A Woman Named Mickey

I have two great fears. My primary fear is never to be mentioned. Superstition or not, I will never utter that fear.

My second fear, is the terrible process of aging. I don't mean my vanity of wrinkles. I've had those since the ripe old age of fifteen.
What I am talking about is the loss of function in body or mind.

I have access to many places, some cool as hell and some just hell. I have a few homes for the aged or disabled and some with the combination of the two.

Money makes a difference.

I was at a moderate income aging facility. The patients had a variety of ailments. Some slept in easy chairs, some stared at the television. Some wander the halls asking where the elevator is or where someone they used to know has gone.

All this crushes my heart. Sitting here typing, my eyes are welling up.

I don't want this to be me. I don't want someone to be changing my diaper. Or being bedridden, so when I soil myself, I have to be rolled over and someone must clean me. At what age do you lose dignity? I am a modest person, just the thought of this makes me cringe.

What happens if my mind goes and my body stays? What if I no longer recognize those I love? What if I travel between two realities, the present and the past? I don't want this.

While I was at this facility, I sat in the reception area to do my paperwork. A handsome, older woman approached me. I don't recall the full conversation, but she sat next to me and we had a fine conversation. I liked her immediately. Her name is Mickey, she told me, like the mouse. I laughed and said like Mickey Mantle, as part of our conversation revolved around baseball.

In 1994, DiMaggio’s Yankees teammate (for one season – 1951), Mickey Mantle, also came to meet the other “MM.”

When I left I made a mental note to look her up the next time I came around.

When I went back, I asked for Mickey and they directed me to here room. She wasn't there and I was genuinely disappointed.
When I mentioned that I had just missed her to the receptionist, here came Mickey around the corner. I did not expect her to remember me, as over a month had passed. But I greeted her by name.

She asked who I was and I explained that I had met her the previous month and had enjoyed our conversation and wanted to make sure that I said hello to her. She was so pleased.

Then the nature of her disease appeared. She asked the receptionist who I was. The receptionist explained and then her agitation of not being able to remember me set in. There is more to the story but this is enough to tell.

Mickey made me think. She obviously was a great lady to know. Where is her family? Are they local?
It's really none of my business.

I will meet Mickey again.

Next time, I will act as if it is the first time we have met.

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