Mary's Tender Mercy

Invariably, the question is, "Where is Mary M.?

"What time do you have?," comes the reply.

"Five o'clock."

"Oh, she is likely in Dorothy's room." Mary M. is "family."

I don't honestly remember when we first came to know Mary; I believe she began working at GVM roughly the same time Mom became a full-time resident. As with much of the staff who attended to Mother in those early days, I imagine Mary probably didn't know quite know what to make of our intense group of omnipresent family members.

I can hear Mary wondering aloud, "are they crazy?"

Mary was never supposed to work in a nursing home in the first place; her educational background is in accounting. But her father knew better -- she was meant to spend her days caring for others.

I haven't really put together all the pieces of the puzzle. How is it that she forfeited her love of accountancy in exchange for a career tending to the needs of sick, dying elderly residents at GVM?

Her father's prediction was correct. But could he possibly have known the career path he imagined for Mary would begin with his final days?

Mary has walked in our shoes. She was faced with the myriad tough decisions surrounding the impending death of her father. Nursing home or home care? The choices may seem cut and dry but there are innumerable intangibles that get in the way of an easy decision; it is a struggle between blind love for a loved one and the passions people cling to such as guilt and remorse.

In the end, Mary's family opted to care for him at home. It was a monumental undertaking but one she has never regretted; it was a gift. Her father died as he wished -- in the company of family.

Mary wears many "hats" at GVM. She not only dispenses medication to and cares for residents but also is charged with staffing and general ordinances. It is clearly not an amalgam of assignments best tasked to one person; she does the work of many. There are reasons for this: she is intelligent, dependable, responsible, and devoted. It cannot be easy balancing the varied duties -- and there are times when she must surely doubt her resolve -- but, in the end, she perseveres.

With her collective responsibilities, how is it that she came to be such a fixture in Mother's life? Simply put: She made time for Mom -- with a little nudging.

One of my brothers has come to refer to the private residence wing of GVM as, "Dorothy Scott Manor." He jokingly introduces himself to all unsuspecting incoming staff by first informing them they will have to become certified in order to work with Mom. (There is often an understandable look of bewilderment.) I don't know when or how it happened but Mary seems to have been one of the first staffers to make his cut; I think she was "grandfathered" into certification.

As the clock approaches five, Mary can almost certainly depend on hearing a few gentle (maybe, not so gentle) raps at her locked office door -- and window. (My personal belief is that she often wants nothing more than to escape our reach.) But, we are nothing if not dogged. Surely, she understands -- it isn't for us; rather, Mom has come to depend on her visits.

At the stroke of five, Mary can generally be counted on to arrive -- aided by another member of the staff -- to prepare Mom for the night ahead. It is not always easy. But it can often be entertaining.

The process begins by getting Mom up out of bed, wheeling her a few yards to a private bathroom then changing her into nightclothes. I should hasten to add that Mom has lost the governor over her thoughts with time; she pretty much says whatever comes to her mind. A family member is generally within hearing distance of these bathroom conversations; it almost never fails to make me laugh or smile. On more than one occasion, as Mary worked to get her into a nightgown, Mom has loudly declared, "Hey, I am NOT that kind of girl!" One never knows how she may react.

On these "bad" days Mom remains tight lipped after returning to bed; she can get agitated. Early on, as Mary tried to assuage these concerns, Mom finally responded with a demonstration so as to make her point. She outlined an imaginary box in the air then asked if Mary knew what it was. Mary was baffled. Mom went on to inform her, "this is my private space .... DO NOT ENTER THIS SPACE."

Generally speaking, Mary has a way with Mom. It may very well be they have shared experiences as women; Mom is most certainly outnumbered by the men in her life. It cannot be that simple.

Mary can feed Mother when everyone else has come close to giving up. And Mary can hold conversations with Mother I couldn't begin to initiate. They have an easy connection.

After it seems Mom has fallen to sleep, Mary will often take a seat and talk with whomever remains in the room; we have learned to never confuse the appearance of sleep in Mom with a lack of comprehension on her part. A week or so following a particular conversation between Mary and I regarding a family matter of hers, Mom called Mary over to her bed and proceeded to relay pointed, cogent advice regarding her daughter. Mary took the advice to heart.

I believe -- bad days aside -- Mary has become an important part of Mom's daily routine because they both have come to appreciate the simple joy of these visits; they both gain from the experiences they share. Mary does this on her time -- time she could be spending at home with her own family. Mary would be the first to point out, however, these residents are not simply names and room numbers to her. They have become members of her family as well. 

Mary's father knew his daughter; she is exactly where she needs to be.

The night always ends for the two of them with a private word from Mary whispered into Mom's ear.

At the door, Mary quietly adds, "Goodnight, Mom."