Nursing Home Woes Part II

I take care of her because

Her 99 year old body cannot

Take care of itself.

I admire her sweater and she admits

She made it herself, a long time ago.

“I don’t knit much anymore,” she tells me.

I think to myself,

Her arthritic fingers must not be able to grasp the knitting needle well

Any more.

I think to myself,

Her cataracted eyes must not be able to allow her to see all those beautiful color patterns

Any more.

I think to myself,

Her deteriorating brain must not be able to remember how to weave the yarn correctly  

Any more.

But I, in my limited wisdom and infinitely young body,

Am taken aback when she tells me

“I don’t like to start things I know I might not have the time to finish”

Death is a funny thing in a nursing home.

It bumps shoulders with the residents every day

But they do not seem to mind.