Caring For Eleanor: A Novel

By Sonia Rumzi

Is it true that if we are abused, we turn around and abuse others? Not always. A story of courage, caring and starting over. Courage to face life, caring for others in the process and beginning again when all seems lost.

When Salma is assigned to Eleanor, she did not expect a life coach. Frail and sick Eleanor opens her eyes to truths that seemed to slip out of her own grasp.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heart Press
• Release date: Jul 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9780983197843

Sonia Rumzi

Writer Sonia Rumzi, an English Literature major in college; turned to, Medical Technology, for practical purposes. Originally from Egypt, her knowledge base includes; cooking, knitting, oil painting, photography, travel and movies; and most importantly, raising her daughters. Sonia uses this rich background writing on the human condition.

Book preview

Caring For Eleanor

by

Sonia Rumzi

Sausalito, California

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,

is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 Sonia Rumzi

Published by Heart Press at Smashwords

Cover Art Copyright © 2011 istefano.com

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or

portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information: Heart Press, Rights Department, 1001 Bridgeway, #161, Sausalito, CA 94965

First Edition July 2011

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Heart Press Special Sales at [e-mail]

Design by Stefano

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on request

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011934227

Rumzi, Sonia, 1956-

Caring For Eleanor: A Novel / by Sonia Rumzi

ISBN-13: 978-0-9831978-4-3

ISBN-10: 0-9831978-4-9

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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To my daughters

Never settle for less

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THE WAY IT WAS

Immediate awareness seemed to put to rout, fears assailing inexperienced sensibilities. This new job brought with it insecurities for the diffident soul. Sheltered most of her young life made her strength scattered in fits of agitation and vulnerability.

Yet, a caregiver all her life, protecting her sisters at a tender age then nursing her grandmother when she was sick, this should not present much trouble. Followed then by the final accomplishment, caring for her husband and children. That she knew well, caring for someone else which qualified the uncertain woman.

Qualification required classes followed by an exam which she passed with ease. Coming from a strong background, a cultured father and a mother who stayed home to raise the daughters, education was a mandate in her family so in stride the novice would face success.

Raised in a fractured but well to do family, her formative years shaped the insecure woman she had become, of course. Traits acquired from knowing what it was like to be around trusted people who betrayed with cruelty and harshness. It was not true that all abused people turned around and abused others, that did not hold true in her own life. Knowing the feeling of fear and humiliation, she would not subject others to the same. Finesse dictated raising her daughters with a firm, strict hand yet with loving grace that called for balance.

All signs of her matriarch's character were watched with diligence for destruction. Keeping close account of her inner churnings, the attentive mother prevailed over her demons as she meted out punishment or constructive criticism.

Her weaknesses also helped, a learning disability kept her self-esteem in check. Comprehension was not attainable in a classroom setting but hard work and staying a steady and true course saved the ailing mind every time. Hobbling through grade school, trudging through junior high, she ran with mediocrity through high school.

School, the hated experience with nothing satisfying about it, was a series of mishaps and misfortunes, all rolled into a miserable fourteen years ending with a mediocre thud.

Teachers and educators disliked her even more than she hated their institution. Responsible for lowering the grade point average of the school, her frustrated Principal hammered it to her thwarted father, on countless occasions.

Take her out of my school, said the Principal with slow and deliberate insult within Salma's hearing. She brings my numbers down. You are paying too much for her education here and she is not gaining anything. Put her in a public school. Why my school?

Her father who had his daughters late in life, placated and demurred trying with his usual kind grace to defend his daughter. She is a well behaved child, he would say in his quiet, reasonable voice. You cannot tell me that you have a kinder child than Salma. She is polite and she tries.

When the Principal went on the expected tirade, her poor father sat nodding, accepting the abuse in order to ensure what he believed a good education for his daughter. A responsible executive of a large company, the powerful kind man tolerated this assault.

Tries my nerves, more like it, she started, I am sure the budget for her new shoes every few month is exhaustive, the irate woman continued. The soles on them must be worn out all the time because, and at this, she would stand up, place her fists on the desk and lean towards him with raised voice, she gets sent to my office, more than she attends her desk in class.

Downcast, her good father walked out of the office, while Salma returned to her classroom where the cycle began again.

Her Principal was not an evil woman, just frustrated with Salma's learning inability. A disgrace to her family, to her teachers and to herself, the teen never gained acceptance. Upper, middle class was not an exemption from the harshness of life, the pitfalls of abuse nor the tightness of money.

Contradictions abound in that structure. Just enough to pay the enormous school fees but none for supplies, then cost prohibitive country clubs would follow. In early awareness, the child recognized that some necessaries of life were more important than others and dissatisfaction was the direct result of a chosen life which created unrealistic needs and greed.

An impression of a perfect complete family which amounted to nothing of the sort, a manic depressive mother, colored their existence in personal and general life matters. The woman's cruel contention was never limited to just her immediate family either, her viciousness spread out over surrounding others, honing Salma's consciousness to even more trimming and developing of her kind character.

As the oldest, Salma received the brunt of the abuse, but everyone was fair game, including her father. Ironic! A CEO commanding an entire company with a fleet of workers lost control of his own household. On weekends, he left for work absenting himself more hours than necessary seeking peace and quiet. As a consequence of his actions, Salma and her sisters were left to the erratic behaviour of his wife.

Wash day Sunday was forever a nightmare! The girls woke up by 9:00 a.m. and Salma being the oldest, with stealth would re-con spying on the mood their mother was exhibiting for the day. Opening the door to their bedroom with careful quiet, the child looked outside for signs. Mom smiled or frowned, setting the mood for the day.

Some days the blinds were down. The curtains drawn would not bode well for the whole. It could mean she was drinking, in a foul mood and someone was bound for punishment.

On one such day, her sister Eileen at eight years of age received the brunt of the ire. For some unknown affront their mother was angry going after the child. Running into the dining room and away from the roiling mother who followed raging with a yard stick, the small daughter stood in a defensive stance across the room. Eileen was on one end of the table and their mother on the other side.

Salma hold her for me!

Salma stood there transfixed.

I said hold her! screeched the woman.

Eyes wild, the child looked hunted. Salma was miserable avoiding involvement, refusing to trap her sister for assault. All she craved was disappearance and dematerialization. Her mother's screeching jarred her out of her aspirations, then stepping to her sister, held the innocent in place, making a traitor and a turn coat of herself.

Their menacing parent came closer, grabbing Eileen then throwing her to the floor. Being small for her age, Eileen was not strong like Salma who felt ashamed. The wood of the yard stick came down with repeated force on the frail body when Judas Iscariot stepped forward taking it away. Her mother's angry eyes glared making her step back. In moments like these it seemed as if the incensed woman left her body, an empty shell while someone else arrived to haunt. Vacuous evil eyes, they glared malevolent and wicked.

Picking Eileen up off the floor by the skin of her backside and shaking her, the wild woman then threw her back down. Flinging herself on her sister, fending off the next assault, Salma gave the abused child the opportunity to run out from under it all. Eileen trying to rush to their bedroom, ended up cornered in the balcony. The intimidating woman, walked in advancing towards her younger daughter then grabbing her by the hair, pushed half the child's body out the window sill. The terrified child grabbed the first thing within her reach, her mother's long flowing hair.

Let go, said the crazed woman.

Let me up, said the desperate child.

In this stand off, the insulted woman let the frightened child up; and as Eileen straightened, the unreasonable woman slapped her with ferocious anger. A heart beat later, Eileen slapped their mother back without remorse or hesitation. Both stood there locking gazes. In due course, the humiliated woman turned on her heels, leaving the room and slamming the door behind her.

I am so sorry, said Salma, coming closer to her younger sister. I should never have held you for her.

With a victorious smirk, Eileen looked up at her sister with large exulted eyes, It is over, said the eight year old with triumph.

That brought Eileen's beatings to an end where the mortified woman never laid another hand on her younger daughter. Her oldest on the other hand was another matter.

Shaking herself from her pondering while grabbing the steering wheel of her new car, Salma looked ahead. That was such a long time ago but always seemed so real and present to her overactive mind. The new car smelled good. They just bought this Pontiac which she enjoyed. An argument ensued the night before with her husband, regarding the use of the new vehicle to work where he insisted she should use the older, beat up grungy piece of junk, that was 15 years old and did not run well.

At the end of the street, the intrepid driver looked both ways then proceeded, armed with written directions on a piece of paper, to the great highway towards the house of her first client.

MEETING HER CLIENT

The home was ramshackle.

'This is ugly,' she thought.

The new aide parked her car in the designated spot, 'Maybe it was the assigned spot. There was no way to know,' keeping a running conversation in her head. Holding her keys to her chest while leaning against the car for a few seconds, the new employee, felt like a frightened rabbit in bolting readiness. What did she get herself into? Then screwing up her courage, attempted the walk up to the door. Dodging boxes, garbage and litter everywhere on the small brown lawn, she reached the stoop. It was not a trailer but no bigger either and much shabbier.

At the door, the disparaging woman rang the bell but hearing no voice nor bell, she knocked. God forbid anyone accuse the anal retentive of tardiness.

Come in, she heard the loud order.

Upon entering a dank, malodorous room, the smell of dirty carpet hit her nostrils.

In here, said a gentler voice.

From wherever the sounds came she followed till she arrived at a kitchen, off the dark living room. This was not much better but not as dreary.

The young visiting nurse introduced herself, then introduced Salma to her first client. Eleanor, said the kind nurse, touching the old woman's sleeve, this is Salma. She is your new Home Health Aide.

Great, said Eleanor, another prize I'm sure.

Good morning Ma'am, said Salma, tentative and wary.

Well, at least she's polite, quipped the old woman. Come closer.

Salma walked over leaning over the old woman.

Eleanor sniffed the air. Good, no annoying smells from nasty colognes. I'm allergic.

Salma nodded. Whereas the nurse shook her head motioning Salma to speak not gesture. Salma nodded again and the other smiling shook her head. 'These aides are not the brightest women in the world,' she thought to herself, motioning again for Salma to say something.

Yes, yes, blurted out, Salma. I do not use cologne.

An' what kinnaav a name's S... what's that again? Can ya cook?

Now, now Eleanor! Salma is here to make you something light and simple. She is here to give you a bath and make sure you are comfortable.

Yes, said Salma, I can cook and my name comes from peace.

Indicating to Salma to follow her to the kitchen, leaving Eleanor seated in her armchair by the large kitchen bow window, the two women walked to a small rickety table.

All kinds of birds on the window ledge, yellow finches, house finches with red beaks, starlings and even a few humming birds. Amazing colors enthralling Salma.

Wow, these birds are beautiful, she said with sincere appreciation.

Yes, said Eleanor with pointed sharpness, they sound great.

Salma turned six shades of red and stopped talking. Looking down at the paperwork the nurse produced out of her briefcase, the discomfited woman paid close attention.

Here is the care plan, said the exasperated nurse. Eleanor gets herself up in the morning. You will find her by the window by 8:00 a.m. You should arrive around that time and get her breakfast going. Whatever she wants to eat is fine.

Rummaging through the paperwork, she pulled out the list of medications, She gets her medications around 10:00 a.m. They're in the daily boxes set up there on the counter, pointing at the long, flip top with daily individual doses. I'll be here once a week to replenish this box and to check up on Eleanor, she continued, looking up with doubts now, at the new worker. If you need anything just call the office and let them know. If you have any questions, it's better to ask than to do something that will hurt your client. They will get ahold of me.

Salma bobbed her head which made the nurse sigh, Try to be more verbal with Eleanor, she said, irked. She is blind...

What're you two whispering about? asked the old lady.

Just work Eleanor. I am making sure, Salma here knows what you need for this week until I see you again.

I am finding out what I need to do for you..., started Salma, louder than she intended.

I'm not deaf, said Eleanor interrupting her. I'm blind.

I am sorry, said the pathetic woman.

No need to be a hang dog, retorted Eleanor.

Yes, I am sorry...

Okay, said the nurse, I will leave you two to it. Get acquainted as it were.

Walking up to Eleanor and leaning down over her, she whispered in her ear, Be nice Eleanor. She's new and she's a little nervous.

Yeah, aren't we all! scoffed the invalid.

Then louder, the nurse said, Okay, see you two next week.

When the front door closed behind the visiting nurse, the inexperienced aide looked a little forlorn then dragging her feet to the chair by the window, she stood for a few seconds.

Would you like some breakfast Ms. Marks?

Call me Eleanor. And no not yet! Come here. Sit down.

Salma sat in the chair opposite the old woman who peered into her face without seeing. Salma held her position.

You're not so stupid. Are you? asked the blind woman with sarcasm.

I do not think so, she whispered. I am not the smartest thing on earth but I am a hard worker.

How ol' are ya?

I am 30.

Married, stated the older woman.

Yes Ma'am.

Children?

Salma smiled. Two daughters. Tracy and Lil. 8 and 7.

That made ya smile.

The lady reached for the coffee mug at the same time as the aide tried helping her find it, which resulted in bumping hands, spilling the coffee.

I am sorry, said Salma. I thought you might want me to find it for you. But you do this all the time, I know. I realize..., she stopped as she ran off and back again with a rag, wiping the table.

You're doing fine so far, said the woman, reassuring the anxious one.

They were silent for a few moments; and then, You know, I'm dying, stated Eleanor.

Yes I know. I am sorry.

No need to be sorry. You're here. I like company. I'm 89 years old. I've lived a long time, a long full life.

I am so glad... started Salma, then stopped.

Glad what? That the old woman was dying? That she had cancer? That she lived in a hovel? What?

Where d'ya live?

Opal Hills, said Salma, regretting the revelation.

Nice, said the old woman. This job'll not pay you to live in such a fancy neighborhood. Your husband must do well.

He does. He is a good man.

Ahhh, said Eleanor with great attention.

What would you like me to do first, Eleanor? I would be happy to clean things up for you, if you like.

Eleanor lifted unseeing eyes to Salma.

Does it need cleaning? challenged the grizzled woman.

Well... well, yes, well, yes actually, it does. I would be happy to do whatever you wanted me to do, to make it better, replied a confused but honest Salma.

I'm not sure that it's not good now as it is, said Eleanor, annunciating every word.

Salma looked around her, eyeing trash, boxes and empty cans everywhere. There were vases, empty plant pots, newspapers and magazines stacked up by the walls. The dining table was covered with envelopes, opened and sealed letters and nothing was put away in a desk, drawer or trash can.

I don't want you throwing anything away, said Eleanor all at once.

No, no, I would not. I could box it up if you like and put it in another room.

Does it bother you to look at it so much?

Standing up in the middle of the room, waving her arms around, the aide stopped. The caregiver was at a loss. The room looked like a tornado hit it, muddling everything up and around. But the truth was Eleanor could not see nor care. This was her problem not Eleanor's. She wanted this for herself not for her charge. Wow! The realization hit her hard. Sitting down at the dining table on the unsteady chair, placing her elbow on the table, she leaned on her fist.

I'm getting hungry, said Eleanor, saving the awkward moment which brought the younger one to her feet in a flash. I'd like a scrambled egg and toast with some butter on it.

One egg?

Yep, one egg.

Salt and pepper?

Yep.

Reaching