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When your mother looks you in the eye and tells you she has one last wish, you lean in close to make sure you hear every word of it.  Of course she tells you she wants to see her home again.  "Just one more time".

This is what my sister experienced a few weeks ago.  Broken hearted, she decided this wish would come true.

And it did today.

We had all been afraid that taking her home would be too confusing and heartbreaking for her because she would not be able to stay there.  Like Cinderella, she would have to be back at the Manor by midnight.  A resident cannot be gone longer than a day.  That's a hard rule.

The last time my mother walked out her front door, she thought she'd be back in a few hours, not a year and two months later.  This has haunted me since that day.  So today could not come fast enough for me because I wanted her to see it again and know that it was still hers.  That her belongings were there and they were safe and no one had taken her ceramic angels or her photo albums or her pots and pans.  All the pieces of her home were still in place, even after one year and two months.  Even if there would be no red car under the carport or pot of coffee brewing at 6:00 in the morning.   

...

My sister Beth, brother Clint and I planned to arrive at the Nursing Home at 10:00 this morning.  Clint got there first and found her in an awful mood.  Sad, depressed and unable to shake it, even hearing that she was going to Smith Creek for the day didn't clear her fog.  Still, we loaded her up in my sister's car and headed to the big woods.

As we got closer, her brain started to let go of its darkness and sparks of recognition and wonder ignited.  

There were no fireworks as she walked through her door for the first time in 14 months.  She did not fall to her knees, overtaken by emotion and kiss the ages old carpet.  She simply walked in, surveyed her surroundings and asked us who was living there now.

"No one", we told her.  Because no one did.

It was hard to convince her of that, though.  And harder still for her to realize that she was still its owner.  

She sank into her old chair and began to rock.  

Little white lies about why the TV or telephone no longer worked weren't even necessary.  She never reached for the remote or asked us to turn it on.  She didn't look for the handset to put beside her chair in case she got a call.  She simply sat there. 

And listened.

And looked.

And wondered.

And then...

We laughed, we ate lunch, we played the piano, we sang.

 

We were home.

And nobody cried.

Ghosts danced, I suppose, inside the old 32" television and through the disconnected telephone line.  There was life in this house again.  Even if it was only for an afternoon.

Finally, finally, I knew my Mama felt like she needed to.  Like she was home.

When it was time to leave, we shut it down, gathered the few things we brought and told her we had to go.  She stayed in her chair and sadly asked us why we all had to leave at once.

She had no idea she'd be leaving with us.

She didn't resist though.  She put on her shoes and got into my sister's car without a tear.

"Did you lock the door?"

"Yes Ma'am" we all replied..

"Do I have my key?"

"Yes Ma'am", we all lied.

"We'll bring you back here real soon Mama and we'll spend another day just like we did today", one of us assured her.

And that was not a lie.

Because we will.  

Today was more than a wish come true.  

And I pray that "just one more time" won't come any time soon...