Bupchin

Margie’s daughter texted me this morning to say one of her brothers visited on the weekend and just left yesterday, so Margie might be more tired than usual. I called Margie at lunchtime and suggested I bring coffee to her today. Sleepily she answered, “You can sell me on that plan.”

After we enjoyed our take-out coffee at her dining room table, I surprised her with a little stuffy bunny. She cooed, “Awwww, Bupchin,” and rubbed its softness against her face. 

She noticed with a chuckle that the bunny’s ears are sewn on backwards.“No worries,” she said, “some of us are different, but we’re still good.” She cradled the bunny. I said that’s probably how you felt about your clients in Rehab. 

“Rehab. That name is so familiar to me….”

I reminded her that she was a social worker in a Rehab department in California. “Oh yes,” she said, brightening. “Oh yes, Rehab.” I said she supervised a number of other social workers.

“I don’t remember anything about it,” she told me, stroking the bunny. Shifting to more available memories, I asked if there were wild bunnies on Long Island when she used to visit Uncle Herman and Aunt Mildred. 

“Oh yes! They were just like this one. I loved seeing them. You knew Uncle Herman? He had a furniture store. It had couches and chairs and beds. Beds. I would choose which bed I was going to take my nap on.” Her eyes began to shut, so I suggested she might like to take a nap now.

“That sounds perfect,” she said. I helped her over to her couch and gave her the bunny. As I left, she was drifting off to sleep with Bupchin on her chest (Extra).