Passages
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Passages free porn video
I pulled into the visitors lot of the Belle Vista Long Term Health
Care Facility, found a parking spot in the shade, and turned off the
ignition. I hesitated a moment before opening the door, but taking a
deep breath, I steadied myself, emerged from the car, and entered the
lobby.
"Good Morning, Mr. Foster!" called out Dorothy, the always
effervescent receptionist. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it? Here to
see your Mother?" Good morning to you, as well!"
I replied, "It is definitely a beautiful day out there, and yes, I'm
here to visit Mom. How has she been the last few day?"
Dorothy's smile dimmed just a bit at my question, and when she
answered, her voice was missing a fraction of its usual cheeriness.
"Well, you know, Mr. Foster, she has her good days, and her not so
good days. Lately, well, she seems to be getting more and more
withdrawn. Her aides tell me that sometimes she'll spend hours just
looking through the same old photographs, over and over."
It was news that I had been expecting, yet dreading. Multi-infarct
dementia was what my mother had, basically dozens of tiny little
strokes throughout her brain. None of them, by themselves, were major,
but in combination, it was almost like Alzheimer's - a slow but
inexorable dimming of her mental capacities. Some days, she barely
recognized me; but others, she seemed almost her usual bright chipper
self. As I exited the elevator on the third floor and walked to her
room, I prayed that this would be one of her good days.
I entered her room quietly, so as not to startle her, and found her
sitting in her recliner, minutely studying the old photos in a stack
in front of her, a half smile on her face. "Hello, Mom," I called
softly. "It's me, Paul."
My mother looked up and replied, "Paul? Paul? Who's Paul?" After a
moment, a wave of recognition passed over her face, and she said; "Oh,
Paul! Of course! So good to see you- please, sit down."
We spent a few minutes going through the usual niceties - questions
about her health, comments on the weather, complaints about the food.
I enquired about the photos she had, and she handed them over to me to
see.
The photos were all of herself, much younger, with a young girl,
ranging from practically newborn to, I'd guess, about four years in
age. "Who's the little girl in the pictures, Mom? One of our
neighbor's kids?" I knew that it couldn't be a relative - there was
just my much older (now deceased) brother and myself in our family,
and I had no female cousins.
Mom laughed. "Don't you yourself in your baby pictures?"
"No, Mom - these aren't pictures of me, these are pictures of a girl,"
I said.
"Let me tell you a story," Mom said. "I never told you this, but, with
my memory going, this may be the last chance for you to hear this. You
know," she continued, "that I had you many years after your brother.
Not for lack of trying, but, your father and I just never never were
blessed, until, when I thought that I was past the age of
childbearing, you came along! I so desperately wanted a daughter -
after all, I already had gone through raising your brother, and I
wanted a little girl that I could dress in frilly outfits, and braid
her hair, and do girly things with her."
"Well, what was I to do? There you were, and I knew that I'd never
have another opportunity to have another child, so...... I decided
that you would be my daughter. Just for a little while - when you're
so young, you don't know what's girl stuff or boy stuff, not really...
So, for a few years, I had the cutest little girl I could ever hope
for! You had the most gorgeous curly blonde hair, and you looked so
cute in all the lovely dresses I bought for you! I knew that you'd
have to revert to being a boy when it came time to start school, but,
until then, I loved every moment with my little daughter, Paula."
I sat there, literally speechless. Was this story just the ramblings
of an old woman, inventing memories to replace those so cruelly stolen
away by her advancing dementia? Or, was the story actually true? Mom
certainly seemed quite coherent, but so had she that time when she had
attempted to drive to the mall, and ended up out of gas, halfway to
Canada! And, if it was true, why did I have no recollection of those
events?
I looked more closely at the girl in the photos. Could it be? Was the
me in that pink tutu? Or wearing that blue dress with the lacy
petticoat peeking out from underneath the hem of the skirt? Her eyes
did sort of look like mine, I supposed. Her hair was golden blonde,
unlike my own dirty blonde; but, a child's hair often darkens, so no
help there.
Then I saw it. The girl in the photo had a small brown spot on her
right cheek, not far from the corner of her mouth. Exactly where I had
one. It was definite proof - that "girl" was, in fact, me!
"Mom," I asked, "why? Whatever made you think to do this? And why did
you never tell me before this?"
"I know it was a crazy thing to do - but, you have to realize, I was a
bit crazy at the time. Now they call it postpartum depression -
between that and my maternal urges for a daughter, I developed an all-
out neurosis. People like us didn't go to psychiatrists back then, so,
your father wasn't too thrilled, but he humored me at first, and then
there was that accident at work...." My father had been killed in an
explosion at his factory when I was only a year old. "So, I was a new
mother, now a widow as well, already a bit emotionally fragile ; can
you really blame me for trying to cope by making my daughter the
center of my life?"
"But Mom," I replied, "I wasn't your daughter, I was......" I stopped
as I realized that she seemed to be on the verge of tears. "It's all
good, Mom, everything turned out fine!" No need to upset her over
something that happened twenty years ago. "Here, Mom, let me give you
these pictures back." She took them, started going through the stack,
and the vacant, yet happy expression that she had worn when I first
arrived returned to her face.
"I'll be going now, Mom, OK?" Caught up in her memories, she barely
seemed to notice my departure.
I had a lot to think about on the drive home. Did I really spend the
first few years of my life being raised as a girl? I certainly had no
memory of it. But...perhaps some things did make more sense in this
context. From a young age, I was always fascinated by my mother's
things. The silkiness of her dresses. The stretch and hold of her old
fashioned girdle. The colors and scents of her cosmetics, and the
shine and glitter of her jewelry. By the time I was 8, I would take
any opportunity when she was out to put on one of her outfits, and
make up my face. I always took precautions, and was never caught,
despite a few close calls. By my early teens, I really embraced my
transvestism, and started buying more age and size appropriate
clothing and accessories, and found that I could make a very
convincing young woman, especially after I let my hair grow long. I
used to love walking through the mall, admiring each season's new
fashions, and I was never "read" once. Even the woman at the earring
shop had no clue to my gender when she pierced my ears.
As I thought back to those years, I had to laugh at the irony. Here I
was, terrified that my Mom would have been appalled by my secret
dressing, when in fact, had I come out to her, she likely would have
supported and encouraged me. So many years during which we both could
have brought joy into the lives of each other, and our own. So much
time lost, and now, time was running out for Mom.
The next day, I arrived earlier than usual at the Home. Dorothy's
shift hadn't yet started, and the receptionist on duty, a woman who I
only vaguely recognized, merely nodded my way as I headed to the
elevators. As I entered Mom's room, I saw that she was as she was when
I had left; sitting in her chair, reminiscing over her old photos.
"Mom? Mom?" I called out. "It's me." She turned towards me, a look of
nonrecognition on her face for a moment or two, and then her face lit
up with the biggest smile I had ever seen her with.
"It's you!" she cried. "You came! Oh, my dear, dear Paula - it's been
so long!"
"Far too long, Mom, far too long," I answered, walking across to her,
and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
My lipstick left a small red spot behind - I'd have to remember to
wipe that up. "You look so beautiful, Paula," Mom said.
"Why, thank you, Mom. You look very pretty today, yourself." I snuck a
peek into the mirror on the wall, and had to admit, there was nothing
wrong with Mom's eyesight. My red blazer and white blouse were perfect
compliments to my knee length black skirt, and the shapeliness of my
nylon clad legs was enhanced by the three inch heels on my black
leather pumps.
"I have a favor to ask," said Mom. "It's such a beautiful day out
there, and I haven't been outside in so long. Would you mind taking me
out for a bit of fresh air?"
"It would be my pleasure." And with that I went to borrow a wheelchair
from one of the aides. We spent several hours enjoying the scenery,
chatting about everything and nothing, and taking selfie after selfie.
I even asked a passerby to take some better photos of the two of us.
After a bit, Mom's stamina started to wane, and she asked to go back
to her room for a nap.
As we reentered the lobby, Mom called out to Dorothy, now manning the
reception desk, "Dorothy, Dorothy - what a wonderful day! My daughter
Paula has finally come to visit!"
"That is wonderful, Mrs. Foster!" Turning to me, "I'm so glad to meet
you..." Her eyes widened just a bit, and there was an almost
imperceptible pause... "Paula?"
"Yes, Dorothy, I'm Paula," I said, and in a much softer voice, "I'll
explain later!" I dropped Mom off in her room, helped her into bed,
and tucked her in for her nap.
On the way out, I stopped at the desk, and explained the situation to
Dorothy. "Normally, I can't say that I'd approve of trying to fool
someone with dementia, but, I must admit, you have made your mother
happier than I've seen her in a long time." And, with a wink, she
followed with, "And, if I may say so - those legs of yours are just
too gorgeous to hide inside trouser legs!" I blushed a bit at that,
and told her, "That's just as well - I think that you'll be seeing
them on a regular basis!"
And indeed, she did. All of my visits to Mom now were as Paula, and
her visits never failed to lift my mother's mood. I had an 8x10 copy
made of one of the photos of the two of us from that first visit, and
Mom kept it on her dresser, where it was the first thing she saw every
morning, and the last thing she saw at night.
We continued like this for several months, but then, the inevitable -
I got a call from the home that Mom had passed away. A major stroke,
in the middle of the night, while she was peacefully sleeping. If you
have to go, not such a bad way to do it.
The 8x10 of Mom with Paula I placed in her casket, but, I kept the
older photos for myself. I live full-time as Paula now, and I always
appreciate seeing the little girl that Paula started out as, before
the convoluted journey to become the woman she is now.
Louise
- 14.10.2021
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