Chapter 19
CHAPTER 19
P amela adjusted the rearview mirror as she drove along the winding coastal highway toward Hingham. The leather portfolio on the passenger seat contained everything she needed: signed admission papers, power of attorney documents, financial arrangements prepared by her attorney, and Dr. Mitchell's formal assessment confirming that while she was still competent to make this decision, the time to act was now.
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she remembered yesterday's incident—finding her car keys still in the car, then spending twenty minutes convinced they'd been stolen. It had taken Romy gently showing her where they were to bring her back to reality. These moments were becoming more frequent, each one a stark reminder that she couldn't afford to wait any longer.
When she arrived at Harbor Haven Memory Care Center, the familiar white-clapboard building looked exactly as it had during her first visit three weeks ago. Carol Dawson, the Director of Admissions, met her in the lobby with the same warm smile, though today it carried a note of understanding that hadn't been there before.
"Welcome back, Pamela," Carol said, gesturing toward her office. "I trust you've had time to consider everything we discussed?"
"I have," Pamela replied, her voice steady despite the weight in her chest. She placed the portfolio on Carol's desk. "Everything's signed. My lawyer, James Barrett, has set up the financial arrangements. He'll be handling all the payments directly."
Carol nodded, reviewing the documents. "Would you like another tour? I can show you the room we discussed last time?—"
"No," Pamela interrupted gently. "What I see today won't matter much later, will it?" She managed a small, sad smile. "I trust you'll take good care of me. That's all I need to know."
Carol's expression softened with understanding. "Of course." She hesitated, then asked, "Have you spoken with your niece about your decision?"
"I'm telling her tonight." Pamela's fingers traced the edge of the portfolio. "My doctor agrees it's time. The episodes are becoming more frequent, and I…" She took a deep breath. "I need to do this while I'm still myself enough to make the choice. While I can still explain it to her."
"That's very wise," Carol said quietly. "Many families wait until there's a crisis."
"I won't do that to Romy." Pamela's voice was firm. "She's lost enough in her life without having to make this decision for me too." She pulled out one last document from her bag—a sealed envelope. "This is for my file. It's a letter to myself, explaining why I chose Harbor Haven. Dr. Mitchell suggested it might help…later."
Carol accepted the envelope with careful hands. "Sometimes, when residents are having a difficult day, reading their own words can be very comforting."
Pamela nodded, though they both knew there would come a time when even her own words wouldn't make sense anymore. "When should I…?"
"We can have everything ready by next Monday," Carol said. "That will give you time to help your niece adjust to the idea and to settle any last-minute arrangements."
"Monday," Pamela repeated softly. Five days. Five more days in the house on Cliff Road. Five more days of being Romy's aunt and not just another resident in a memory care facility. She straightened her shoulders. "Monday will be fine."
As she stood to leave, Carol asked, "Would you like me to show you anything else? The gardens are particularly lovely this time of year."
Pamela shook her head. "It's not important," she said, her voice gentle but resolute. "Just take care of me until the end. That's all any of us can ask for, isn't it?"
Walking back to her car, Pamela paused to look up at the building that would become her new home. A group of residents was visible through one of the windows, gathered around what appeared to be a craft table. They looked content, engaged. Safe. She had to believe that someday, she would be too, even if she wouldn't remember choosing to be there.
The drive home felt shorter than the drive there, as if the roads themselves understood her need to get back to Romy, to make the most of these last few days while her memories were still largely her own. She had chosen Harbor Haven not just for its reputation or its proximity to Periwinkle Shores, but because it felt like a place where she could fade away with dignity, where Romy could visit without the weight of being a caretaker.
It wasn't a perfect solution—there were no perfect solutions with Alzheimer's. But it was the best gift she could give them both: the chance to say goodbye while she was still herself enough to mean it.
Pamela was at the kitchen table, her hands clasped around a mug of tea as she stared out the window of the house on Cliff Road. The afternoon light filtered through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the worn wooden floor—the same patterns she'd watched dance across these boards for forty years. On the table in front of her lay a manila envelope, thick with documents she'd had her lawyer prepare.
Romy shuffled into the kitchen, her hair tied up in a messy bun. At almost thirty-two, she looked more like her mother than ever—something that both warmed and ached in Pamela's heart. The past few weeks back in Periwinkle Shores had brought some color back to her niece's cheeks, though the shadows of PTSD still lingered in her eyes.
"Hey, where’d you go this morning" Romy said, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Her movements were more relaxed now than when she'd first returned home seeking refuge from the memories that haunted her.
Pamela turned, her face soft but pensive. "I had an appointment. You were still sleeping when I left."
Romy shrugged. "I must have needed the sleep. The waves help."
Pamela was grateful Romy never mentioned if she’d heard her during the night. Wandering the house, somewhere past two in the morning, she found herself outside sitting in the sand, disoriented and confused.
"What about you?"
Pamela gave a noncommittal hum and sipped her tea. "I need to talk to you about something important."
Romy froze mid-pour, then turned to face her aunt. A splash of coffee hit the counter, but she didn't move to wipe it up. "That doesn't sound good."
Pamela gestured to the chair across from her—the same chair where she'd held Romy fifteen years ago when they got the news about the plane crash, where they'd slowly pieced their lives back together. "Come sit down."
Romy hesitated before sitting, her mug cradled in her hands like a shield. "What's going on?"
Pamela took a deep breath. "I've made arrangements to move into a facility in Hingham. It's called Harbor Haven Memory Care Center." She pulled the manila envelope closer. "And I've had some papers drawn up that we need to discuss."
Romy's eyes widened. " Memory Care Center? What are you saying?” I just got back. I can help. I…I came back to help you."
"You came back to heal," Pamela corrected gently. "And while having you here has been a gift, we both know this isn't sustainable. I have early-onset Alzheimer’s, Romy. Do you understand what that means? It means you can’t take care of me and I can’t take care of myself. The disease is only going to get worse, and I don't want you to sacrifice your life trying to care for me."
Tears pricked Romy's eyes. "You're not a burden, Pamela. After everything you did for me when Mom and Dad died. I can handle this. You don't have to go."
Pamela reached across the table, her hand covering Romy's. "This house has been a sanctuary for both of us. When your parents died, it gave us both a place to rebuild. I understand why you felt you had to leave back then, but now? Now it's time for it to be your sanctuary again."
Pamela patted the manila envelope. "It's all here—the deed to the house, my will, power of attorney, health care proxy. Everything you need to take care of both of us legally. My attorney’s information is in here. He’s aware of my illness and of my plans to leave this house to you. The deed has already been drawn up. There is a bank account…"
"Stop!” Romy said, her voice breaking. “I don't want papers. I want you to stay."
Pamela's gaze was steady, her voice firm but kind. "I've already made the arrangements, and I've made my peace with it. This is what's best for both of us. I'll have the care I need, and you'll have the space to truly heal." She paused, swallowing hard. "While I still remember enough to make this choice for myself."
Romy shook her head, her voice trembling. "I don't need space. I need you. Haven't we lost enough?"
"Oh, my sweet girl," Pamela said, her own eyes glistening. She stood up and moved around the table, pulling Romy into her arms like she had that terrible day fifteen years ago. "You'll always have me, just in a different way. This house—it's yours now. Make it into the home you need it to be. But please, let me do this while I still can."
Romy was quiet for a long moment, her tears falling unchecked. Finally, she whispered, "I don't know how to let you go. You’re the only family I have."
Pamela pressed a kiss to her niece's temple. "You're not letting me go, Romy. You're helping me take the next step. That's all." She took a shaky breath. "And I need you to be strong enough to let me do this while I still can." She pulled back, wiping Romy's tears away. "Your parents would be so proud of the woman you've become. I know I am."
Through her tears, Romy reached for the manila envelope. "What do I need to know about these papers?"
"We'll go through them together," Pamela said, squeezing her hand. "But first, promise me something?"
Romy nodded.
"Promise me you'll make this house your home again. Promise me you'll move on from the past, grow, and find peace here. Promise me you'll remember me as I am right now."
"I promise," Romy whispered. "But you have to promise me something too."
"Anything, sweetheart."
"Promise me you'll fight to remember us—all of us—as long as you can. Mom, Dad, our life here on Cliff Road…"
Pamela's heart ached with the weight of memories she knew she would eventually lose. "With everything I have, Romy. With everything I have."