"Now That's Good" & "A Smaller Mary"

"Now That's Good" & "A Smaller Mary": November 2009, February 2011; Crossroads Adult Care Home, Tucson, Arizona.

    November, 2009:

    “I could use a High Ball.”
    “Say again?” I ask.
    “A High Ball,” Mary says.
    “So would you like some Scotch?”
    “Yes...I would,” she states slowly but firmly, like she’s making a statement of faith.
    Well, she does look close to death. Whatever you want, Mom. Scotch Whiskey it is.
    The next day, I’m walking through Total Wine looking for the Dewar’s. Been almost 25 years since I bought a fifth of Scotch. Last time I bought a fifth it was ten bucks. Christ, it’s over $30 now! I quickly breeze by the single malt section. I don’t linger. I don’t hang outside of drug dealers homes anymore. Best not dwell in front of the Glenfiddich now.
    Half hour later, I’m with Mary. It’s 6:30. She’s in bed. I show her the Dewar’s and she smiles.
    “I’ll be right back,” I tell her.
    I go in the kitchen and find her Sippy Cup. Pour in three fingers of Dewar’s, a splash of water and a couple cubes. Screw on the top of the Sippy and put in a straw to make it easier.
    “OK, Mom,” I say, sitting on her bed. “I’ll hold the cup and you just sip.”
    I place the straw to her lips. She sucks lightly and the Scotch slowly rises up the straw. Then the Scotch hits her throat and she sucks harder and harder and harder. I watch as the level in the cup goes down, down, down. Finally, she releases the straw and lets it fall from her lips. Mary closes her eyes and let’s out a loud “Ahhhh....” I chuckle.
    She opens her eyes a bit, looks right at me.
    “Now...that’s good.”

    February, 2011:

    Mary’s sleepy today. Ansel, the nurse, says she’s been sleepy all day. I talk about the Gem Show with Mom. She wants to go. I remind her that she’s too sick to go. By the look on her face, she doesn’t like that answer but she accepts it.
    She seems to be getting smaller. Not only in size but in spirit. She’s not giving up the ghost yet, but it might not be that far off. Then again, I was saying that fifteen months ago. She looks likes she’s dying and then she isn’t. Weak as a kitten, then roars like a tiger. It’s a mystery, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mary just wakes up dead one morning, after being fine the day before.
    And she has a new bottle of Scotch in the freezer. Pig Nose Blended Scotch this time. Bought it for her for Christmas. It had a pretty box, and I made dozens of ceramic pig noses in Art School, back in the day. Seems appropriate Mary should drink Pig Nose.
    She and I joke this afternoon, about the time a few weeks ago, when she sent back her Scotch. Ansel had made it one part Scotch to one part water. Very weak.
    “It was awful....just awful” she says.
    “I’ve trained him now on how to make your Scotch, Mom. Three fingers, splash of water, a couple cubes. He knows now.”
    She nods, satisfied with my answer.
    I talk about how it’s been 26 years today since I last drank Scotch. Ten years ago, Mom said being a recovering alcoholic is the bravest thing in the world, that she was proud of me. It’s really not that hard, but I gladly accepted the rare compliment from her.
    “Been a long time since I’ve drank Scotch,” I say.
    Mary scrunches up her face, like she’s winding up to throw a fastball.
    “You used to...drink...like a dog,” she says.
    I burst out laughing.
    “Yea, I did, Mom,” I says, “I drank like a dog.
    I now have this image of me lapping up Scotch from a dog bowl on the floor.  Ain’t that far from the truth, really. Really.
       

Comments

[Elizabeth]

I think it is your writing that is brave. I think your Dad would be really proud of who you are and what you do. I'm so glad to know you.

Now, when will pre-ordering be available? ;-)

[Stu Jenks]

Thanks Elizabeth. Your words touch me. And pre-order will be in a couple weeks. Again, thanks so much for your love and support.