Camp Day
Good morning. The daughter and granddaughter are in the house. Today is camp check-in day. They’re off to camp Kickapoo in Kerrville. It’s a first for the granddaughter who is following in the steps of her mother. I remember the check-in and check-out days for my daughter. Long drives from Houston, tears from the mother on departure, joy on retrieval. Good memories for all. Horseback riding. Canoeing. Fraternity. They’ll head out later this morning.
At the moment, the granddaughter is watching television. A kids show is playing. It's oddly distracting to have the television on. But there it is. It reminds of the days when her grandmother was alive. The television was always on. First thing. It was my wife’s constant companion. I think the viewing habit started in her youth as an only child of divorced parents with a tv in her room to keep her company. It certainly helped during the end days of her dementia as her language skills disappeared. She’d watch Family Feud while I sat beside her and read. Every once in a while, she’d call my name. Hold out her hand, take mine, and then smile.
These days the television mostly sits silent, especially in the morning and no one calls out my name and offers to hold my hand. I wonder how many times we touched when my wife was alive? We had fifty years and although the last two were spent in memory care, we still held hands, right up until the end. These days touch is largely absent from my life except for hugs from friends and the random rub of a cats back. In Indonesia, you can actually rent a cuddler. Oh well, enough of this digression, because I know my daughter also misses her mother as the giver of camp advice. So, I need to buck up and try to fill the hole as best I can, and now she’s in the kitchen and the day begins.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale