Short Stories : The Last Trip of the Hanseatic (Chapter 2)

Short Stories : The Last Trip of the Hanseatic (Chapter 2)

CHAPTER 2

The first day

I am Elvira Heinemann, daughter of Ms. Scholz.

The wet and cold weather on these cloudy November days is not the only reason that makes me shiver quietly. I was going to hand over my mother like a supplier of his goods, the responsibility for her as her only child, to the professionals of the retirement home. It wasn't easy for me to send my mother to Sankt Angelika. But Hans, my husband was strictly against accepting her from us. “She's already ninety, what do we do when she leaves the pan full of fat on the hob and nods off in the living room while she's alone in the house, just like the other day. By the time the fire brigade arrives, it's burned long ago! ”He had scolded

He is probably more likely to mean the expensive new kitchen than mom, I'm afraid. But he's not entirely wrong. In the past two years, it has reduced enormously. At the age of eighty, she had been fit like a sneaker. Even for her neighbor, she always brought the bread with her from the baker so that he didn't have to go. He was only seventy-five, Herr Krause. But then he got a stroke and after a short while he was dead, Mr. Krause. Then it became clear to Mommy how fast it could go. “I can handle it on my own, I've worked, cooked and cleaned all my life. What am I supposed to do in the home, I just sit there all day long. I can't take it! "

Until then, she had told everyone who she met. But since the neighbor's death, she had changed. And so we drove to Mr. Schaumeier, the head of Sankt Angelika, two months ago. He already knew how to deal with the skepticism of prospective customers. He also gave me tips on how I could still agree with the social welfare office. Otherwise, my entire legacy from dad would be gone in five years. And whether Hans's future pension would be enough for both of us, well, I hardly think.

And now we are in front of the home. My mother looks at me, the look a mixture of helplessness and fear of this big step. The step into a new life, probably the last one she would voluntarily do. The guilty conscience closes my throat. I want to hug her, say, "Come on, mom, we're going back to our house." Instead, I say, "Come on, let's go in"

Today it is somehow different from two months ago when the home manager showed us the model room. The worst thing I can imagine for my mother is this feeling of finality that comes with moving into a retirement home. I give myself a jerk and take it by the hand, lead it over the threshold. Bright warm light welcomes us in the entrance hall. On the side a small reception desk with a young girl behind the counter. She greets us warmly and asks about our wishes. She certainly cannot understand our feeling. She tells me that the head of the home is away from a meeting and therefore cannot welcome us. But Ms. Wimmer, a veteran nurse, she has now taken over the management on the second floor and would come downstairs to take us to the room. I shyly look around the house, two months ago I didn't really look at the entrance area. Spartan, but tastefully decorated. A cozy seating area where three women and two men have made themselves comfortable. Next to it an aquarium with lots of colorful fish and overflowing with green plants. The old gentlemen did not seem to have an eye for it. It was difficult to miss their conversation, especially one of the women is leading the big word.

"An impertinence, the elevator is broken again!" She scolds loudly. "What does the caretaker do all day long?"

"Come on Betty, we still have the little lift over there anyway, it's not that bad!"

The spokeswoman looks at her disapprovingly, she was obviously not used to such a contradiction. The other residents only nod their heads worriedly, probably do not dare to express their own opinion.

"But you get the right impression right away, woman ..., Scholz, I assume?"

the head nurse approached us unnoticed and greeted us. "We call her the home mafia, she whispers to me with a mischievous look towards the sitting area," there are 5 or 6 people, still quite sprightly, who determine what everyone else "wants" here

But we have 123 residents in the house, each of whom has the same right to have their wishes fulfilled! ”She sighs

"But chatted enough," she says with a laugh and shakes my mother's hand.

"Hello Mrs. Scholz, welcome to your new surroundings! I am Ms. Wimmer, most call me Angelica. We are going to the second floor, there is your room.

The elevator doesn’t really want to, so we have to walk all the way back and take the small elevator up. The silence here in the house is somehow depressing, almost like in a hospital, the only thing missing is the smell of disinfectant.

I would prefer that now than the smell that surrounds us after getting out on the second floor. Ms. Wimmer immediately noticed what I was feeling and tried to put me off.

"I don't smell that anymore, you quickly got used to the smell of human excreta. Otherwise you wouldn't be able to work here ”. I admire her a little for this equanimity, I am glad that I still had a good breakfast this morning. Otherwise a lot would come up to me. We are finally in the room. The construction of Mother's closet still worked in time, even her favorite picture hangs on the wall. So at least she doesn't feel that strange in the new environment.

The new admission

I'm Angelika Wimmer, I've been working at Sankt Angelika Heim for fifteen years, and I've been the responsible sister on the second floor for two months. Forty-three men and women are distributed in this living area, mainly in spacious single rooms, only three rooms are occupied by two people. Technically, a lot has improved over the years. For example, five years ago we got electrically adjustable care beds for every resident. In the past, many brought their own bed from home, human understandable. But it was often quite impractical to do daily grooming and "hand over food". We are not allowed to feed, that "violates human dignity", as the home manager has repeatedly said to our conscience. If we did everything that clever people tell us about the various advanced training courses, we would often no longer be able to do our actual work. Every year we only hear "we have to save!", And a vacant position is no longer filled. But the work is not just the same, more and more people with higher levels of care are coming to the home. That brings more money, but also more effort for us.

And today comes another one. A woman Scholz. Not so rare, the name. We already have a Mrs. Scholz on the first floor, who has been with us for years. Hopefully there will be no confusion in the kitchen with the same name. Then they accidentally send the cocoa for the woman Scholz to the second floor. And then we have to listen to the whine.

Elli from the front desk calls me to come down, the guys are there. I'm curious to see what's coming. Not another bitchy woman like Frau Zimmermann the week before last. It can make life hell with its eternal grumbling. "The meat is too hard. The potatoes are so salted, the bread is too dry, I can't eat that. ”

But she has already gained a kilo here in the two weeks. The food can't be that bad. She was never a tender plant anyway. If I help her wash, I don't know how to put her bath towel on. I don't have arms that long for her body size.

There they are, the two of them. I take her up to her room on the second floor. Of course the elevator spins again. Typical, right now. They have to get a nice impression. Now we are in the room. The woman Scholz looks pretty helpless. No wonder, it must be a tough step to go here from his old apartment. Even if everything is nice, some of the furniture came along. Have to give her a little courage tomorrow, the old lady. But now I better leave her alone, that's what she likes best. Hopefully your daughter sees it that way too.

Continue Reading to The Last Trip of the Hanseatic (Chapter 3)