Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
I am on foreign ground, literally; a nursing home in a moderately small Californian town, inland and between San Francisco and Los Angeles. The staff are friendly and mildly surprised at my presence and the request I have. My husband and I follow a carer down a passageway to a two bed room, all the while my heart thumping in my chest.
The nurse pokes her head into the curtained space. “There’s someone here to see you Mrs. Armstrong”, she says. She steps aside and the curtain is gathered to reveal an elderly woman with white hair swept back and a ‘don’t get too close’ air about her. I come face to face with my mother, sitting up in bed, looking quizzically at this person before her. She looks much older than the last time I saw her: thin (always was), dignified, aloof and a little bit apprehensive, possibly due to the novelty of visitors.
“Do you know who I am?” I hear myself say.
“No”, she returns bluntly.
“I’m your daughter”, I respond hopefully.
“Oh, how interesting” she drawls in her mild American accent.
Where do we go from here after 37 years?