Walk with me
Another instalment of #wrealwriting - where we challenge each other to 500 words or a less on a prompt. Read with me? Write with me? Walk with me?
The other day I recorded our walk. Three minutes and 13 seconds. 193 seconds. It’ll likely take you even less time to read this.
By my count the total steps would be 384. Give or take. The number of people who will take a walk with my mom these days is probably less than ten. The number of unpaid people who walk with her is probably less than five. And the number of non-residents and non-paid persons who walk with her is less than two.
She’s not complaining. I’m not complaining. Just stating facts. And figures.
More figures for your consideration, during our short walk: 198,000 photos and videos shared on Instagram, 3 articles added to Wikipedia, 1.5 million comments added to Facebook, 174 airplanes departed around the world, 48.6 million texts sent, 52 meteors entered earth’s atmosphere, 15 books published, 771 babies born. All as we walked to the end of my mom’s world.
More figures: we saw 1 dining room, 1 tv area, 3 “tinker walls’, 1 interactive flower wall, 2 “life stations”, 1 exercise area, 2 patios, 1 interactive solar system display, 1 nursing station, and 2 semi-hidden exits.
We passed half a dozen residents, slightly fewer visitors, and another half dozen staff.
She spoke in Dutch about her recent (alleged) “bus trip” and her worries about money. She proudly introduced me as her daughter to the other residents (in English).
I bumbled and mumbled and fumbled along.
We shuffled along. Three minutes and 13 seconds. From one end of the eighth floor to the other. Twenty-four residents. Five-ish staff.
She used to proudly walk 10,000+ steps a day. She picked up my toddler daughter from her daycare and then eventually her kindergarten and then eventually her bus stop. She walked our dogs. Then a hiking club in Vancouver. And finally, on snowy days, the hallways in Marda Loop.
She never had a good sense of direction, but she managed. Until she didn’t.
Her world shrank. Assisted Living. A four story building with an enclosed courtyard. We activated ‘wander guard’ after one too many excursions to ‘find the cat’. There were the occasional friend visits. There were the walks through the nearby provincial park.
We managed. Until we didn’t.
Her world shrank. Memory Care. Twenty-four units on the eighth floor. The friend visits dried up entirely. Now we occasionally walk the floor. As the weather warms up, we will try the nearby green space. She walks with a walking stick now. Her knees hurt. She manages.
If you ask “what are you going to do now?” She will likely tell you that she intends to walk around and explore a little. She explores her world of 384 steps. When she encounters a resident she is likely to ask whether the person lives there and,if yes, do they need help finding their suite.
That’s my mom. Endlessly walking. With or without you. With or without me.