Rose's Room

“I can't sleep,” the frail old woman whispered to the figure on the hospital bed.

When she got no response, the woman stood up as tall as she could with her hands still on the walker in front of her as if gathering strength or pride or both.

“Excuse me, mister. I said I can't sleep because you're in my bed. You're in my room. This is my room,” she tried again in a louder, more forceful voice that caused Mr. Putnam’s eyes to jolt open immediately.

Joe Putnam was instantly alert, yet calm, in the way that only those accustomed to life and death situations can be. He had always disliked being abruptly pulled from sleep even though, or due to the fact, he had spent his career as a police detective regularly woken by the phone during the night. Those days were far in the past, however, Joe remained Joe even if he was in this stinking nursing home instead of his king size bed with his beloved Ellen.

Joe's realization that a woman's voice that was not Ellen’s had woken him had taken place in a split second.

Joe and Ellen Putnam had spent fifty-nine mostly good years side by side in their marriage bed. He knew the woman who had startled him awake was not Ellen, mainly because Ellen had died a couple years back. Also, this voice sounded anxious and timid, two things Ellen had certainly not been.

Joe wanted to sit up quickly and turn toward the woman, but his eighty-six-year-old body rolled over slowly, creaking like an old staircase.

Thanks to his good insurance, law-enforcement pension, and some savvy investing decisions, Joe’s room in Sliver Fox Nursing Home was private. Not private as in nurses, doctor’s, visitors, and stray patients not entering at all goddamned hours of the day or night private, but private as in no roommate. Joe had fought moving out of his home for two years after Ellen passed, but a few recent falls and subsequent injuries had allowed his daughter to finally talk him into the nursing home. The promise of a private room was the final detail that caused Joe to acquiesce. The other was that his daughter, Stephanie, would finally shut up about it. He didn’t tell her that, of course.

Joe leaned up on his shoulder and observed the woman next to his bed. Fear clanged in the elderly man’s chest and reverberated throughout his body like a single cymbal note decaying naturally. She had an uncanny appearance, as if she were a reflection off the blade of moonlight slicing through the open window.

Joe put his thick glasses on with a shaky hand. What’s wrong with me? he thought. Fear was not a feeling he was familiar with, especially in regard to an old lady! He took in a long breath, sat up, and exhaled.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. What is it you need?”  He managed to pull himself together enough to realize he was speaking to a small woman in a fluffy bathrobe who was hunching over a metal walker with tennis balls on its feet.

“I need you to please get out of my bed, so I can go to sleep. I’m very tired and would like to have my room back to myself. This is a private room, you know?” She said in a more pleasant voice than before.

Joe softened his expression and nodded his head slowly as he had done thousands of times to put people at ease as he quickly assessed the situation and chose his next words. He figured the woman was confused and likely wandered out of her room, not recalling the way back.  

His heart tightened as images of Ellen in her last months crept into his mind despite his efforts to push them back. Ellen had been intelligent, articulate, and logical, so when she began repeating stories as if sharing for the first time, getting turned around on her way to the market, and becoming argumentative, Joe knew. Her mental decline had been quick and merciless. With the help of his daughter and the in-home caregiver, Joe had tried his best to act like everything was fine. He had been agonizing over whether to put her in a home or not when she suffered a fatal stroke in her sleep. He was spared the decision, but Joe’s foundation crumbled that night in a way that could not be rebuilt.

“What’s your name, Miss?” Joe asked in a soothing voice.

“Rose. Rose Crawford,” she offered, visibly relaxing with a sigh.

“That’s a beautiful name. I am going to call a nurse to help you back to your room. Is that okay with you, Rose?”

“I am in my room! You need to go back to yours!” Rose was clearly upset again.

Since Joe had moved to Silver Fox a week ago, he had not had one good night’s sleep. Exhaustion and patience began fighting in his mind, and he wanted Rose gone before exhaustion won. He suddenly noticed with frustration his full bladder was the actual winner at the moment. Joe explained to Rose she would have to excuse him while he used the restroom and then, since he would be up, he would go out to the nurse’s station to get her help.

While in the restroom, Joe cursed his weak bladder, then thought of Rose and Ellen and decided he needed to be more grateful. His body was betraying him in small ways, but he still had all his marbles. By the end, Ellen’s mind had finally wandered so far off the path that she wasn’t Ellen anymore. It seemed like Rose may be walking along the same path, and Joe knew he shouldn’t be annoyed. His acceptance and kind aspirations were tested as soon as he emerged from the restroom and saw Rose lying on his bed. He bit his tongue and made his way to the nurses on night duty who were seated behind a crescent-shaped desk down the hall from his room.

“What can we do for you, Mr. Putnam?” a bored-looking nurse asked.

Joe explained the situation clearly and succinctly. He hadn’t been there long enough for any of the staff to know his personality. The night nurses were used to this type of request and normally would have reluctantly checked it out at their leisure. Despite his octogenarian status, Joe was a natural charmer and people, especially ladies, responded to his charisma. Nurse Althea followed Joe back to his room, giggling at something he was saying.

As they arrived in the doorway, Joe was about to call out to Rose when he noticed the room was empty. 

“I’m sorry, Althea,” Joe said, reading her nametag. “She was just here insisting that I was in her room. I guess she decided to keep looking for the correct room.”

“No worries, Mr. Putnam. Patients wander around, unfortunately sometimes at night. Let us know if she enters your room again,” Nurse Althea smiled and turned to go.

“I hope Rose found her way back,” Joe thought out loud.

Nurse Althea stopped mid-step and slowly turned to face Joe.

“Rose?” she asked.

“Yes, Rose Crawford.” Joe was very good with names. “Do you know where her room is?”

“This was her room until a couple weeks ago,” Nurse Althea whispered.

“Huh, no wonder she’s confused. Where’d she move to?”

Nurse Althea’s throat was dry, and her face had gone pale. “You don’t understand, Mr. Putnam. Rose Crawford died two weeks ago.”