Sometimes people recognize me when they see me, but often, it happens when they hear me. It’s a pleasant distraction that comes with being on the radio in Chicago for many years. There was little chance that anyone would notice me on New Year’s Day, though.
My family and I were walking in the dark at the Chicago Botanic Garden’s “Lightscape” show. The focus was on the enchanting grounds, lit with an artist’s touch. I was with my wife, Brenda; sons, Grant and Griffin; daughter-in-law Nikki; and 2-year-old granddaughter, Bernadette. At events like these, you see the thing, then turn to see if the kid sees the thing, and if the kid likes the thing, it’s even better than the thing.
Earlier that day, I visited my parents who have recently moved into a senior living center. It’s a very nice place, and they are generally miserable there. It’s brought out the worst in them. We hope in time that will change, but change for them is not easy.
And so these days, my mother is impatient and angry. Her speech is limited. She barks at my dad and complains about the food. She doesn’t walk anymore and needs help with almost everything.
When I arrived that morning, I said, “How’s it going?” My father replied — looking at her — “Not good. And don’t say it’s going to get better.”
Indeed, Dad is more needy than Mom. His vision and hearing are so limited he seldom watches TV. He’s often confused. And everything is either a problem or a crisis. A visit there is an opportunity to resolve issues — fix his water pick, find his wallet, clean the bathroom, tidy up the kitchen, strategize about how to more safely shower, find a hand towel, make some hot tea, run to Walgreens for supplies, conference privately about Mom’s harsh behavior with the staff and apply his eye drops.
Dad is not interested in idle banter or chatting about our families or the news. When I mentioned that I was going to the DePaul game later that afternoon, his faced tightened. “Basketball,” he said. “You and basketball. That’s more important than your family?”
My father is paralyzed with anxiety over my mother’s well-being. “Why don’t you go to the fitness center?” I asked. It’s just down the hall, but he refuses to leave Mom’s side. It’s an allegiance that only frustrates her. Their unhappiness multiplies by more than two as she stews, he complains and she retreats from his agitation, which makes him more anxious still.
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“Why can’t we go home?” she often greets me. There are other residents in their building, but they are more capable and presently unfamiliar. In time, we hope they’ll all connect. “But don’t say it’s going to get better!”
At lunch, my mother ordered coffee, which she’s been asked not to drink. It creates problems. She sipped it carefully — or defiantly? My sister Jeane joined us, and after a while, I got up to leave. My dad said, “Thank you for coming to see us,” and my mother said nothing. I left for the game, then met my family at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
A few minutes in, a woman approached me. “I know who you are, and I don’t want to bother you,” she said. “But I met your mother years ago, and I want you to know what a nice person she was, a mentor to me.”
She told me that as a 19-year-old, she was working for a real estate agency and my mother had just joined the firm as a new agent. It was a job my mother would not hold for long, but she impressed her younger colleague. “She was so friendly and helpful, and I thought, well, if a woman is in this business, then maybe I can be, too.”
She became a Realtor like my mom, but unlike my mom, she made a career out of it. To this day, she’s been thankful for my mother’s tutelage. And then suddenly, I appeared.
The woman moved on, into the dark and splashes of light. My son asked if she knew who I was. Better still, I said, she knew who my mom was. A person I sometimes forget.
John Williams is a talk-show host for WGN Radio 720.
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