Chapter 2 #3
He cut me off in a kind but firm tone. “You’re going to spoil us coming so often, Nell.”
The nickname pinched my heart. I forced a smile. “It’s impossible to spoil you two. You deserve the world.”
The lively sounds of bingo continued around us. Grandpa gazed around, then leaned over to place a hand on Grandmother’s thigh. “Do you want to play more, Annie?”
She scrunched her face, thinking. Finally, she shook her head. “They only had the one bird.”
“They had other nice prizes,” he reasoned, making sure she was finished.
“Is it dinner time yet?” Grandmother had already left bingo behind.
“Not for another hour,” he smiled at her.
“Then let’s go home.” She beamed back at him.
We all knew that, for her, home was our house.
The one we’d once all lived in together.
Going there wasn’t an option now. So, we’d go to her room in the memory care wing.
If she became agitated, we’d tell her she was staying there while our house was having some work done.
She’d be confused for a heartbeat, and then, if we were lucky, she’d switch gears and focus on something else.
If we were unlucky, a nurse would have to get involved, and Grandpa and I would have to get out of their way.
“I’d love to go home,” I said, tears pricking my eyes. Because it was true. I’d give anything to go home with her and Grandpa and erase the last couple of years.
“Let me keep that safe, Annie.” Grandpa took the little ceramic bird from his wife’s loose grip, wrapping it carefully inside a tissue before tucking it safely into the pocket of his wood button, navy cardigan.
Again, I was struck by the slowness of his movements.
Each one deliberate, calculated as if to conserve energy.
When he stood, he used the table again. First for leverage, then to steady himself.
Despite his obvious weakness, he offered Grandmother his arm.
We moved slowly as a unit, exiting the bustling community room and heading towards the elevator. The memory care wing was upstairs, its entrance secured so residents couldn’t wander very far. So different from truly going home.
"Did you bring me any more of those chocolate cookies?" Grandmother asked as we waited for the lift, her arm linked with Grandpa's. "The ones with the nuts that Richard likes?"
"Not today," I admitted, feeling a stab of guilt. I should have stopped at the bakery. I’d thought about it but couldn’t muster the energy. It had been such a draining day. More rejections. A door literally slammed in my face—no unmated Omegas allowed. "But I'll bring some next time, I promise.”
Grandmother’s bottom lip jutted out slightly. “You never remember the cookies.”
That wasn’t true. I knew she just couldn’t remember. It pained me, nonetheless.
I had to keep my promises. I couldn’t break them. I refused to gather more regrets. My capacity for them was maxed out.
"Nelly always remembers the cookies," Grandpa chuckled, but the laugh turned into a slight cough that he tried to hide behind his hand. The elevator pinged, the doors parting. He coughed again as he led Grandmother inside. I stared at him as I entered the lift and continued to stare as we ascended. He avoided my worried gaze. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t only sick; he was hiding something.
I knew him too well to pretend otherwise.
When the doors slid open again, we stepped into the family waiting area and walked over to the nurses’ station next to the double, secured doors.
Nurse Shay smiled at us, greeted my grandparents, and then buzzed us in.
The hallway to the memory care wing felt longer today.
I watched Grandpa beside Grandmother, matching her pace perfectly despite how it clearly taxed him.
Sweat was building on his forehead, though the hallway was cool and our pace relaxed.
My heart had been so consumed with Grandmother’s deteriorating health, that I’d not given myself much space to worry about Grandpa.
I’d done my best to stay in denial. When the first tests were inconclusive, I let myself believe he was just stress, tired, losing weight due to worry.
When they ordered more tests, I just told myself the doctors were being cautious.
My heart hurt, pain shooting through it.
Fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to make him sick too.
My lot in life couldn’t be that awful.
I had to stay in denial.
Or I wouldn’t survive.
It wasn’t until now that I realized denial steals from you. It convinces you things can wait.
By the time you face reality, so much time is gone.
"Richard, tell Nelly about the cardinal we saw yesterday," Grandmother prompted suddenly, her voice cheerful. It yanked me out of swallowing grief. “It was so red, like a little flame in the tree.”
“It was beautiful,” Grandpa agreed, though I suspected there had been no crimson cardinal. He'd just gotten good at playing along with her reality. “Perched right outside our window for nearly ten minutes.”
“Not as pretty as my little blue bird though,” she lifted her hands, opening them and frowning. “Where’s my bird?”
“I’ve got it, Annie. Don’t worry.” He soothed, patting his cardigan pocket.
“You always have everything under control, Rich. My Rich who makes me the richest girl in the world.” She playfully pinched his bottom.
“Not in front of Nell,” Grandpa pretended to scold.
They’d always been so affectionate. A long time ago, I’d been the grossed-out kid telling them they’d get cooties. A long time ago, I’d been the teenager who avoided their affection like the plague. Now, I thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
A right turn, a few more feet, and then we were at Grandmother’s room.
"Home sweet home," Grandpa announced, guiding Grandmother through the doorway with gentle hands at her elbow.
“This isn’t home,” she shook her head. “We didn’t even get in the car, Richard. Where is my table in the hallway? I had my father’s brass baby shoes on it.”
“Oh, darling. Don’t worry. As soon as the painters are done, we’ll move right back home.”
“They’ve been painting forever.” She frowned.
“I know. They’ll finish soon though,” he soothed.
I love our house,” she sighed.
“Me too, Annie. It’s heaven.” No one else would hear the broken notes in Grandpa’s voice but I did.
God, if only I could reverse time.
I’d go back to when there wasn’t so much worry.
Back to happy family dinners.
Back to joyous Sunday car rides.
Back to ice cream cones in the park.
Back to little hurts easily fixed by a few kisses and a pink Band-Aid.
Grandpa helped Grandmother get comfortable in her rocking chair. He folded one of her quilts across her knees, and then he set about making her a cup of mint tea.
He knew everything about his wife. Her likes. Her dislikes. Her fears. Her hopes.
Did Grandpa and I feel the same way these days?
I’d lost my dream.
And I felt like I was losing them.
He was losing her. Losing his marriage. Losing his health.
We were both losing our most important things in the world. Slowly, surely, they were moving beyond our reach.