Simple Acts

Despite my father’s courageous efforts to care for my mother at home, he was finally unable to do so and placed her in an Alzheimer’s unit of a nursing village. There, surrounded by the other residents similarly stricken, she passed the last few months of her life in caring surroundings with support from my father and two of my sisters and their families who lived in the area. On one of my visits, I had a chance to be with my mother during lunch, which was served restaurant style with four residents to a nicely set table. One of the women eating with my mother had lost all but her faintest memories and like most of her friends at the home struggled with her speech. She had been served her meal first and her companions’ food seemed to be a long time in coming. Her food was getting cold. After a few minutes, she looked down at her lunch and then catching the eyes of her friends, said, “If I may.” Then, and only then, did she begin eating . This simple act of politeness, summoned from her failing mind, seemed to me an act of fortitude. How easy it would have been to forgo such social niceties under the circumstances. Who, amid the crinkling of waterproof undergarments, the shuffling feet, and the often vacant stares, would have been expected to recall and abide by a rule of etiquette that is, for the most part, now abandoned in general society? She followed the rule because she did not wish to show disrespect to her friends no matter their status or condition, and in doing so bestowed grace to her companions, dignity to herself, and humility to me.