Are You My Mother?
By Peggy Phillips
This place is surprisingly noisy. Voices seem to carry loudly down the long hallway. Her room is not too far from the physical therapy area, so there is a lot of activity and conversation outside her door. The door could be closed, but it’s hot today and with the window open in her room it’s the only way to get cross-ventilation. She doesn’t care for the room. The fabric covered lampshade of the the bedside lamp doesn’t match the fabric of the curtains, and the lamp itself is way too tall for anyone to reach the switch while lying in bed. Her spirits have gone up and down over the three days she has been here. Today she’s not interested in much and seems confused and weak and frail. This scares me.