Love You Mrs Moon

Love You – To the Moon and Back Mrs. Doris Moon, who was married to Mr. George Moon for over fifty years, was, at this moment, sitting in the one floor, 60 bed, nursing home. She was in the TV room. I was going to share that despite the large, flat screen TV, the room seemed hardly ubiquitous. One third of the room was the combo office of the activities director and the janitorial staff-including all the necessary supplies for both operations. Mrs. Moon chose to sit in a single sitting chair, which she said was her favorite. When she sat down, she undid her guard belt which is used to prevent falls. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know why I’m here, and what I do next.” She had ivory white hair that matched her skin. She began to wrinkle her face and look scared and lost, starting to panic from the disorientation. “Can I sit down, Mrs. Moon?” I asked. “What? I can’t hear.” she replied. “Mrs. Moon, can I sit down?” pointing to the empty chair that I brought with me from across the room. “I suppose.” she said, barely positive enough to back her up on her permission, thin as it may have been. “I know your daughter, Deloris” I said. She often sat with her mom at the next table in church. “She is a good girl, very smart”. Me: “What does she do?” “Bookkeeper. She had to pick up papers in Georgia and Florida. Do you know my husband, George Moom? He’s asleep upstairs. We’ve been married nearly fifty years. Do you know my son, Dennis? He is fourteen years older than Deloris. I was born October 21, 1923.” I had a plastic ball which we handed back and forth without much interest or fanfare. But she smiled incandescently when I slowly convinced her to listen to some Perry Como music on my iPhone with Pandora. “Do you know my husband, George Moon?” “You’ve told me about him, Mrs. Moon, but I never met him” I replied. “What did he do?” “Mostly be in the woods doing one thing or another. I always cut the lawn. Do you know my daughter, Deloris?” “Yes I do. She comes to church here at the nursing home.” “Yes, we go every Sunday.”
Mrs. Moon would chew on her false teeth and they would half drop out of her mouth. Sort of like the basketball player, Stephen Curry, who chews on his mouthguard at every opportunity. “Do you know my son, Dennis? He is fourteen years older than my daughter.” “No, I don’t. But it’s Doris, Deloris, Dennis, and I’m Dallas.” This made her giggle. “All Ds” she said. “Yes.” I replied. “You know my husband George Moon, don’t you? We’ve been married almost fifty years”. “No, but I bet he was a good man”. “Yes, he was. Is.” When she is sad, Mrs. Moon want stop go home. She doesn’t remember where her room is, bu maybe it’s on the second floor. “Do you know my husband, George Moon?” she asked with her teeth dancing just above her jaw line. “Come play bingo with us, Mrs. Moon” I said. “No, never play”. “Oh, come watch, sit next to me.” Conversations are almost always about George Moon and Deloris and Dennis so folks don’t really get to know her so much. She sat next to me, just watching until she started telling her neighbor whether she had the called number on her card. Ella was using three cards, and I was thunderbolt struck when Mrs. Moon scoped three cards from a sidewards glance in milliseconds after the number was called. I gave her her own card in the final championship cover-all game. She won third prize and the rest of the folks clapped for her first victory. She shined joy. She won a painted pumpkin which she asked me why she had about 2 minutes after it had been presented to her. “You know my husband, George Moon?” “No, Mrs. Moon but I think your daughter got her brains from you.” “I hope so” she said, seemingly to consider the possibility for the first time. “You know my husband, George Moon?” “I believe I do, Mrs. Moon. I believe I do.

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