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Red Strings

Just recently I made a late night trip to the nursing home over twenty miles away. An anxious voice came through the phone line breathlessly saying "She is unresponsive. Should I call the ambulance? What do you want me to do?" the nurse conveyed the message quickly.
My aunt lives there. She rolls up and down the hall raising her arms into the air gathering red strings that drop from the ceiling. She had no children so she picked me of all her nieces to do the job. I don't usually win drawings with the exception of a small thanksgiving turkey once and then luck would have it this job.

Low blood pressure was what sent her to the hospital by ambulance the last time. She had an episode prompting me to gather the troops which included my mother, my sister and her husband, thinking this was the end. We attended to her needs; standing beside her bed under the bright lights of the ER while people scurried around taking turns running their tests. She became more alert as the minutes ticked by and appeared thankful, even appreciative of our presence. Each time we stepped away from her side and then returned she would welcome us anew as if we had just arrived. After hours of waiting they failed to find the cause of the symptoms.
The doctor's only brief comment aimed towards my mother and then sent in my direction left me a little bewildered,
"You look like you have lost weight." and then glancing my way "and you too." Taking into consideration, I'm not proud to say, I have gained a few pounds. "What was he thinking?"
So with her last trip to the hospital still fresh in my mind, I replied to the nurse, "Don't send her I will come over."
"Lucky me." mockingly crosses my mind. Knowing first hand what a difficult character my Aunt can be.
"In the matter of a few brief moments my writing her checks morphed into making life or death decisions." just one of the many thoughts passing through my mind.
A responsibility her other family members want nothing to do with. So I'm told by her siblings, whom are more than willing to relate their tales of her hard headedness, while sighing with relief as they walk away.
Her stubbornness and independence kept my sister and me trying new and creative maneuvers, subtle yet covertly, always for her own good. We did our best to keep her in her own home. We would leave a glass of water next to her chair to encourage her to drink. We found it empty many times, only to discover she was using it to water her poinsettia.

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