That is what nursing homes reminded me of, death; they smelled like death would smell.

When my mother became so ill that my father couldn't take care of her and two young girls she would be sent away to a nursing home. Keep in mind that most of the people who lived in these homes were elderly; my mother was not, she was in her mid thirty's. I remember the time an ambulance came and took her away; I was walking home from the bus stop and there was my mother, she was screaming and crying in pain as the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance. My father was no where to be seen; I think she was supposed to be gone before my little sister and I came home from school. This was a few days before we had to be out of the house and I can't help but think that all the stress triggered an episode. As I stood there I was grateful that my little sister hadn't been witness to this event but then what do I tell her; I knew it was up to me my dad was off drinking somewhere. A couple of weeks later my father took us to visit her and I didn't want to go; I hated the smell of those places, the chemical smell that tried but failed at covering up the stench of urine and old feces. I had to go, she was my mother, what would she think if I didn't go; I had to be a good girl and I had to make sure she wasn't dead. I had a fear of death, I would get up in the middle of the night and make sure everyone was breathing and I was always terrified when I went to my grandmothers house; afraid I would be the one to find her dead. That is what nursing homes reminded me of, death; they smelled like death would smell, I just knew it. Once there we had to wait a little bit because my mother was making herself ready; my mother was a southern belle, beautiful and vain and always wanted to be at her best if possible. While waiting this little old lady came up and started picking at the buttons on the cushion of the bench where I was sitting. I appeared to me that she was putting invisible tiny objects into a little container; all the time she had this funny look in her eyes and then gave a manic giggle. GET ME OUT OF HERE! was all I could think, I almost lost it, I wanted to cry. My mom was ready to hold court; she had a lovely view of the industrial building and not much sunlight filtered in. She looked better but tired and a little thinner; she couldn't walk and her wheelchair was parked next to the bed. I told her a little bit about school and church then ran out of things to say so I asked her about the lady and the buttons and got an earful. Apparently, this little old lady killed her cheating husband and everyday all day she would relive it by picking up the invisible bullets and loading the invisible the gun; she would then give a giggle and head off the shoot her husband then start the process all over again. I can't imagine how I looked as my mother told this story, I was horrified and wanted to go home but my father just dropped us off and we had to wait until he was ready to come get us. I had nightmares for the next few nights and never visited my mother at that nursing home again.