In the Pink

Two memories stand out to people who know my mother-in-law, Doris. The first is her big smile. The second is her love of pink. Only one navy blue dress hung in her closet, and that to be “respectful” at funerals. Everything else was pink. Tops, pants, dresses, nightgowns, robes, coats, shoes, slippers—her closet glowed like a sunrise. Her dear late husband also endured pink dishes, pink towels, pink bedspreads, and a pink couch and recliner. In summer, pink roses graced the table. After his death we painted her bedroom a bright pink, and I sewed her curtains splashed with pink roses.

A lot has changed in her life in the last few years. Now 89, she’s in a memory care facility with late-stage Alzheimer’s. She can’t walk or take care of personal needs. Her vocabulary has shrunk to a few words. Others must feed her. She sleeps a lot.

But the smile is still there. And every day, caregivers dress her in pink, still the only color in her wardrobe.

Curious about the phrase “in the pink,” I did an internet search. The common meaning, referring to rosy cheeks, denotes someone with good health and ready to go. But another meaning derives from English fox hunters, who wore scarlet jackets called “pinks.” Hunters “in the pink” were ready to chase the fox.

I thought about that as Doris inches toward her last day on earth.

The other day, when I helped feed her breakfast, I thought how life isn’t fun any more. Because of swallowing issues, her food is pureed. Her plate held yellow glop (eggs) and brown glop (sausage)—a far cry from the strawberry syrup over waffles I used to fix for her breakfast at home.

As I urged her to open her mouth for another taste of glop, I said, “Doris, just for you I wore a pink shirt today.” At the mention of “pink,” the corners of her indifferent mouth widened and she gave me a big-wattage smile. (And no, I didn’t try to “zoom” another spoonful in there. I just savored the moment.)

For some reason, that vignette reminded me of what Hebrews 12:2 says about Jesus—who “for the JOY set before him endured the cross.”

The indignities of a failing body are now Doris’s “cross” to bear. But even in the darkened shell of her mind, there are bright corners where that joy still beams out. The smile. The joy of “thinking pink.” And the hope of being “in the pink”—ready to go—when the Lord says “enter My joy, child, and come Home.”