A Tireless Optimist
It is so hard to get them form point A to point B.
An appointment with Access Ride
can end up being a three hour excursion.
Getting them to move is hard enough already,
but when you get public transportation involved,
forget it.
It’s almost as if the universe wants them to slow down,
to slip into the cracks of their sofas
and chairs and just go to sleep,
never to be seen again.
“We don’t do that,” says the woman on the phone.
“Yes, I understand,” I say, but “could you make an exception?”
No.
There is no exception.
There is only an endless list of people who seem to want to make my life more difficult
And drive my parents to their graves sooner.
No followed by No followed by No.
I try to be he voice of sanity in all of this,
the one who says, “it can be done.”
Somehow.
But I keep getting kicked in the face,
told there is nothing,
no one,
only red tape and endless hoops for me to jump through.
No supervision for a man with Alzheimer’s
and a woman
with dementia.
They could be dropped off and left to wander,
or left sitting and waiting for a bus that never comes.
Still, I am on the sidelines cheering
with my pom poms,
refusing to walk away.
A tireless optimist
for everyone
but myself.
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