Millie’s Egg
Julie Buffaloe-Yoder
They glued a yellow ribbon
to a plastic pink egg
and hung it on Millie’s door
as a beacon, so she won’t get lost
in long, white mazes of sameness.
.
Still, Millie floats down the halls
in her dirty blue slippers.
She sneaks up behind nurses.
She bothers the visitors.
.
Her hair is long and knotty white.
Her pale fingers peck the hem
of a thin gown, buttoned wrong.
One long, heavy breast hangs out.
.
She is looking for the drawer
where those witches have hidden
her baby boy–among old papers,
behind tubes and wires, maybe
inside the brown bottles of pills.
.
Here, Millie. Let’s go find your room.
See your pink egg? That’s a good girl.
.
She’s not good, damnit.
And she’s not stupid.
She’s not a puppy to be called.
She doesn’t need an egg
to tell her to go to hell.
.
This is not her room.
It is a stranger’s womb, a sallow
sinking of wet concrete walls
where she swims in a thick elixir
of piss stale breath, surfacing
in moments that open, then close.
.
She wants to slap the nurses
and the skinny old man
who rocks back and forth
over the bed, calling her Mama,
pulling stiff sheets to her chin.
.
She wants to grow tall enough
to reach the egg on the door.
.
She will tear it down.
She will crack it open
and find her baby boy inside.
She will wrap him in her
soft red checked shawl.
.
They will sail off the edge
of this flat white world
in a dirty blue slipper,
and that damned pink tomb
will never hold them again.
.
.
I’m reminded of those alarm systems installed on nursing homes to prevent escape; Really truly sad, not at all like the prison where I work. “There are worse places then this,” I’ve been known to tell an inmate. “You could be in a nursing home.”
Hi, JR. So true. The elderly who are there haven’t committed crimes, but they’re imprisoned by failing bodies.
And I don’t mean it as an indictment on anyone who is faced with this decision (though I doubt anybody thinks it is). I feel sorry for the families, too. Rather, it’s an attempt to tell the story from Millie’s perspective.
Thanks for your visit, JR. It’s always so good to see you.
Hi Julie,
I truly love how you give voice to old women and others left behind and forgotten. Through your poems I believe the Millie’s of the world are empowered. It gives me hope that when I become a Millie there will be some in the next generation who can still imagine my voice and bring it forward.
Brig
Hello, Brig. That’s one of the greatest compliments a poet can receive, and I appreciate it very much! I always worry when I write through the eyes of someone else. I want to be honest but at the same time give the person dignity as a human being.
Millie and her egg were very real. I saw her every day while I was at work, but I can only imagine what her life was like…the hurt and frustration, the loss of independence, the anger, the confusion, fear, etc.
Thanks for the good words and encouragement.
My foster mother was in a nursing home for awhile and last week she passed away. My foster sister would call me and talk about the dementia. This was so timely for me. It might not be a jolly subject, but it is honest and reminds us how confusing and irritating life is for those suffering from this affliction as well as how difficult it is for the care givers. I for one am grateful to you for your open writing.
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Technobabe, I am so sorry. I always feel like it sounds insincere when I say “I am so sorry,” but I really am. Yes, the care givers have it extremely rough (and that’s an understatement). So do the rest of the family members. We have no idea until we walk a mile in those shoes. Thank you very much for the good words, and thank you for visiting, even though the subject is tough. It means a lot. -Julie
As usual Julie you communicate your thought perfectly. The old lady works as a receptionist in as assisted living facility. Her stories of the staff and some of the patients are why my Advanced Directive is so specific and clear about my decisions.
Millie is my kinda woman…a true bad ass.
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Hi, WM. I really admire anybody who works in assisted living, hospice, or any of the nursing fields that deal with folks who are going through rough times. Many people don’t even want to talk about it, so the people who do the good work get big applause from me. I also think the good ones are grossly underpaid.
I’m so glad you mentioned the Advanced Directive. It’s very important for all of us (no matter how young or old) to give our families our specific wishes. I’ve been an idiot and don’t have one. I’m going to look that up today and see how to get it done.
Thanks so much, WM. -Julie
Beautiful. So glad to read a new poem from you. One of my secret fears is growing senile and not seeing the poetry in life. Millie still has poetry. I like that. Thank you for this.
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Thank you, Yousei! The loss of my mind is one of my biggest fears, too. I also fear not being able to communicate with others. That would be sheer hell. You are so right. Thanks for those very kind words. -Julie
Julie,
This poem is so powerful. It’s another one that brings tears to my eyes. The telling from Millie’s point of view is completely believable, because it’s a jumble that all makes sense to her. Of course they’ve hidden her baby from her, and she’d like to slap the silly old man who rocks over the bed. There’s anger in her, as there should be.
This poem reminds me of one of the times when my mother-in-law was in the hospital, and the woman in the bed beside her kept “washing the dishes” in the bedpan, humming to herself, all hours day and night, and when she wasn’t doing that, she was moaning. Nursing homes and the loss of the mind are tragic.
All the stanzas are compelling, but my two favorites begin with “She is looking for the drawer where those witches have hidden her baby boy…”, and “This is not her room. It is a stranger’s womb…,” And many favorite lines and sections: how she wants to grow tall enough to reach the egg; and sailing away in a dirty blue slipper, and she doesn’t need an egg to tell her to go to hell.
One of the amazing things about the poem, is that Millie’s world is not “rosy,” as some would like us to believe: “Oh, they’re happy, because they don’t know anything. It’s the family that suffers.” Still, if our parents or loved ones end up in a nursing home, because there are no other options, what else can we tell ourselves?
Like Brigindo says, I’m glad you’ve given Millie a voice.
Hi Julie,
Sorry for the triple entries. I didn’t think the first comment posted, because my machine froze on me, so I was working on revising the second one, when I realized the first one had sent, after all. So, publish whichever of the two you’d like. Thanks for posting your poem. I sincerely appreciate the opportunity for dialogue about them, because your poems are always thought provoking and they catch my emotions. I hope you’re having a good day…
Hi, Annie and thank you so much. It’s probably my fault, because I posted the first one, then I got interrupted before I could return a comment. I see the second one in the dashboard, and it is lovely. I’ll be glad to put it up, too, if you’d like. Feel free to let me know (or not…I’m pretty mellow when it comes to comments).
But I do love your comment above. The lady washing the dishes breaks my heart. That image, in itself, could be a powerful poem. It tells so much about her life. And the humming. Oh. How heartbreaking, especially since it is a real person.
I met another Millie this week, which is why she was on my mind. So I dug this poem out and revised it a bit. I only worked in housekeeping at a nursing home, and I was a kid at the time I knew Millie. It was one of the hardest jobs I’ve ever had. It is also one that I loved the best, because I stayed after work a lot to visit with the people.
The images in the poem come from some of the things she told me. Some of her days were very good. Other times, it was hard to understand what she meant. Sometimes, I could hardly piece it together. That must have been so frustrating for her.
I know very little about dementia, except for what I’ve read and the interactions I’ve had with people who have it. Some of the folks at Millie’s place did seem content. Others either seemed unhappy or it was hard to tell. One lady would throw things and try to strangle the nurses, but she was very kind to me or any other visitor.
Millie actually had a lot of good days for years. By the time she died, though, she was bed bound and didn’t seem to know anyone around her. The nurses told me that anger is part of dementia, which makes sense to me. I would be angry, too.
Many nursing homes are good places full of kind workers. But I really wish I had the money to start one that would feel less like an institution and incorporate things from the peoples’ lives. Like gardens, arts, woodworking, music, etc. for the people who are able to do it. But even a person who can’t do anything can hear music or feel textures, can’t they? I really think they can.
And poetry workshops! I’ve done that before, and what a great experience! The elderly have the best stories to tell. A different atmosphere might also help their families and the pain they have to deal with due to the loss.
But then again, it’s easy for me to dream those kinds of things. I’m just a visitor and not one who is actually doing the work every day. It’s a rough situation for all involved.
I don’t mean to ramble on, but I always do:) Thank you so much for all the kind words, Annie. And thank you for taking the time to do such careful and thoughtful reading. You make my day!
Julie, you went and did it again. Your stories are so compelling. I feel I am in the presence of a master poet. Thanks for sharing this.
Christopher!! It’s awesome to see you. I was thinking about you, because I have been reading at your place. Then I got interrupted, but I will be back. Thank you so much for your very kind words.
Oh, Julie! What a heart-breaking poem. I almost don’t know what to say, because my emotions are so engaged here. As someone who is watching my own mother become childlike, I know that the way we deal with people does change to meet their understanding. This poem reminds me, though, that the dignity of the person must NEVER be taken. That’s a game sometimes – almost a guessing game – to provide the care they need while not impinging on their pride. I am probably rambling. Let me just say that this touches me in ways you can’t even imagine.
Oh, that is so sad. Julie! You are the best. Millie is so real to me; you have this uncanny ability to bring characters to life in so few words.
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Thank you so much, Rachel! It’s always fantastic to see you. I appreciate it very much. -Julie
Hi, Karen. I love how you say the dignity of the person must never be taken. That is so true. It seems simple enough, doesn’t it? But it’s not always simple when, like you say, physical health is involved.
How does someone get a parent to eat (or take medicine or not cross the road in traffic, etc.) without insulting the dignity of the parent? It can be so hard on both sides. No, you’re not rambling at all. What you’re saying is compassionate and wise. Thank you very much.
Julie, this is such a touching poem. My father died of Alzheimer’s in 1995. At the time he was diagnosed, so many people said, “Well, at least it is not cancer. He won’t suffer.” Oh my God, he would have chosen cancer and we would have chosen it for him. What an awful, agonizing horrible death he had. He suffered immeasurably for 6 years. And so did we. All of his dignity was lost unto him, and not regained until he was prone in his casket. Only then did he even look like himself again. Jesus, rest his soul.
Your poem is so tenderly rendered. You paint the indelible picture of a woman who is lost in her own world, her own mind. It is a sad tale, retold all too many times in our world.
Your poem is flawless and absolute!
Kaye, that is awful. I am so sorry. What you and your family experienced was sheer agony. People say all sorts of ridiculous things, and that makes the situation even worse. I guess they mean well, but it’s hurtful to hear. I am truly sorry for all the suffering your father and you and your family had to endure.
I have a friend whose father was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He’s not “elderly,” and I did not know younger people could get it. But there’s a lot I don’t know. I have read that it is on the rise, and I don’t know why. I wish some brilliant person could figure out a cure. Thank you so much, Kaye.
When my mother and her sister could no longer care for my grandmother who suffered from Alzeihemers, they put her in a home. We gave her a little boy doll with red suspenders and pants called Buddy. She carried Buddy around with her all the time, and tho she could no longer talk, she could love. And she loved Buddy. The son she never actually had. (She had four daughters, and as her mind was leaving but she could still talked, she would talk about her sons and how proud she was of them). In the home, Buddy kept going missing, and my mom would have to go and buy a new Buddy. See, all the old ladies thought Buddy was their baby! What is that? In any case, this is SUCH a good poem because Millie’s situation is where so many of us are likely going to end up. It’s painful to think about it. I love the way you just get in there and see this stuff Julie. You have an amazing ability to transport yourself into another person’s soul. I know I’m repeating myself when I say that to you, but you really do have that in a way that leaves me dumbfounded each and every time.
I loved your loving study of Millie. My mother has dementia. You might look at my Thursday post. It requires a lot of prayer and strength to honor and maintain the dignity of a mother who has become a child, and who is sometimes lucid enough to know that she has been robbed of her mind. There is a grief and a loss and a death to mourn even while my mother is living, no longer my mother but now my child. Yet in the deep sadness there is a sweetness of knowing she is somewhere inside and aware that I am taking care of her with love. Thank you for the poem. Chris A
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Hi, Chris. No, I didn’t see your post, but I will definitely go take a look. What you say about a “grief and loss and a death to mourn” is very true. It’s often so rough on the caregivers, isn’t it? What an understatement “rough” is! My own years as a caregiver were mentally and physically exhausting sometimes. It’s a hard road you have to travel, and I hate that it happened to your mother and so many others. But I also agree with you about how somewhere inside, she knows. I really think she does. Thank you so much for the thoughtful words, Chris. -Julie
Cat, what you have just written makes me want to cry. Buddy!! I can just picture it. It is sweet that you all gave her the doll, though. And you are so right. Many of us will end up in that same situation.
I used to take Amber and a bunch of kids I babysat to the nursing home when they were toddlers, and it perked the place up in a big way. Some of the women would probably have loved a Buddy doll.
One nice thing I’ve noticed is that a lot of the homes are now bringing in animals. One place I know of has a cat that curls up in the bed with some of the residents. It’s a very smart cat and seems to know who wants it and who doesn’t. The nurses said that one woman who hadn’t talked or responded to anything in months started rubbing the cat and it would lay beside her and purr. They also have a few dogs. It’s still institutional, but the animals make it more cheerful.
Thank you so much, Cat. Again, I go on too much, but it’s a subject that is important to me for many reasons and people I’ve known, as well as the ones I don’t know. I really appreciate your kind words. It’s always wonderful to see you!
You know, I just thought of something. I don’t mean to go getting all on a high horse. And I know how rough times are financially for a lot of people (myself included).
But a good idea for a gift donation would be an Alzheimer’s organization that helps families and/or does research. Or Hospice. Or…if anybody has any ideas for good organizations, please feel free to note them. I do know that Hospice is awesome and has helped many people I’ve known.
I won’t shake people down for money or anything:) Just an idea.
Julie, this is so affecting.
You have real empathy and such a way with imagery x
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Hi, Michelle and thank you! I have been having so much fun with the lists!! You’re awesome. -J
Please stop by my blog at your earliest convenience. Something special for you there.
Hi, Yousei and thank you. I’ll go over today. Happy Friday!!
This is a heartbreaking poem but sadly it’s true. When I was in varsity my flat was next to an oldage home and waking up and I always felt saddened by the people who lived there because even the place itself left a lot to be desired
Hello, Silindile and thank you very much for your comment. I’ve seen some places that are good, but when I see the ones that are run down and depressing, it makes me so sad (and mad at the ones who run it). The place you describe sounds like one of those. I wonder how people can treat other human beings badly and then sleep at night? It would haunt my conscience. I just couldn’t do it, and believe me, I’m no saint.
But excuse me for going off on a tangent again. The subject tends to get me worked up:) It’s nice to meet you and thanks again for your visit.
Hi Julie,
One of my jobs before I became a librarian, was as a social worker for Community Care for the Elderly. At one time, I was the caseworker for an Adult Day Care program for people with Alzheimer’s Disease or advanced dementia. An adult day care program is a valuable place to donate money and to volunteer. It helps the elderly person have a social outlet and activities geared toward their abilities, and it helps by giving respite to the caregiver taking care of them, either a spouse or an adult child. My mother-in-law went to a similar program for years, designed for frail elderly people with little or no dementia, in need of activities and socialization. The whole focus is to keep people in their own homes as long as possible. Most communities have an Area Agency on Aging that administers the programs, or they can make referrals. I thought I’d mention it, since you suggested people consider making some kind of donation. Of course, donating to nursing homes, in money or time, is also valuable. I feel for everyone who’s commented, who has an elderly parent in need of help, or who has lost a parent under difficult circumstances.
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If you want to publish my second comment, it’s up to you, even though most of it repeats. Since I compliment your writing, and how much I admire it, you might want to let everyone see it!
Superb.
Hi, Jo! I was just thinking about you, and here you are! It’s wild when that happens. Thank you, sis. I hope you’re doing fantastic.
Hi, Annie! That is such an awesome idea! Thank you! Donating to adult care programs is a wonderful way for dollars to help elderly people and their families at the same time! Research is so important, yes. But your idea will help people right now, and I love that. The people you worked with were fortunate to have a compassionate person like you helping them.
In a place where I lived years ago, there was an elder care home that even picked people up. They had a van, and they would also travel out into rural areas. It’s very difficult for people in more remote areas to travel back and forth into town every day, especially when they have to work or don’t have the money for gas. One woman told me that her mother looked forward to it. She couldn’t wait to take the van ride and go visit with her friends and do activities.
Thanks so much for the great idea. I’m going to start looking around and see what I can find in my area now. There are nursing homes, so I’m sure they have day programs, too.
And thank you again for your kind words about the poem. I really appreciate all the time you took:)
With Millie and the painted egg, you sketched a powerful reality in your simple yet so amazingly beautiful way. Am glad i stopped by today.Keep Going Julie.
Julie,
Just popped in to say your comments on my blog have made my writer’s spirit lift. I don’t think I have your email, as your comments come to me from some random place called “noreply”! Otherwise, I would write to you directly to say this more personally. Have a wonderful weekend.
Love, Chris
Thank you, swapna! It’s so good to see you. I hope your Saturday is great. I appreciate your visit and kind words.
Hi, Chris! I’m so excited about your radio broadcast. I will keep checking back to see when it is archived. That’s really awesome. Even if I were on the radio and nobody could see me, I would be terrified.
I can’t believe I missed your beautiful poem about your mother. When I run around, I miss things. So I’m glad you pointed it out. I’m a dunce about putting up links, so I hope this will show up:
http://chrisalba-enchantedoak.blogspot.com/2009/11/saturdays-gratitude-list-im-sober-and-i.html
If it doesn’t, please check out Chris’ Saturday, November 28 post.
Feel free to e-mail me anytime. It’s out on the net already, but I forget to post it here. It’s juliebuff (AT) gmail (DOT) com. I didn’t realize how weird juliebuff sounds until somebody pointed it out. Ha! Ha!
Or if you’d rather post here, that’s fine, too. As you can tell, I do a lot of talking here on occasion…shew. I actually don’t talk this much in real life…ha! I don’t do other venues like Twitter or whatnot, so I enjoy it here.
Thank you for the awesome words, Chris. Have a great weekend!
The words and sentiment of your poem ring sad and true. The dirty blue slippers and knotty white hair, and searching for her baby boy… I can see her in her wrongly buttoned gown lost in the white maze looking for the pink egg that marks her door.
Hello, present and thank you very much. I tried really hard not to make her a stereotype or a caricature, so I appreciate your comment. My original version had bits and pieces of her younger life in it, but the poem became way too long. I decided to use that in a different poem and make this one based solely on her bad days. I hope I can someday do a Millie collection.
Thank you again for your visit. I love seeing new people, too, and you’re always welcome.
This is a very powerful and moving poem, lyrical too.
I volunteered in a care home for a while when I was a student, I took in my guitar and we had singalongs and sometimes we made cakes. The nurses were caring and pleansant but there weren’t enough of them for there to be a really good forward thinking programme of activities. One day everyone was in the lounge, the tv was on with a film about a wonderfully forward thinking care home where the residents were gardening, making things, and it made a real difference to their lives. And there were all our residents dozing in front of the tv with only me and a badly tuned guitar….
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Hi, Juliet. You are a compassionate person, and I know the people at the home were very fortunate to have you there. What you say about the tv makes me want to cry, though. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a nursing home that didn’t have televisions blaring constantly in many of the rooms. Maybe the people need the sound of voices, but it still makes me sad.
What you say about not having the resources or forward thinking programs is also so true. Millie’s pink, plastic egg was actually a leftover from “arts and crafts class.” All they ever did was glue sequins on paper or whatever. At Christmas, they glued sequins on a green piece of paper in the shape of a tree. At Easter, they glued sequins on a pink, plastic egg. Most of the time, the woman who ran arts and crafts would do it for the people so as not to make a mess (the way people often treat children when it comes to art). I don’t mean to be overly critical of the people who ran the program, because again, I’m surely not an expert. I have nothing against sequins. But it seemed as if they could have come up with something different. I love the idea of someone playing a guitar!
Thank you very much, Juliet. It’s always so good to see you. -Julie
Incredible poem, Julie. Just like a gut-punch.
Hi, Ruth. And it’s always so good to see you, sis. Thank you very much! I hope your week is a good one.
god, this was hard to read. but in a need-to way. some things just have to be looked in the eye, and you can look things in the eye in such a way that even the worst things are human and real and….worth it.
one of my top 3 fears in life is to ever have to make a decision for anyone i love to have to go to a nursing home, or to be in a place where someone i love would have to make that decision for me. it’s impossibly difficult, i think, and i just hope i can have a little of the grace and wisdom in this poem if i’m ever faced with it.
Thank you, Joaquin. What you say about the decision is so true. I have had loved ones in certain situations, and the grief and physical demands of caregiving literally age the people who have to make those decisions. It’s such a tough row to hoe.
I love the mixture of fairy tale and gritty reality. I would love to see Miss Millie ride off in that slipper. Another gorgeous, unique poem. I’m in awe of how you recreate these characters, Julie.
Thank you, Christine! Your kind words always brighten my day. Happy New Year!