The Stories for Isabelle

By Mou Jing

A well-educated Chinese woman accidentally worked as a respite caregiver for a dying ninety-five-year-old American lady named Isabelle, who was also well-educated in American culture. Together, they make a heartwarming story for the rest of Isabella's short remaining time. These heartfelt stories accompanied Isabelle as she left this world with a smile. Two ordinary women from totally different cultural backgrounds have created a beautiful sunset of an ordinary life. This special home-cooking chicken soup with their unique recipe will warm your heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781642145397

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The Stories for Isabelle

Mou Jing

Copyright © 2018 Mou Jing

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64214-538-0 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64214-539-7 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

After four winter months’ unemployment, I found this small ad in the newspaper to take care of an aged lady twice a week in exchange of room and board. No salary. But it was better than nothing. Therefore, I met Isabelle.

Honestly, she looked pale, weak, and unhealthy. In my heart, I had a slight shock and was a little bit disappointed. Her daughter said she had been in bed almost a year. It seemed an instinct to avoid the dying person. I wasn’t really willing to be involved in the ending of a life. When her daughter, the only child in her life, led me to show her master bedroom, we passed by her bed where she always stayed. Her daughter seemed to have no intention of introducing her mother first, the person whom all the interviewers came for. I naturally stopped to say hi when I saw her on the bed with the primary caregiver sitting beside her. Unexpectedly, the answer back—hi—was clear and strong! At same time, she turned her head to me. Despite all my unpleasant feelings, something really attracted me there: the eyes and the smile.

She had a pair of beautiful blue eyes, clear and bright blue, like a lake in late fall. In her eyes, you couldn’t see any sadness from being longtime bedridden. Only kindness was shining in the moment. She was smiling on her skinny face, which made more wrinkles show. But they didn’t make her look older. On the contrary, she looked younger than her age: ninety-five years old. Actually, on June 18, she would be ninety-six years old. I met her on February 22. I told her daughter her mother looked much younger than her age. The daughter laughed and told me to say that in front of her mother, which would make her feel happy.

I didn’t flatter her. That was my real feeling when I saw the smiling face with such a pair of meaningful eyes. I was deeply touched by them and couldn’t help fixing my sight on her face. Isabelle might be surprised or felt awkward; she stared back at me frankly. About several seconds, I looked away with a smile, and still no any words came from the lips. It seemed we recognized each other so that our first eye contact was bold and speechless.

After that day, during the week that followed, the daughter called me for a reference and said she had another two ladies to interview. As the time closed to the end of the month, I felt hopeless to get the position. Instead of torture by waiting, I decided to move to another city to try my luck.

On the way to check the schedule of the Greyhound bus, I finally got a call from the daughter to inform me that they would offer me the position as a respite to work with the primary caregiver. Later, the primary caregiver told me they had other two ladies coming, but her daughter eventually made up her mind to hire me. She said she liked the way I talked with her mother. I was wondering all the time what I said, and it seemed nothing more than a hi.

On March 1, I moved into the house and entered the last short time of Isabelle’s life. I didn’t expect at the moment she would enter the rest of my life permanently.

Once I was on board, her face had different expressions, not only one with smile.

I started my job by following the primary caregiver to become familiar with Isabelle’s daily routine. She showed a straight face around an unfamiliar person, even the one who was always trying to help her. Before moving to Boise, Idaho, Isabelle used to live in her own house with her beloved husband, Bill, for a long time after their retirement. Bill left first, and she lived there by herself for a while. Her life was used to keeping privacy. She didn’t like to be helped and maybe felt it was intrusion in her point of view.

I also caught the indifference in her face. In her generation, there were few women who got an education in college. As a lawyer’s daughter, she had a college degree and luckily got a job in a service for the government. The luckiest thing was that she kept her job after the marriage and her daughter’s birth until retirement.

Her daughter realized her mother couldn’t live on her own anymore and moved her from Oregon to Idaho to be close her family. She chose to put her mother in an assisted-living facility to give her a social life instead of being alone. Later, it turned out to be in vain. As a rare intellect at her age, Isabelle was obviously different from most of her peers who spent their life as housewives. Nobody knew that she suffered solitude in a crowd. She was always waiting for a visit from her daughter once or twice a week. Her daughter became the only human being she would open her mouth to, even the heart.

The saddest thing was the fear in her face. Unfortunately, I saw it quite often. Back about two years before, Isabelle was sent to hospital by emergency when her daughter was on a trip for vacation. Meanwhile, her caregiver cracked under mental pressure and was forced to be sent another hospital.

Then she was all alone in the hospital. She tried to go to the bathroom or to get up by using her walker. Those normal daily routines, she got used to doing with the help of her caregiver, and she was really annoyed by the medical staff in the hospital. They weren’t caregivers to provide a private service. Their duty was to make sure all the patients in their sections got better and avoid any accidents. They couldn’t allow a ninety-three-year-old lady to walk around by herself.

As a successful professional woman her whole life, Isabelle made up her own mind. She wasn’t used to doing what other people told her. She was kind of headstrong. The medical staff, most of them at her grandchildren’s age, had to be very strict to make her remain in bed and instead put a nappy on her whenever she needed to go to bathroom. As a result, she wasn’t fond of the nappy change from then on.

But she needed to change her nappy twice a day, which was always a hard time for her and for her caregivers. She became very defensive and refused to allow her body to be touched by others. She would yell, scream, and use her hands to stop, even to beat, whoever tried to touch her. That was the moment I saw her with a frightened face.

She had several small strokes. The left side of body was weak. Normally, she turned to the weak side; we had to put some pillows or cushions to support the whole body in good position.

She was at the first stage of dementia. It was hard to know when she was clear or not. When she was in a good mood and had a healthy condition, she was a good talker.

She had been put in a hospice service almost two years then.

Isabelle started her day around eight o’clock. On my first day of duty, I knocked on her door and opened it. She woke up clearly and turned her head to me. Without any expression on the face, she said, Hi, to answer my, Morning, in her very clear and strong voice.

How are you this morning? I was glad to have a conversation with her, hoping to add some expression to her face.

I’m fine, she drawled in an indifferent voice.

We will work together today. I’m new. Can you help me? I tried to break the ice.

Her eyes turned to me and stared for a second. I will. The voice was softer.

We are going to change your underwear, making you feel clean and comfortable. I brought out the subject immediately.

A momentary pause. I’m in, she responded.

As the primary caregiver told me, we never said a nappy; instead, we said an underwear. The curtains and the door were kept closed, and a blanket was supposed to cover her all the time during the change. Everything was ready to keep the lady’s privacy.

I started to do my job, which seemed to touch a siren accidentally.

Isabelle began to yell when I tried to lift the blanket a little bit. What are you doing here? Leave me alone! She widened the eyes.

I’ll help you to get clean, sweetheart. At the same time, I had to continue my job, and both hands were moving fast.

Did you hear me? I don’t need your help. Don’t touch me! Isabelle wanted to show her power in front of a new caregiver. Her voice rose furiously.

We have to do our job as fast as possible. You said you would help me. I need your help, please! I had no intention to stop. On the contrary, I tried to finish early and to shorten her suffering if she didn’t appreciate the cleaning.

Oh! Isabelle was shouting. You hurt me! You want to kill me? Who are you? She was boiling with rage and pointed her finger to me. She saw I was unwilling to stop and started to scream, Where are my parents? Bill, I need you now. Ah! Come save me!

Her face was full of anger and fear. Although her clean underwear had been put on and it was much comfortable for her, unhappiness still stayed on the face for quite a while.

I used to work with several aged ladies. Whatever their situation, none of them had problems with nappy change. Most of them were happy to be clean and cooperated voluntarily. I really felt sorry for Isabelle, who couldn’t enjoy this pleasant time.

Then it was her breakfast time.

She seemed to have no special interest for food. Whenever the tray was brought in, she gave it a look then turned to the windows to see the backyard, or fixed her eyes on the photos that hung around the wall in her room. She could hold the cup to drink and used a fork or a spoon to feed herself. But instead, she concentrated on her inquiry, Sandy and Bob got up already? That was her daughter and son-in-law who lived in their own house a mile away.

I don’t know. How should I know?

She looked at me, disappointed. My mom already passed by? Isabelle asked casually, as if to a person who was around all the time.

Your mother? Jesus!

But she continued, Where is Bill?

In heaven. I didn’t know how to answer.

Why doesn’t anybody have breakfast with me?

All the food was tasteless. She stared at the photos on the wall and, lost in her thought, sometimes fell into sleep. In her room, her parents’ photo hung on the wall, next to her younger brother Paul’s—a handsome young man in military uniform. Paul serviced in the army during WWII and gave his life for the country. Later on, I showed Paul’s and her parents’ photos to Isabelle when I tried to cheer her up, and they never failed their mission. But Isabelle sometimes told me it was Bill in the photo, her beloved late husband. For Isabelle, he still was alive. Whoever it was, she knew they were family, and they always brought her happiness.

She never confused her parents. Every time I showed her the photo, she would tell me who they were without any hesitation.

Her daughter was very thoughtful and bought several books from the series Chicken Soup for the Soul, some puzzle and word-search books. The primary caregiver added to the pile. There were enough stuff to fill her long day. The room was also well equipped. A tape recorder with CD player, surrounded by a bunch of CD-ROMs and cassettes, sat between the door and the bathroom door. A TV set with a DVD player was put on a stand in front of her bed, which was a medical supply from the hospice service with a controller to adjust the different positions.

During the daytime, between her two meals and two underwear changes, we had a lot of time to kill together. We played the music she liked, classic music, to help her relax. She had good taste for music. Sometimes she closed her eyes when the music was playing; I’d think she had fallen into sleep and lower the volume. She would open her eyes immediately with a questioning expression, or suddenly open her eyes and give her comment that it was a real masterpiece.

We did the word-search game together. I just couldn’t believe her age. She could totally concentrate and find the letters of a word quickly. She preferred to find the word all by herself and was satisfied with a smile. If she was instructed or was given a hint, she wouldn’t be happy. She wanted to be the best one.

We watched TV. She could be okay with anything on the screen. Soon I figured out that she enjoyed cartoons.

We played poker. I read the small stories from the books. We talked, and I had to keep talking; otherwise, she would bring out her questions again to annoy and upset herself.

During all the activities, she never lost her attention on the door. Her bedroom door was located beside the hallway of the main entrance. From her door, she could see anyone coming in or going out. In another words, she was always hoping for a visitor.

She did have several regular visitors: a lady from the hospice came to give her a bed bath twice a week. Normally, she worked at the primary caregiver’s duty time, and to respect Isabelle’s privacy, they strictly cleared out the room and didn’t allow an extra person present. Even in my training time with the primary caregiver, I was evacuated out of the room. I heard the bath lady and the primary caregiver gently talking to instruct her and to comfort her. But the overwhelming voice was from Isabelle: her screaming, long, high, and pointed. The bath lady came to give her a bath since she had been put in hospice service almost two years before. She liked the nice bath lady and got along with the primary caregiver. What was wrong with her to scare the familiar people who performed the regular service?

The nurse also came twice a week. Isabelle was delighted when a man came into the house. She complained to me in the very beginning that no man was around the house.

The first nurse I met was Joe, a nice and patient gentleman. Isabelle was happy to see him. The primary caregiver talked with him about Isabelle’s medicine and her condition. During their conversation, Isabelle was quiet and seemed to fall asleep. After Joe left, she burst into tears and said, I’m dying! I’m dying! Nobody realized she was listening and caught the conversation in her ears. From then on, if the nurse tried to give us some medical instructions or we wanted to get information about Isabelle, we would always switch to the living room.

A doctor from the hospice visited twice a month.

The most important visit was the family reunion on Sundays. Her daughter and son-in-law came back from church and visited Isabelle as a routine. There was a lady preacher who brought communion to Isabelle with God’s blessing. She would show up with her healthy and reddish face. The primary caregiver went to the same church with the preacher lady and invited her to come the house every Sunday. They had a nice visit together. Isabelle also greeted her and exchanged a few words with her.

On the first time I attended the family reunion, when the lady became serious and started her ritual, she put the communion to Isabelle’s mouth. Isabelle saw it with indifference and didn’t open her mouth.

Everybody in the room was surprised. The lady pushed the communion to her mouth, at the same time trying to persuade her, but Isabelle kept her own mind and closed her mouth tightly.

I sat on the other side of her bed right beside her and couldn’t help urging her, This is from the God, with his blessing. It will make you be more healthy and younger. I grabbed whatever words slipped from my lips.

For all women, younger is a magic word. Isabelle opened her mouth with hesitation, and the preacher lady got the moment to cram it into her mouth, and Isabelle finally took it in. She didn’t volunteer, which obviously upset everybody.

Isabelle lived in a beautiful house. From outside, her house has nothing striking in the community, just well matched with the neighborhood, with a good, cared small front yard. When I stepped into the house, the first sight was very impressive: the living room was separated with the kitchen area only by a stone counter, and the kitchen was opened to the hall. It turned out to be a big space with a high ceiling since there was no second floor on top. A fake and well-designed fireplace, located right in the same side of the hallway, dominated the living area. There was a supersized clock hanging on top of the fireplace, like a huge face looking down there. A long and luxurious couch in red was situated between two single sofas in the same style and color. They all faced the fireplace. A well-maintained wooden floor in orange yellow was shining under the light from the high-ceiling windows. It did not look like an ordinary family home as it did pretty much a palace! Immediately, I felt that my pair of shoes wasn’t appropriate to step in with. It was supposed to be a pair of high heels, leather and polished to a shine.

Between the hallway and the fireplace, an area was inserted in a small rectangle shape: the coat closet was at the left side, and Isabelle’s bedroom was at the right side. From the door, her bed could be seen directly. This was a three-bedroom house, an extra bedroom upstairs and a snuggle den beside the main entrance.

The house actually was a gift from her daughter. When Isabelle first moved here from Oregon, she was put in an assisted-living home. At that time, Isabelle still could take care of herself. In one of her daughter’s visits, Isabelle asked her to promise not to put her mother in any nursing home. She didn’t want to end her life in some public facility but in a place that belonged to her or her family. The daughter gave her the words, As within my power, I’ll do my best! To keep her words, she bought this house at its foreclosure. She spent a lot of money to restore it with the thought of love to set up the whole house.

A little dining corner sat at the south side of the kitchen area, semienclosed by three big windows that stood on the part of the house extending to the backyard in a half oval shape. One time, I asked her daughter why the dining table and the chairs had high legs. She showed me how the chairs were exactly the length of her mother’s legs, and she could sit down and get up without difficulty. The house was redesigned with Isabelle’s daughter love.

Later, in the time I spent with Isabelle, we became friends. Isabelle asked me more than one time to help her to get out of the house. She said she wanted to go home. I told her that she was at home. She kept her beautiful blue eyes staring at me without a word. I saw doubt and desperation inside. She didn’t believe me.

Not all senior people can spend their last time in their own house. Isabelle was a lucky lady. I said that to her. She responded, Am I?

March 6, 2013

When I knocked on the door to come in, Isabelle already opened her eyes to greet me. I saw serenity in her eyes. How are you this morning, young lady? I asked her.

She was joyful. I’m doing good.

Oh, nice to know. Let’s start a beautiful day by a hug! I stretched out my arms.

She was delighted and hugged me tightly with her long arms.

When I opened the blinds, the sun was shining in. Her room, with five windows, was bright, although two of them still had the blinds on for the sake of privacy during her nappy change.

I began to make everything be ready for the change and was thinking how to tell her that we were going to start her painful moment in order not to ruin her good mood that morning.

Did my mother already pass by? Isabelle suddenly broke my thinking and brought her question out.

Oh, your mother, for God’s sake! What was I going to say? And it seemed there was no time for me to figure it out. She was waiting for the answer right there with a smile on her face and a yearning in her eyes.

Yeah, she did, I responded as fast as I could.

Really? Isabelle lifted her head with a look of pleasant surprise.

Having this joyful face in front of my eyes, it was out of my expectation to get such a big emotional power from this tiny lie. I couldn’t bear any reality that would take this happiness away.

She passed by to see you when you were still sleeping, I continued the lie to keep the pleasant face in front of me.

Why didn’t you wake me up? Isabelle complained immediately.

You want to see her, maybe have some words with her, I said understandingly. But your mom wouldn’t allow me to disturb your dream.

What did she say? Isabelle asked eagerly. Her pair of eyes were deadly fixed on me.

She said, um … I was searching for the words. ‘My little girl is tired. Let her get enough sleep and wake up by herself naturally.’

Oh, my mother is always very thoughtful and takes good care of us. Isabelle couldn’t wait to add her words.

Yes, she does. All the words were spoken in present tense. She asked me to help you. She said her little Isabelle is a neat girl. When she gets up, you should help her to be clean and tidy, to take off her dirty underwear quickly. The mother was really useful at the present time.

Sure, we will, Isabelle replied at once.

The change had been going on during the conversation. Isabelle wasn’t easy to distract. She kept herself alert when I touched the blanket. She held it in her hand, turning a fist tightly. I pretended not to notice what was going on and carried on the conversation, Your mother is an elegant lady. I like her dress.

Isabelle was glad to hear more about the mother. Yes! She couldn’t agree with me more.

And she wants her little Isabelle to be just like herself. You also want to be like her, do you? My hands were busy with the change, and the conversation was following on.

Yes! Isabelle responded with a whole-face smile, but one hand kept holding the blanket.

We have to hurry up to make Isabelle clean and beautiful. I picked up her hand from the blanket casually and put it aside. At the same time, Isabelle still kept her attention on her mother.

What else did she say?

Ah … My brain was spinning fast and trying to get the words to my lips. Your mom brought a cup of coffee and muffins for your breakfast. I was thinking of something else on the menu that morning. She bought fresh strawberries this morning from the farmer’s market.

I like strawberries. My mom knew it. Isabelle was cheerful and seemed not to be able to wait for her breakfast.

Her breakfast was served right away. She took a sip of coffee with satisfaction. Actually, it wasn’t coffee. We always gave her Ensure, the nutritional beverage, in different flavors. She had several bites of a muffin, picked up a strawberry, and put it in her mouth by herself; then she chewed it slowly and kept her eyes on the door. Where is everybody? she wondered out loud.

Everybody? My God, who were they?

My mom can’t have breakfast with me? Isabelle put down her coffee mug.

She already had it. That is why she came to check on you first. She would like to have breakfast with you. When she saw you still slept soundly, then she ate first.

My dad? Isabelle didn’t give up easily.

Oh, he went outside for some errands. I stretched her shirt saver straight on top of the chest.

Bill? Isabelle was very clear to count all her family members.

He has an appointment with the dentist. I pushed her tiny table close to reach her hands.

Sandy and Bob didn’t get up yet? Isabelle was holding there for the questions.

Yeah, you know, they are sort of tired and lazy a little bit. I crammed the spoon inside her palm directly.

Isabelle gave me a direct look. I feel better they have a good sleep. She picked up her coffee again.

After breakfast, Isabelle needed a rest. I put on her favorite classical music to let her take a nap. Her day was always divided by her naps.

It had been a while when Isabelle opened the eyes. She gave out a long breath and made a noise in her mouth. That meant she decided to wake up instead of closing her eyes again to continue the nap.

How are you, sweetie? I greeted her while she laid her first sight on me.

She stretched her arms. I’m fine, she answered calmly along with a yawn.

Did you have a good nap? I flapped her pillow to turn it upside down and let her head rest on the top comfortably.

Yes, I did. A pleasant expression passed her face. So happy to see you here.

I’m happy too for your good rest.

Isabelle expressed her feelings directly and encouraged me to show mine frankly. She made a turn right away. Did my mom already return?

Ah yeah, she dropped this book for you. I picked up one of the Chicken Soup books. She would like you read these good stories.

Why not? She threw a look at the cover of the book.

It was Chicken Soup for the Golden Soul. I opened the book, tried to find a shorter one and to start to read as soon as possible before she posed another question about her mother. I really moved fast and brought the story along quickly. It turned out the reading made her feel sleepy, and she soon fell asleep.

In the afternoon, her daughter came to visit. Isabelle kept her eyes opened wide to follow her daughter’s every movement in the room. Sandra is a good talker and has a voice just like her mother. She brought energy and activity to the house.

Isabelle lay on the bed quietly. Sometimes she closed her eyes and made me think that she fell asleep, but Sandra showed me Isabelle’s toes were moving. Indeed, she’d suddenly open her eyes at Sandra, laughing, or turned out a little smile by her jokes. She rarely talked or asked her the questions that she always posed to me.

After her daughter left, Isabelle inquired immediately with anxiety in her eyes, Will she be back soon?

Why did you not ask her directly? I wondered out loud. She had no any expression on her face, and no more words to speak. Moving the sight aside, she closed her eyes to take another nap.

The nurse Joe came. Isabelle opened her eyes just in time. With a man in the house, it was always a pleasure for her. She was very cooperative to help him to do the routine exams. When Joe started to type his notes into the computer, Isabelle asked him, Do you need something to drink?

That surprised Joe. He looked at her with disbelief in his eyes for a second, No, thank you! Keeping his sight on her, he gave the words warmly, You’re a generous hostess.

Isabelle was delighted to hear that and wanted to show more her generosity. I can go to the kitchen to cook for you, Isabelle said naturally.

Could we believe it? Okay, get up now. Go to the kitchen, I encouraged her jokingly.

She made a big gesture to show her intention, which made Joe and me laugh.

At dinnertime, when I came into the room with the dinner tray, she posed the question right away, Is there anyone in the living room?

No, just you and me in the house now. I had no idea what she was talking about.

An expression of disappointment appeared on her face.

You know, we have a lot of people around, I was just saying for the moment and tried to rescue her from a bad mood.

Where are they? she was wondering.

I looked around the room. Let’s bring them out. I went to turn on the TV. It was a sports channel. A match was going on there. All of a sudden, we were in an auditorium with thousands of spectators, which really cheered her up for the moment and helped her to dine well.

Evening finally came. Isabelle kept watching