Today was our first visit since my mother was transferred to the rehabilitation hospital.
As we waited in the lobby, my mother came walking toward us with a nurse.
At first, she didn't notice us.
At C Hospital, visits took place in narrow hallways or small hospital rooms, so she always spotted us immediately.
At S Hospital, however, we wait in the lobby and then move to a private meeting booth.
The nurse noticed me waving and quietly told my mother.
"Oh my! I'm so happy!"
My mother looked surprised.
I think this was probably her first time coming down to the lobby since being admitted.
She had arrived in an unfamiliar place and was probably wondering,
"What's going on?"
Her expression seemed a little tense at first.
Today's gifts were coloring books and photo books.
The coloring books featured botanical illustrations, as well as sweets and other foods.
"Oh, wonderful.
They look difficult. I wonder if I can do them."
"You'll be fine. Just use whatever colors you like."
"I'll do my best."
"You can work on them whenever you have free time."
I had been curious about her reaction, but she seemed to like them.
The photo books I brought today were about sweets and flowers.
While looking through the sweets book, she kept saying,
"I wonder if I can make these."
"I wonder if I can make these."
"Of course you can. We'll make them together."
"Really? That makes me so happy."
My mother was completely motivated to make sweets!
I had shown her photo books of desserts before, but this was the first time I had heard her ask,
"I wonder if I can do it?"
Perhaps I am exaggerating, but it felt like an active hope for the future.
That made me incredibly happy.
As she looked through the flower book, she said,
"Wonderful. So beautiful."
"Such lovely colors."
"Do we have this one at home?"
(Meaning: Is this flower planted in our garden?)
"No, this one is in a botanical garden."
"Huh?"
"It's a place where they collect all kinds of plants. There are lots of rare flowers there."
"Really?"
"There are many interesting flowers. It's a wonderful place."
"Let's all go together."
"Yes, let's do that."
Once again, she expressed what felt like a hopeful vision of the future.
When my mother is discharged, I would love for the three of us to visit a botanical garden together.
I'll have to look for one that isn't too far away and has lots of unusual flowers.
When she saw a picture of a lotus flower, she asked,
"What's this?"
"It's a lotus flower. The roots are the vegetable called lotus root."
"Yes, yes... hachi... hachi?"
"Hasu. Hasu."
"Hachi...?"
At first, I thought she simply couldn't find the right word.
But later, I wondered whether she had been trying to say hachisu.
My mother is a certified tea ceremony instructor, and among her tea utensils is one made from a flattened lotus seed pod.
She once explained to me that lotus seed pods resemble a beehive, which is why they are called hachisu in Japanese.
If that was indeed what she meant, then perhaps her memories remain far more intact than I had imagined.
During today's visit, I felt that my mother still holds hopes for the future and is capable of tracing old memories.
I am truly looking forward to the day she comes home.
Though, of course, there is still the matter of my troublesome father...
I think I'll discuss that with the care manager.
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