, I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you by taking you to dinner tonight?”
Her jaw tightens. “I’m sorry, I can’t tonight.”
“Oh, okay.” I try to read her face and can’t. I’m left wondering if her declination is because she’s still peeved about a few minutes ago. “May I ask why?”
“I have other plans, and I can’t cancel on them.”
Chapter Forty
Delaney
“Wow, Mom, you really love this new flavor, don’t you?” I scoop another bit of the cherry-vanilla ice cream I decided on to see if Mom would love it as much as her usual pistachio-flavored treat. If the voraciousness with which she’s taking the spoonful’s I hold up to her lips and opening her mouth for more is any indication, it’s a winner.
“I know. You like it, but we have to go slow enough so you don’t get brain freeze.” I smile, thinking about all the times that Mom would warnmenot to eat my cold treats too fast.How the tables have turned.
Between bites, I look around the dining room at the other residents who remain here after dinner. Albert, over in the corner, is sitting with his wife, Dana, and she’s telling him stories and showing him videos of his granddaughter’s dance recital, which must have just occurred. Joy exudes from her every word as she describes the event to him, and I can’t help but listen.
I continue feeding Mom, but I’m drawn now to watching what’s happening with Albert and Dana. Each time she holds up her phone or tablet to show him something, I watch as her face falls at his lack of reaction. Albert’s dementia is pretty far advanced, and he depends on others for all of his care needs, but worse than that, he rarely engages now with anyone—including his wife of forty-five years. But my gosh, the devotion she has, despite how difficult it must be to see him like this, is awe-inspiring.
We’re almost at the end of Mom's ice cream, and normally, I would take her for a walk around the memory care unit, then make sure she was clean and dry before I left. I glance down at my watch, and it’s four-thirty in the afternoon. I think I have time for what I’m about to do.
“Dana, it sounds like your granddaughter had a beautiful recital.” The dining room is small enough that Dana can hear me without my having to raise my voice or walk over to their table.
Dana looks up at Mom and me and smiles. “It was, Delaney. It was beautiful. The girls were dazzling.” The proud grandmother’s face lights up.
“If you have a few minutes, I would love to see the pictures, and I’m sure my mom would enjoy them as well.”
Surprise flickers in Dana’s eyes for a second and then disappears. After a quick glance at Albert, she grabs her tablet and phone off the table, wheels Albert over, and positions him at the table, then sits in a chair next to Mom.
The first video she shares is of her oldest granddaughter in her gorgeous ballerina costume, dancing on pointe shoes to a number fromSwan Lake.It’s a number I remember from the years that Mom signed me up for dance lessons. As a young child, Mom took me to see theNutcracker, and after that, I desperately wanted to be a ballerina. Going to dance lessonswas my favorite time of the week, and Mom never missed a performance.
“I did this same number for one of my recitals when I was much younger. Ballet, especially pointe, was always Mom’s favorite to watch.”
“I bet you were a beautiful ballerina,” Dana says. The soft, warm expression on her face as she looks at me makes me suddenly miss my grandmother. She, second only to Mom, was my greatest support as I grew up.
“Well, I don’t know about that, but Mom always made sure my bun was tight, and my costume fit perfectly.”
I glance over at Mom and am pleased to see the corners of her mouth just barely curving up and her gaze fixed on the device Dana is using to show off the video of her granddaughter. Mom reaches out and wraps her hands around the sides of the tablet as she watches. This is more engaged than I’ve seen her in some time, and it fills my heart with happiness. I keep a hand on the back of the tablet to make sure it doesn’t get damaged if Mom decides she no longer wants to hold it, then I look over at Dana.
“Thank you for sharing this, Dana. My mom loved when I was in dance lessons. For nine years, she carted me back and forth to the studio, tailored my costumes, and sat with rapt attention as an audience of one whenever I wanted to practice at home.”
“Oh boy, I’m betting you were pretty good.” Dana smiles at me.
“I wasn’t too bad, but I don’t do it anymore, not even for stress relief or exercise. My guess is that if I attempted to get up on my pointe shoes, I would strugglejusta bit.” I pause and glance down at the scene, then watch the dancing for a few seconds. I peer up at Dana, and she’s watching me, not the videos. “That looks exhausting,” I tease. “After an hour or two of dancing, I always felt relaxed and had a wonderful night’s sleep.”
“So, you were a dance mom, huh Hattie?” Dana asks. Even though Mom won’t answer her, I appreciate the effort to include Mom in the conversation.
“Oh yes. Mom was the epitome of a dance mom. At the recitals, she was always there, helping to make sure my hair was perfect and insisting I didn’t need intense makeup to be a lovely ballerina. I loved that about her when I got old enough to understand it. Mom always made me feel beautiful, just as I was. She also taught the other dance moms how to do the perfect bun—held a class and everything.”
“It sounds like it was something you both enjoyed a tremendous amount.” Dana sets the next video to start for Mom and then peers back at me. “My daughter loves watching my granddaughter dance. Of course, I’m biased, but I can’t blame her. I just told her to make sure she doesn’t become one of those mean dance moms like on the TV shows.”
