She's in the home

My son Drake and his girlfriend Montana are home for the weekend. They're both working at a nursing home and going to college full time. Drake works in the kitchen, and Montana is a nurses aide.

They were telling me about some of the patients on the dementia ward where Montana works. One is very polite. Even though she doesn't know what's going on, she always says something like, "Oh, aren't you sweet for doing that."

Another is paranoid. When Drake brings her a cup of coffee she says, "You put something in that. I know you put something in that. It's poisoned."

"No, it's just coffee," he'll say. "Nothing in this cup but coffee."

"No, you put something in it. It's poison."

"Really, it's just coffee. But I can get you another cup. Shall I get a fresh cup?"

"No, it won't matter if you do. It's all got something in it." She doesn't trust anybody.

I said my daughter Elvira and I have an agreement. She's going to take care of business if I ever get like that. I said, "I don't think you could do it, Drake, but Elvira will be able to. She'll smother me with a pillow or something and nobody will know."

Drake said, "I don't know, Mom. She's got a kid now. I'm not sure she can do it. Teen Elvira could have done it, but maybe not adult Elvira."

"Teen Elvira did try to smother me several times. Nobody would believe me. Besides, just make her change my diaper one time and she'll smother me with the diaper. She won't even bother with a pillow," I insisted.

"No," Drake said. "She won't be able to do it. She'll just get a big box, write 'home' on the side of it, stick you in it, and set you down somewhere. When people ask where you are, she'll say, 'In the home.'"

Shit. I'm afraid he's right. I'm going to live out my life in a big box with "home" written on it, probably in purple glitter paint. There are worse things than having somebody put poison in your coffee.

You know where to find me.