She fell...

...what, I ask...coming out of a deep sleep.


Kaylee, she just fell, Matthew says it again trying to get me to understand.  Before I know it I'm out of bed searching for her, her bedroom, no, the bathroom, no, wait, there she is in the gray light from the nightlight I can see her legs jutting out of the bathtub reminding me of spaghetti noodles too big for the pan.



She's not crying, nor crying out.  My mind is racing.  A hundred different scenarios flashing through my mind before I even ask if she's OK.  Her mumbled reply reassures me only slightly. 


A barely audible, "I don't know what happened."


"It's OK mother, it's OK", I reassure her.  She's OK I think, reassuring myself, she's OK.


"It's just dark in here", I say.  "It's just dark in here mother and you missed the toilet", trying to help her make sense of why she's sitting in the bathtub and trying to tell myself that there is a perfectly logical reason why my mother is sitting in the bathtub at 5:43 in the morning with her pants around her ankles.


Her pajamas and underwear dangle from her feet.  The floor is wet.  She sits there in the bottom of the tub, like a lump of sad.  Her pajamas bottoms are down around her ankles.  Her pajama bottoms are down around her ankles.  The phrase keeps replaying in my mind as I try to think my way through how to get her out of this situation.  The bathtub faucet jutting awkwardly at a 45 degree angle to the wall. 


It dawns on my that I can't do this alone.  I can't do this alone.  I can't do this alone. And I wonder if I just said that out loud or if I'm just saying that in my mind?  I call for Matthew and he is there before I finish saying his name.  He has obviously been right there the whole time, but, giving her privacy, he has stayed out of sight. 


There's no dignity in getting old and dependent I think to myself.


Matthew steps into the tub and we stand her up and ease her down onto the toilet.  Her pad sloshes down into the water as my toes squish on the urine soaked rug.


As I struggle to pull her panties up I think, no, we need clean ones.  Matthew holds onto her as I run to her room and fumble through her dresser looking for clean underwear, a pad and clean pajama bottoms.  Back in the bathroom I wrestle with getting the wet things off and dry clothes back on, her legs and bottom damp from the whole experience.  I see a large scrape across her lower back already turning an angry purple and red. 


Matthew on one side and me on the other, we half walk, half carry her to bed.  I realize the sheets are soaked with urine as well.  Matthew says to get a towel.  I run to her bathroom and back spreading it under her.  Matthew holding her firmly, helping, always helping.  God, I pray in my mind, thank you for Matthew.


I slide the oxygen back on her nose and behind her ears. 


"It's good to be home, " she says.