He took a right on the second floor and walked down the long hallway, the clacking of his hard-soled shoes echoing against the walls.
In room after room, the open doors provided the same tableau — men and women propped up in chairs and staring vacantly out windows or lying in beds, staring at the textured ceiling. They exhibited no signs of awareness or emotion.
Nurses passed by, nodding their heads and entering the rooms to care for their patients.
The smell of industrial disinfectant mixed with the odor of the old and the dying, and for the thousandth time he wondered how humanity could accomplish so much, yet still fail their elderly.
Christ, what a depressing place.
The nurses’ station had a high maple top and each end was covered in vases filled with poinsettias. A woman in her fifties dressed in blue scrub bottoms and a yellow flowered shirt glanced up from her computer. “Can I help you?”
Eric forced himself to smile. “I’m here to see Betty Wise.”
The woman smiled back, but there was a hard edge to it. “I’ll need to see your ID.”
“I had to show my ID to get in the building,” Eric pointed out.
“It’s the rule,” the woman said. “I need to see your ID before I can show you to your relative.”
“It’s my mother,” Eric said. “I’m here to see my mother.”
The woman gave him an appraising look. “Most of our intensive care residents get regular visitors, but I don’t remember seeing you before.”
Eric sighed. “My job keeps me from getting back much.”
The woman continued to smile, but her eyes grew even harder. “I hear that a lot.”
He withdrew his wallet and handed the woman his Ohio driver’s license. “You have to go where the jobs are.”
He read the woman’s name badge. Natalie. A quiet, unassuming name.
Well, Natalie, if you knew what I did for a living, you wouldn’t be so quick to judge. You might go screaming the other way.
The woman inspected his license, banged away furiously on the keyboard, then handed him his license. “I see it’s been six months since your last visit,” Natalie said. “I’m sure your mother will be glad to see you.”
Eric blinked. “How long have you been with the facility?” he asked.
“I’ve been here a year,” Natalie said frostily.
“You still believe these people are aware of their surroundings? You think they notice the people around them?”
“I do,” she said. “They may not react to us—”
He snorted. “My mother isn’t in the beginning stage,” he said. “None of the people on this floor are. They’re in the late stages. Everything that makes them who they were is gone.”
The woman folded her hands in front of her. “I can’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
“I’d be insensitive to their pain and suffering,” she finally said. “I have to believe there is something still left of them. It’s… what gets me through the day.”
Her eyes were no longer full of silent judgment, and he realized she was speaking a fundamental truth. It really was the only way she got through her day.
He empathized with her. It was easy to view people as just useless bags of meat, sucking up valuable oxygen and providing nothing in return.
I can relate, Natalie. “It wasn’t an easy decision to put my mom here,” Eric said, “but after my dad died, she just stopped speaking. The doctors said it happens, sometimes.”
Natalie’s face softened. “My aunt was like that. Looking back on it, there were lots of little clues. We covered for her, but after my uncle died, she… changed so rapidly.”
“I understand, Natalie. Really. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see my mother.”
Natalie smiled warmly, and it made her brown eyes sparkle and took ten years off her age. “Of course, Mr. Wise. Let’s see how Betty is doing today.”
She led him down the hallway, stopped at the fourth door from the nurses’ station, and ushered him into the room.
His mother sat in a recliner, staring through a window at the falling snowflakes. He paused to admire the view. The trees nearest the building, mostly oaks and maples, were barren of leaves and their branches were lightly dusted in snow. A handful of towering pines, their thick needles covered in white, stood guard against the shopping mall to the west.
The lawn was covered, but patches of brown grass still peeked through. The weather forecast predicted heavier snow and gusting winds starting late in the evening and continuing into the next day, but he planned on being well on his way back to Area 51 before the worst of the storm hit.
“You really think she sees all that?” he said, nodding at the window. “You think somewhere deep inside, she watches the snow and understands the passing of seasons?”
Natalie took his hand in hers and squeezed gently. “I do.”
He shrugged. “How is she?”
“She never gives me any bother. Isn’t that right, Miss Betty?” She led him to his mother and placed his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Miss Betty? Your son is here to see you. He’s such a handsome boy.”
He appreciated what she was trying to do and how she treated his mother like there was still someone home. “Can I have some time alone with her?”
“Of course,” Natalie said. “Your son is going to stay a spell, Miss Betty.” She nodded at him and left, closing the door softly behind her.
He removed his coat, folded it neatly, then placed it on the bed near her feet and took a seat in the chair next to the bed.
His mother appeared frail. Her long brown hair had been cut short and was now a flat gray. Her eyes, once full of life when she was happy and the color of thunderclouds when she was angry, were dull and empty. The wrinkles around her mouth and eyes had multiplied since his last visit and now seemed so deep that he thought he could wedge a penny between the folds of her skin.
“I know it’s been a while,” he said. “It’s been longer than I planned. I want to get back more, but there’s so much bad stuff going on in the world.”
It was a weak excuse, even to his ears. He had his own Gulfstream and could make the trip from Area 51 whenever he wanted, but there was always a crisis demanding his attention.
“I wish you could hear me. There’s so much I want to ask.” He paused for a moment. “I see why dad wanted me out. The responsibility is too much for any man. I’m doing the best I can. I’m trying to make you proud.”
His mother continued staring out the window. Her eyes were empty, and he realized for the umpteenth time that there was nothing left of Betty Wise.
He wiped his coat — sleeve against the corners of his eyes. “I’m just going to sit for a few minutes.”
There was no reply. There never was. He sat for close to an hour before hauling himself to his feet. “Goodbye, Mom. I promise I’ll be back more often.”
He made his way out the door and down the hallway to the nurses’ station. “Thank you,” he said to Natalie.
Natalie nodded. “You may not be able to visit much, but I think it’s good that you do.”
He grunted. “She doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“Maybe she does,” Natalie said. “Maybe she doesn’t. But, if there’s any of her left inside, then it does her good.”
“And what if there’s nothing left?” he asked.
She smiled and reached over to pat him gently on the back of his hand. “Then it does you good.”
“Thank you, Natalie. I’m glad you’re taking care of her.”
Natalie blushed. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Still,” he said, “I’m glad you care.”
He left Natalie at the nurses’ station and made his way down the hallway and stairs, through the common room, and past the security checkpoint at the front entrance.