Out of the window

I usually wake up early.  It’s a long time before someone comes to help me dress but I don’t mind.  I watch the sky and welcome a clean, new dawn.  In the summer I listen to the birds singing and watch the clouds.  As the nights lengthen I follow the moon and stars in their passage across sky.  I wish I could put a name to them but if I call the wrong star Andromeda or Sirius – does it matter? 

Just because I spend so much time staring out of the window they think I don’t know what they are saying.  Words like ‘dementia’ and ‘poor old thing’ float over me.  I know exactly what they mean, there is nothing much wrong with my hearing but, after the stroke my speech has been difficult so I’ve given up trying to express myself.   

I wish there were glass doors or French windows in here.  The windows are too high to see the view.  When I came to this home I tried to explain but no one understood.  I’ve got used to it, now I’m happy to sit, gazing at the sky, watching the clouds and as the sky changes, so do my memories.  Let’s face it, I’ve nothing to look forward to except death and that doesn’t bother me one bit.   

We are all sitting in chairs, round the room and the television has been on since coffee time.  I try and blank it out, I really do.  Very few of us watch these silly day-time chat shows, I think the staff like them.  I’m not even bothered about meals, at my age I can miss a few lunches. 

Sometimes they have to coax me along to the dining room.  Yesterday I got quite annoyed because there was a really beautiful cloud formation.  It looked just like a dog barking and that set me thinking of all the dogs I have known.  They are happy memories although it was horrible when they died.  When I remember my first Jack Russell I had as a teenager it sets me thinking of my best friend Chloe.  She’s a widow now, living down in
Devon and I haven’t seen her for two years.  She cannot come here and I cannot go down there so all I have is a card for Christmas and birthdays.  Has someone told her it’s not worth writing to me?  I wish she would, I’d like to hear from someone with a normal life. 

There are visitors coming in all the time and I can smell the outside on them.  I hope my son or daughter will come and take me out onto the verandah.  I don’t mind if they don’t speak to me, they tend to chat to each other, but at least I can breathe in some fresh air and enjoy the view and the sky. 

I don’t mind seeing the houses all round, it’s nice to watch the children playing and the people getting in and out of cars.  When I’m back inside again I imagine what they are all doing.  When the window’s open I can tell the time of day by the sounds.  In the summer the children come home from school and get their bikes out.  Some have got scooters and I hear them buzzing up and down.  It makes me think how lucky and spoilt they are nowadays, but at least they are playing outside. 

Michael comes in, beaming, with a bunch of flowers.   

‘Let’s go outside Mum,’ he says pushing me to the door.  I turn my face to the sun and think how lucky I am.  Some of the people in here don’t have anyone to visit and take them outside.  Some never feel the warmth on their face or the wind in their hair.   

‘Look, I thought you might fancy an ice cream,’ and he shows me a choc-ice.  I smile my pleasure and nod.  With plentiful tissues he feeds me and afterwards I sigh with pleasure.   

‘I’ll bring another one next time,’ he says as he takes me back in, ‘see you next week.’ 

He pushes me into my usual place and gives me a peck on the cheek. 

‘Bye Mum, oh Sue sends her love.’  

‘Bye,’ I mumble trying to smile. 

I look out, puffy, little white clouds are forming on the horizon and I start to think of other hot days and ice creams and my head drops and I doze. 

When I wake the sky is a dull grey and I’m sorry I missed the clouds coming in.  It’s tea-time but I don’t mind as I shan’t be missing anything outside.  It’s starting to rain and I hope everyone has their washing in.  If it’s cloudy tonight I shall not be able to watch the stars either.  With the moon, they are my friends and I love to see how they change every night.  Soon, I’ll be a speck of dust in the atmosphere, a soul travelling in space and someone else will look through this window, but they won’t see me.