My mother has been deteriorating for some time. The falls, the memory lapses. But her recent stay in that rehab centre after breaking her leg, she's no longer able to care for herself. She needs to be told it's supper time. It's time to go to the washroom. Don't use that facecloth to wipe yourself. You need to wash your hands now. You need to use soap.
I'm there almost every day and every night waiting for her to be placed somewhere.
My brother, who cared for her from Saturday afternoon until Sunday afternoon, what a swell guy, insists that she can prepare herself for bed. That she doesn't have to be watched the entire time. So, tonight, I say to her, "it's time to get ready for bed, mum." And then I let her go the washroom by herself.
When I check in on her, to make sure she's using toothpaste, I see her holding the nail scrubber in her mouth, brushing back and forth. The scrubber going in and out, I can see that the bristles are covered in red.
I rush in and grab the nail scrubber out of her hands. The red is creamy and thick, and next to the sink I can see that her lipstick container is open.
I slap her face. "This isn't what you brush your teeth with!"
She looks up at me, her eyes wide, "what did you do that for?"
This time when I slap her, I make sure to tell her not to talk back to me and to brush her teeth properly this time.