| dewy decimal |
2004-06-26 - 2:51 p.m.
The unmistakable smell of geriatrics. The warm odor of piss and cleaning products. The calming smell of powder. The searing bite of death's stink-breath calling from arond the corner.
Mom, Dad, Karina and I wento to visit Aunty Tokiko today. We picked out a youthful, optimistic orchid with lime petals and fuscia accents to brighten the room in the nursing home where she is staying at. A flower to offer her promises that we couldn't keep with words.
Aunty Tokiko is a small, rotund Japanese woman whom we all have a lot of love for. She was my one of my Grandmas best friends. Her generous laughter can fill your room faster than sunlight on your brightest summer afternoon.
Aunty had recently fallen and as a result suffers from extensive paralysis.
We fed her an unattractive house lunch, which to our comfort, she devoured in minutes.
As she explained to us the extent to which she could maneuver her limbs and digits, she would raise her hands as a look of concerted effort took over her face. Fingers, move! Curl! Squeeze! Twitch!
Nothing. Then she let out a sigh of resignation before screaming, "Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiyayayya," before bursting out into a colorful laughter that made us all forget where we were.For the rest of our visit, we just talked about the old days when my Dad used to play baseball with her sons. Or how I used to go to her house after school and wait there until Grandma picked me up in her maroon Buick. Aunty would feed me senbei and guava juice as I watched He-Man, pretending to do homework.
"Oh Dustin ni-jyuu roku sai ne? Whaaaaa! So Fast, hayai ne?" her broken English fused together with sticky Japanese.
We stayed for about 40 minutes before we left her in the little room with the most depressing furniture. Walking so fast to our truck with so much love in our hearts for that woman. But so glad to be out of such an unmistakable smell.