Jackie's Laundry

Home is where the heart is...

         Enid knew the situation couldn’t be helped.

         The diagnosis was merciless: dementia, with spells of delirium that only made things worse.

         She sighed as the ritual began again.

         It was three-fifteen in the morning.

         “Where are you going this time, Jackie?” Enid asked, her voice heavy with fatigue.

         Jackie—no more than fifty kilos and barely tall enough to reach Enid’s waist—ignored her. She wrestled with the bedrails, determined to climb out despite her frail, trembling limbs.

         “You’ll fall again, dear,” Enid said gently, stepping closer to help.

         Her hand was slapped away, surprisingly forceful. A pair of clouded grey eyes glared back at her with startling clarity.

         “Don’t touch me,” Jackie snapped. “I have to go downstairs and collect the laundry.”

         Enid kept her tone soft. “But you’re in the hospital, remember? You’re not at home.”

         “Someone’s got to do it!” Jackie shot back. “I need to… I need to…”

         The words trailed off. Her strength gave way, and she collapsed against the pillows. Her features twisted in frustration, a silent plea hidden in every line of her face. Enid’s chest tightened as Jackie began folding invisible clothes, muttering about having dinner ready for the children.

         An hour later, exhaustion finally claimed her. She drifted into uneasy sleep.

         “I feel bad for her,” Enid admitted at handover. “After all those years as a housewife, she’s trapped in this endless loop, still believing she’s that spry young woman holding her family together.”

         Sarah, the day nurse, stifled a yawn. “Yeah, it happens. Hopefully she won’t give me too much grief today. Last time she nearly took my head off with her cane—I still need to write that report.”

         On her way home, Enid couldn’t shake Jackie from her thoughts. She had seen countless patients in the ward, but Jackie lingered.

         Maybe it was the Jackie who always greeted her with a bright smile. The Jackie who joined group activities, maracas rattling in her tiny hands as she swayed to the music. The Jackie who loved a joke—and sometimes told one with a wicked little wink.

         Or maybe it was the Jackie who remembered others. Who learned names. Who asked How are you today, Barbara? Sonia? Ethel?

         That was the Jackie Enid longed to see more of.

         “Probably an infection,” Dr. Arnie muttered, eyes on the urinalysis. “No wonder she’s more confused. Start antibiotics. Stat.”

         Enid sighed as she drew up the medication.

         She shouldn’t still be here, she thought. She misses home. Six months in a hospital is enough to drive anyone mad.

         But social services had failed her. Nursing homes wouldn’t take her. Family couldn’t—or wouldn’t—bring her back.

         So Enid decided to do something herself.

         “Where are we going?” Jackie asked as Enid guided her into a wheelchair. Her favorite pink bathrobe draped over her shoulders, her silver hair freshly washed, her cheeks rosy for once. The other nurses waved as she passed, and Jackie clutched her stuffed bunny to her chest like a child.

         “What’s happening, Enid?” she asked again, nervous but smiling.

         “You’ll see,” Enid teased. “Close your eyes.”

         “Oooh, a surprise?” Jackie chuckled. “I do love surprises.”

         “And… open them.”

         Jackie blinked. Her grey eyes widened. Tears welled.

         Before her stood a perfect replica of her own kitchen and dining room. The occupational therapy team, working from photographs, had recreated her home within the hospital’s mock living space.

         “Oh… oh my,” she whispered.

         And just like that, she slipped back into herself. She padded around the room, tidying, fussing with tea, folding laundry. Staff hovered to keep her safe, but let her live in that world. Later, she curled into the rocking chair by the window, her chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm.

         When Enid came to say goodbye, Jackie stirred. She reached for Enid’s hand, lifted it to her lips, and pressed a kiss against the back.

         “Thank you, Enid,” she whispered. “You have no idea what this meant.”

         Enid left her shift with her heart alight. Nursing was hard—thankless, relentless—but moments like this, moments when someone like Jackie found joy again, made it all worthwhile.






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Word Count: 689
Prompt: Write a poem or story about a thoughtful gift. Not a needed or requested gift...something thoughtful and unexpected.
Written For: "Writer's Cramp wishes WDC Happy 25th!"