Effie stopped by today. ‘Hadn’t heard from her in awhile. In the dark hours of the morning, I heard thumping. Usually we ignore it (we’ve childproofed the room), but she kept it up. When that’s the case, I go in and remind her we’re all sleeping and that she needs to quiet down, explain there are not really any ducks that need to be released, and tuck her back in.
But today was different. She was her old self. Now, Effie’s always been a fairly mild person. But she’s just like the rest of us (we all sin). Today, while she had landed on earth, she let me have it. She launched into a string of complaints that—had I not hushed her—would have kept going until lunch time. I had forgotten how screwed up her face used to get; it all came back to me. In spades. I was being read the riot act by a 90-pound weakling.
She complained about the furniture arrangement and the lights-out rule (both for her safety), and that she can’t eat and drink during the night. (Oh: that one’s for my sanity.)
Anyway, I had to be firm (and make a couple of concessions), but finally got her settled down. Funny thing, after I met her series of demands, she fell fast asleep! Either the episode wore her out, or she had been satisfied with the thrill of the chase.
She ended up sleeping late, and finally came to her door and greeted me. Sadly (or happily, depending on your point of view), the Effie Spaceship had taken off again, and the little person had returned that was “looking at all the gardens” invisible to all eyes but hers.
A friend told me about having worked in nursing homes during her college years. Even though there’s the incontinence issue, she would ask to be placed on the dementia floor: they’re happy in the little worlds they live in, and they don’t complain!
Yeah. I totally get that.