Odd Man Out

Ladies Man greets me with a warm smile. His slim track suit hangs loosely over his bony frame, the pant cuffs barely covering the size 12 Nikes that make him look like a boy trying on his father's shoes. Nurse chastises the nonagenarian for roaming the living room without his walker, but he crinkles his nose and focuses instead on trying to move a dining room chair for another resident. His soft voice crackles when he laughs, which is often. He waves a hand, swollen by arthritis, when someone smiles back. His wireless-frame glasses give his blue eyes an extra glint, especially when they are directed at women. He is a lovely man, except he thinks he is married to my mother.

As the youngest woman residing in the facility, my mother's brown ponytail stands out among the gray and white hair of the other ladies. By default, Ladies Man picks her out as his wife, who also had brown hair. He tries to sit by her at the dining table and on the couch. He wants to hold her hand and kiss her goodnight.

He pulls my mother's arm one way as SweetRoll grabs the other and claims she is her sister. Nurse repeats again that my mother is not SweetRoll's sister and she is married to someone else. Ladies Man asks where his wife is. When Nurse is being honest, she explains that his wife passed away several years ago. Ladies Man lowers his head to hide the tears pooling in the creases of his eyes. He retreats to his room and doesn't come out until the next day. When Nurse is being nice, she tells him that his wife is home safe and his daughter will be by in the morning. With this explanation, he nods then finds a seat or walks away.

His daughter visits often enough that she knows us by name. She is Mother's age and shares an energetic smile every time she stops by. She gives Mother compliments on the shirt she is wearing or the grin she shares. She updates Ladies Man on family activities, laughing and sharing the newest photos of her grandkids. Ladies Man asks about his wife; she pats his hand and gently reminds her father that her mother is gone.

Ladies Man is relentless in his attempts to sit next to my mother at meals. When my father is there, Nurse tells Ladies Man that my mother is married and points to my father. He shakes his head and says, “I don't believe that,” as Nurse escorts him to another table.

His family celebrates his 90+ birthday, and that evening he wants to end the good day with a kiss from his wife. He tries to kiss my mother instead. She does not understand what is happening and pushes him. Ladies Man loses his balance and falls down, while my mother shuffles away, her attention focused on the carpet and wall outlets in the nearby hallway. Nurse picks the elderly man off the floor and helps him to his room as he sobs about his “wife” ignoring him on his birthday.

A few months later, McKenzie and Father enter the facility and find Mother sleeping in the living room. Sitting in the rocking chair next to her is Ladies Man, who is resting his hand on her in a spot that is absolutely unacceptable. My father yells at Ladies Man to get away from his wife and never touch her again. Ladies Man removes his hand, but he is utterly confused as to the meaning of the confrontation. The whole scene keeps my father awake at night for over a week.

My father worries that Mother recognizes Ladies Man more than she recognizes him. This is the topic of countless conversations over the dinner table at home, but my sisters and I reassure Father that Mother smiles at anyone who smiles at her first, and Ladies Man might just remind her of her grandfather.

When I visit, Ladies Man asks if Mother and I are sisters. I correct him by explaining how she's related to me and, beware, she's already married. I point to another table and suggest that he sit over there. He scoots away, leaning on his walker or nearby chairs for balance. Inevitably, he situates himself so he has a direct line-of-sight on my mother. He stares at her, and when she notices him, he smiles and waves. She smiles back and laughs.

Sometimes Ladies Man asks if Mother is my daughter. At first I correct him, but then I get lazy and just shrug, “sure.” I still explain that she is already married, and that her husband will be around soon. He usually replies with a sigh and a smile, noting that she is too young to be married, and that her husband is a lucky guy because, “she is a very special lady.”