The Last May Basket

by Donna Poole

Emma stifled a sigh and tried to stretch a cramp out of her leg. She could take a walk down the hall, but she wanted to be here when Mom woke up.

When did Mom’s skin become so transparent? The blue veins on her hands and eyelids trace a pattern under her pale skin. They match the color of the violets in the basket. Will this be her last May basket?

Emma brushed away a tear and continued her silent conversation with herself.

Get a grip. This is the third time she’s been in the hospital already this year with pneumonia and a UTI, and she always recovers and comes back home. But she looks so tired this time, so frail. It’s a miracle she didn’t break a hip when she fell. It’s getting harder and harder to care for her. I couldn’t do it without Scott. Thank God he loves Mom too. I’m beyond exhausted all the time, but I can’t put Mom in a nursing home; I just can’t. And not only because I promised Dad I wouldn’t. Mom was always there for me, all my life growing up, and there for Scott and me too when we were first married, whenever we needed anything. It’s our turn to repay the love.

Mom had often told her she’d more than repaid the love, and when the time came for final goodbyes, Emma would have no reason for regrets. Mom had often suggested a nursing home. She’d cared for her mother and knew the physical and emotional strain caregiving was costing Emma.

Emma yawned. Time really dragged in a hospital, especially when the patient was asleep. She looked at the May basket and grinned. I should have tossed in a few dandelions just for old times’ sake! She leaned her head back against the recliner she was sitting in, and smiled, remembering.

Making May baskets had been a ritual when Emma was a little girl. She and Mom had walked through the woods gathering wildflowers and putting them into baskets. Mom had added wrapped pieces of homemade candy. And Emma had always insisted on adding dandelions, even though, year after year, they died before the baskets could be delivered. And then Emma had cried. The dandelions and tears had become as much a part of the ritual as the May baskets themselves.

Mom had tried to dissuade her. “Honey, why don’t we leave the dandelions out this year?”

“I want to put them in! The yellow is so pretty!”

“But you know they are going to die. I wish you’d listen to me. Sometimes, Mom knows best.”

“Maybe this year they won’t die.”

But of course, they had. And of course, Emma had cried.

“And don’t say sometimes Mom knows best!” she’d said rubbing away the tears.

Cora woke feeling confused. It took a minute to remember she was in the hospital. She looked over at Emma, sound asleep in the recliner. When had her baby gotten wrinkles and a few gray hairs? And she looked exhausted. No wonder. Ten years of caregiving will do that to anyone. How many times a week did she wake Emma asking for help in the middle of the night? How many times had she fallen lately? Five? Or was it six? And when was the last time Emma and Scott had gone out alone even for an evening?

She caught her breath. Honey, you never should have made her promise to take care of me and not put me in a home. This is too much for her, and she’ll never break her promise to you. You should have known that God can take care of me wherever I am. I’m glad I signed those papers yesterday afternoon when she wasn’t here, but they’ll be coming for me soon. How do I tell her without breaking her heart?

She thought her husband probably didn’t hear her. He’d been in heaven for ten years, but she still kept up the habit of talking to him about everything. She knew someone who did hear her though.

“God, help me leave Emma with a smile,” she prayed.

Emma had left her a little notebook and a pen. She wrote on a piece of paper, “Dear Emma, No dandelions, and no tears. Sometimes Mom really does know best.”

Cora rolled her napkin into a cone. She picked a few violets and put them in the cone along with the note.

The noise of the wheelchair coming into the room woke Emma. She rubbed her eyes. “Mom, you’re awake!”

“I am, and I have a May basket for you!”

Emma took the napkin with the flowers, read the note, and chuckled. “I’ve learned a little over the years, Mom. You’re right. Sometimes you do know best.”

Cora held out her arms to her daughter. “Then help me get dressed, dear. These people have come to take me to the nursing home. I signed the papers yesterday. It’s just a few miles down the road, and you can visit anytime you want day or night, but I’m going to insist you don’t come every day. You and Scott need time to make memories of your own, because someday memories are all you’ll have. So, go out tonight, and have fun.”

“Mom!” Tears poured down Emma’s cheeks.

“Hush, honey. It is for the best. You’ll see. Now let’s get me looking good to go to my new home. You’ll bring me a May basket there next year. This may be the last one I’ll give you, but you’ll keep bringing them to me, won’t you?”

Emma kissed her mom’s cheek. “You know I will.”

Emma watched the staff wheel her mom down the hallway. Her chest felt tight with unshed tears. Cora turned in her chair and waved. “And Emma! No dandelions!”

Emma laughed. “Okay, Mom. No dandelions.”

Emma wondered where Scott might like to go for dinner. It was a strange feeling to be able to choose, but one she thought she might come to enjoy. In time.

The end

***

These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter