Past Imperfect
On her forty-seventh Birthday, Emma took a big risk and entered Nursing School. Now, in her fiftieth year, she faced an even bigger challenge—she’d have to put her eighty-seven year old father in a nursing home.
Eli Cohen had survived Auschwitz and had sacrificed to put her through college, but now he was succumbing to Alzheimer’s and had become incontinent as well.
She tried her best to manage and even arranged home care. She secured the services of a visiting nurse and got help from Nat, her husband, but the day she dreaded finally came—she could no longer look after Papa and now she’d also have to deal with the guilt of institutionalizing him.
“It’s best for him and for you,” Hanna consoled her.
Hanna Rosen was her best friend and had to go through the same struggle two years earlier with her aging mother. She knew exactly how Emma felt.
“I want to take him to Silver Years today and see how he gets on. Would you mind going with us?”
“Of course, I’ll go with you,” Hanna reassured her, “I care about both of you.”
Emma tried hard to fight back the tears. It was hard enough taking Papa to the home, but she really needed Hanna’s moral support.
“Do you think your dad will be able to get along with the other people—I mean, what would he talk about?”
Emma frowned. Papa had very little to say—when he used to talk, he’d talk about the war and his time in the camp. It used to drive her crazy.
“Maybe there’ll be some there who went through the war too,” she suggested.
Hanna’s face lit up. “That would be awesome! They’d have something in common.”
“If he remembers," Emma cautioned.
She knew Papa’s stories were pretty gruesome. He used to shake with rage when he’d think about the little children being torn from their mothers and everyone starving and terrified.
Hanna shook her head just thinking about her Papa's life. “How did he ever survive?”
“He told me his hate got him through," Emma grimaced.
"There was a swine of a sergeant, maybe five years older than him, but so cruel, Papa would have killed him if he had a chance.”
“Too bad he didn’t,” Hanna seethed.
“Papa would tremble when he thought of him—Hans Mueller was his name—the Bulldog. He was stocky and brutish and brutal. Once, he strangled a crying child right in front of the parents.”
“Okay,” Hanna gasped, “too much detail.” She brushed away a tear. “ I feel so sorry for your dad.”
Emma stared off into space, remembering.
“He told me after the war the whole Jewish community had one saying they repeated as they did the Sh’ma at prayers—Hear, O Israel, the Lord thy God is one and then, We will never forget. It was their mitzvah—their sacred commandment.”
“Except,” Hanna whispered, “he now no longer remembers much—and soon, even that memory may be taken from him.”
“It will be a blessing,” Emma said.
“Emma, is that you?” An old man shuffled in, his hands in his pockets, trying to keep them warm.
“Papa, you’re awake—you should have waited for me to help you down the stairs.”
“I’m fine, Little One. Who is your friend?”
The two women exchanged glances. Eli had known Hanna her whole life—he had been like a second father to her.
“It’s me—Hanna Rosen, Mr. Cohen. Don’t you remember me?”
Eli flushed, “Ah yes, of course, Hanna. How are you?”
“I’m fine Mr. Rosen. I came over because Emma and I are going to take you out for a drive. Won’ t that be nice?”
Eli hesitated. “It looks windy out there. Does your car have a good heater?”
Hanna laughed. “It has an excellent heater, Mr. Cohen, and Emma will make sure you have your winter coat and gloves.”
“Well, then I guess that will be fine.”
The women smiled knowingly at each other and Emma went to retrieve Eli’s coat and gloves.
Silver Years looked like an old Victorian manse, but inside was a state-of-the-art medical center and rest home. Shirley Hoover, the matronly-looking Director, met them at the door and ushered them into a comfortable lounge area.
“Your father will be comfortable here, while I take you on a tour of the facility.”
Emma got a panicked look on her face.
“Oh, I don’t think Papa should be left alone.”
Shirley smiled. “Neither do I and that’s why Kristen here, will look after him”
A pretty young nurse sat down beside her father and soon he was smiling and chatting.
“It’s almost time for afternoon tea and your father will get a chance to meet the other residents.”
As if on cue, a soft chime sounded and residents began filing into the room as others were brought in wheelchairs.
“I’ll be back in a little while,” Emma told Papa, but he was too preoccupied telling Kristen a story to even notice she was leaving.
The room quickly filled up. Two women were seated across from Eli. Then, a stocky older man, who hobbled in using a cane, took up the last spot at the table.
“Ach, mein rheumatism is acting up,” he wheezed as he sat down heavily in the chair.
“Did you use your puffer today, Hans?”
“Jah, jah. First your joints go and then your lungs. Eventually, your heart gives out and then it’s all over.”
“Well, that’s cheerful,” observed Kristen.
The two women opposite tsked.
Eli broke out laughing.
“You find me amusing?” Hans smiled.
“I find you truthful, “ Eli replied.
Kristen seized the opportunity. “Hans this is Eli—he’s lived through the war just like you—I’m sure you both have a lot in common.”
“Ach, I don’t talk about that time—too depressing, “ Hans replied.
“It was a very sad time,” Eli agreed, “besides, I don’t remember much. I remember being taken on a train to a camp somewhere in Poland, I think. They tattooed numbers on my arm—see?” He rolled up his sleeve and revealed six black digits on his forearm.
The two women opposite gasped. “How dreadful,” the one said.
Kristen gazed at him with a look of profound sympathy.
“Did it hurt?” The other woman asked.
Eli looked at her bewildered. “I don’t think so. I can’t recall.”
“That must have been so hard for you, Mr. Cohen,” Kristen sympathized.
“I think it was. It was very cold in the camp. We had no clothes and nothing to eat.”
The two women opposite had tears in their eyes. “That is such a sad story,” said the one.
“You say it was in Poland—was it near Warsaw? My family’s from Warsaw.”
“I honestly don’t recall. I just remember the countryside—that’s all.”
“I thought the numbers on the tattoo meant something,” Kristen ventured, “but I guess I was wrong”
“No,” Hans shook his jowls, “they do mean something.”
“Really?” Kristen stared at him, fascinated.
“Those numbers are from only one camp location—Auschwitz.”
“Oh,” said Ellie, staring at the man’s bulldog eyes.
“He’s right!” said Eli brightly, “Thank you so much, Sir. I forgot.”
