6:40 a.m.
The bladder won’t wait. I quietly get up in the dark, hoping I won’t wake Mom, and am back to bed in a minute.
7:25 a.m.
I must have dozed a bit. The bathroom light is on. The cat is nudging me. I decide to get up. As I start down the hallway, I hear Mom: “Jan?” I go into her room. She is propped up on her elbow in bed, saying, “I feel awful.”
“Do you want to get up and have some coffee?”
“That would be wonderful. Why do I feel so bad?”
“You’ve been off your feed for a few weeks.”
“Where are my slippers?”
I bend down and pull her slippers into view from under the bed. “Here they are.” She slides her feet in and stands. I hand her bathrobe to her. She follows me down the hallway. I go into the kitchen. She heads to her recliner.
“This is awful, feeling so bad when I wake up. What’s wrong?”
“You haven’t been feeling well for a few weeks. You usually start feeling better as the day goes on.”
“Have we been to the doctor?”
“Yes.”
“What does he say?”
I take a deep breath. (Her doctor is a she.) “You lost your appetite a few weeks ago and have lost weight, so you are weak. Your memory has gotten worse, too.”
“That’s not good. I’m sorry to get you up.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Let me get your coffee heated up.”
I bring Mom her hot cup of Starbucks Frappuccino and a small glass of tonic water. Then I bring out a mini-cinnamon roll on a saucer. She thanks me profusely.
“What month is it?”
“February.”
“No wonder. Have I been feeling bad for a while?”
“Yes, a few weeks.”
“That’s not right. Does the doctor say anything?”
“Just that we need to encourage you to eat.”
“I’m not even interested in my roll. But this coffee is like manna.”
I turn back to the kitchen to start my brewed coffee and make my morning protein shake.
“Ah. This coffee is like manna. I’m sorry to get you up.”
After getting my brew started and protein shake made, I sit at the kitchen table to drink the shake and take my morning medications.
“I hate waking up feeling so awful. This isn’t right. I never used to feel so awful when I got up.”
I am tempted to say that I have felt awful many mornings for over a decade and that she is lucky to have been so healthy for over 80 years, but I manage to say something nicer instead: “It must not be any fun.”
“This coffee is wonderful.”
“Do you need more? Let me get you a refill.” I pour the other half bottle of the Starbucks into her cup and place it in the microwave. Ah. My coffee is ready, so I pour myself a steamy cup of Millstone Pumpkin Spice with a little Silk French Vanilla Creamer.
I deliver her cup and ask if she would like to have her music on.
“That was the farthest thing from my mind, but it sounds perfectly delightful,” she says.
I turn on the TV to one of the classical music stations.
“Mom, I’m going to take my coffee back to my room to wake up at my computer.”
“Different strokes for different folks!” she says cheerily. “This coffee is wonderful.”
8:25 a.m.
I’ve been at my computer since 7:50 a.m. attempting to recreate the first hour of our day, though I’m quite sure I’ve missed several exchanges concerning morning malaise, doctor, and coffee. It’s time to go refill my coffee and reheat hers.
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