The night before Election Day my mother got a call from an elderly woman who said she received my mother's literature and wanted to vote for her but didn't think she could make it to the polls. My mom told her that I could give her a ride to and from the polls the next day. She would just need her address. In the process of giving my mom the address the old lady started talking about her daughter and son, and "what was my son's name?" And "oh yes, I used to live right near the senior center." (The senior center was the polling place.) She kept my mom on the phone for more than five minutes. Finally, she hung up and told me I was to pick Mrs. Smith up at 1:15 p.m. the next day. The phone rang again. It was Mrs. Smith again. She wanted to let my mother know that her daughter "should just go straight when she gets here." We didn't really know what that meant, but clearly the old woman was, well, old. My mom looked her up on the voter checklist from two years ago to make sure she was in fact registered in my mother's district. She was.
The next day at 1:00 I left my mom at the polls and took her car to pick up Mrs. Smith who lived in an assisted living facility. I had to stop and ask a woman where I might find apartment 21. Mrs. Smith lives in The Meadows. I found apartment 21 and knocked on the door. No answer. I went back out to the lobby where Mrs. Smith was standing with her walker. She asked if she needed anything and I said, some ID and a coat or sweater. I walked with her back to her apartment, which is really just a room with a twin bed and a bathroom. She looked through her wallet which didn't have any money or credit cards in it. She didn't have a drivers license. She had a Red Cross blood donor card and her Social Security card. I told her the SS card would probably be sufficient.
Mrs. Smith began telling me that her daughter doesn't love her. She started to cry. I didn't know how to react. I said, "I'm sure she loves you." She asked me what my relationship was like with my mother, "Do you like your daughter? I mean, does your daughter like you? No, do you like your mother?" It was clear that she had trouble articulating what she was thinking.
She had me take a seat right outside the bathroom door while she used the bathroom. It took her quite a while just to pee and wash her hands. Getting old must be such a drag. I'm not looking forward to it. As she was putting on her sweater she farted audibly about five times. She looked a little embarrassed then said something about the fatty food they feed them at The Meadows. I just nodded and told her not to worry about it.
I walked her out to the car and helped her in. She took a cane instead of her walker. During the short drive to the senior center she told me again how her daughter didn't like her. Her daughter's husband is an attorney who is trying to sell Mrs. Smith's house and keep all the money. Her daughter "is just waiting for her to die." I just kept driving.
She said hello to my mom on the way inside, and told me that she looked so "early." Young, you mean? Yes, young. I walked her into the polls. She was on the list. Good. She wanted to know if it was bubbles or arrows that she had to fill in on the ballot. I looked at it and told her bubbles. The voter checklist person told me I could go into the booth with her to help her. She wanted me to so we went into the booth. I read her the names of the candidates for U.S. Senate and their parties. She said she liked Bernie (Bernie Sanders). So I filled in the bubble. We went through the whole ballot. Yes, she voted for my mom.
It was quite an experience. My grandfather is in his 80s, but he still has his wits, all of them. It must be so frustrating to know what you want to say but not be able to say the right words. She does manage to get her point across. She's resourceful. She said it was good to get out. She enjoyed my company. She hadn't voted in 10 years.
