Late-Life Love

Inside the narrow ground-floor bathroom, I maneuver around the walker to position a small end table on which I place a mixing bowl filled with hot soapy water and a washcloth. The soapy water must be replaced by clear water, a clean washcloth, and a bath towel. Shaving cream, a razor, aftershave, a small mirror, and a hand towel come next. Then I move the bowl, washcloths, shaving cream, razor, aftershave, mirror, and towels to the counter by the sink and place deodorant, a glass of water, and a toothbrush with toothpaste on the end table. Then I find clean underpants, shorts, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and another pair of the yellow, nonskid socks from the Bell Trace rehabilitation center.

Don sits naked on the raised toilet, squeezed between a bathtub and a wall, a cabinet just above his head, the end table positioned next to his uncast knee. To help dress him, I crouch on the floor at his feet. In the old days, he did these routines standing in the upstairs bathroom with the door closed while I snoozed.

The walker, jammed sideways through the door, gets Don to the wheelchair I have placed just outside the bathroom; it cannot fit through the door frame. I wheel him to the wingback chair next to a window in the living room—the wall-to-wall carpet slows us down—and then go back to a happy day!”