The Nap

The Nap

By Anne Basting

I only had an hour between meetings to see Mom.  
I rushed through the entry at the reception desk, a ritual recitation of Mom’s name, my name,  “no symptoms”, grabbing a visitor badge, and thanking the receptionist. 

My pace, I admit, was out of step with the heartbeat of the place. 
I was dragging the rush of the outside world in where it didn’t belong. 

I brought my laptop and planned to show her Will’s senior picture options again. She wouldn’t remember that she helped me narrow the 500 options down to about 40 just a few days before. It would be delightful all over again. 
It was 2:00 - post-lunch and pre-cocktail hour. I wasn’t sure if she would be in the room, but when I turned the corner, there she was. 

She was lying on her bed, hands folded across her chest, breath coming in silently, and out in a soft, elongated imitation of the wind.
Whoooooooooooo.  

My first response was a sad anger. 
It’s 2:00! Where are the staff? Where are the activities? 
The “Before” Sally never would have wasted such prime real estate of a day. 
Memories of a thousand Sally projects rushed to mind. Painting, Spanish and French classes, running, walking, writing letters, reaching out - always reaching out to others.  

My second response, seeing her resting, in the sunlight, quietly breathing 
- was to let all that go. Rousing her out of this deep peacefulness seemed so wrong. 

I knelt by her bed and set a touch on her arm as softly as I could. 
Her eyes popped open - 
“Oh!” she said. A smile grew in slow motion, “Hi honey.”  

I took the recognition as a gift. 

“Hi Mom,” I said. “You look so comfortable. Do you mind if I join you?”  

“Sure!” 

I made my way around the single bed and lay down next to her. I rubbed her arm a little as I sank into the flowered comforter that my thoughtful sister had bought to brighten the room. 

I was weary. And this felt so good. 
I felt the tingles of a nap coming over me like a blanket. 

Then...Mom started to giggle.  

It was gentle at first. But then the sweet rolling giggles grew into powerful puffs of laughter with a high pitch “Ohhhh!” - a brake of sorts - meant to stop the cycle. 

I knew the pattern well. As she laughed, images rushed in - of our house on Hillside Court, the galley kitchen, the wood paneled dining room where we shared meals and stories and where we three kids made sport of trying to get Mom into a laughing fit. When they hit, laughter seemed to take her over completely, so much that it was hard for her to catch her breath. The sounds became unrecognizable as laughter, a series of animal grunts and snorts, punctuated with pleas of “Ohhhh!”  We kids relished the loss of parental decorum.  

Now here we were. Lying side by side, staring up at the soft blue walls, at the photos and artwork that we had carefully put in her sightlines. I had managed to trigger a laughing fit simply by joining her for a nap. 

“Ohhhhh - what will they think if they come in here?” She said in short gasps. “They’ll think we’re nuts!” 

“I’ll just say I was tired,” I offered.  

And we were off again. Rolls of laughter. Ohhhhhs to slow us down. 

We hit a moment of peace, and were quiet and still together again. I felt the nap haze coming back over me.

“I really could use a nap,” I said. 

And off she went again, rolling downhill into laughter. 

“What would Dad think if he came in here?” 
More laughter and a couple of high pitched... Ohhhhh’s!. 

Then someone did come in. The music therapist stood at the door, taking in the sight.
“I just thought I would let you know I’m starting music in a few minutes by the fireplace if you want to join,” she said. 

“Thank you,” I said. “We’re just taking a rest.”  

And a few minutes later, Jesse, the Life Enrichment coordinator on Mom’s floor came in.

“Hi!” Mom said cheerily. “We’re taking naps.” 

In between peels of laughter, Jesse tried to explain that she needed to know if Mom wanted to join the group that was going out for lunch tomorrow. 

“Of course!” Mom said in a near squeal. 

When the swells finally calmed, I slowly sat up, explaining that I needed to get back to work. Mom followed, and slid on her shoes. She had taken to walking me to the elevator of late. 

We walked slowly, steadily, past the group listening to music. Our faces still taught from smiling. 

“How about yellow? What song might be about something yellow?”  The music therapist asked brightly. I tried really, really hard not to laugh. 

I pulled a chair into the group so Mom could join them and gave her a full, slow hug, trying to return her to the regular rhythms of inhale, exhale. 

“Thank you, Mom,” I whispered. 

“Thank you, honey,” she whispered back. 

I slipped away, without making eye contact, as my wise sister taught me to do to ease transitions. 

My day was so much brighter.

Mom and me, laughing and napping.