She especially didn’t nap when people were over to visit.
I’d texted the family group chat today and told them it was time to start saying their goodbyes, that if they wanted to come, they should come now.
“You should find out who this guy is,” Jillian said.
“I think he’s old,” I said.
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He does old-guy stuff? He travels with a compressor.”
She nodded sagely. “Yeah. That does give me ‘dad’ vibes.”
We had the Doobie Brothers playing softly from a small speaker. We were sitting in the sun, drinking iced coffee. I hadn’t spent enough time outside recently. It was nice.
Speaking of nice . . .
“I noticed a cute guy in the elevator earlier,” I said.
My sister arched her eyebrow. “You did? What did he look like?”
“Kind of rugged? Beard. He had a dog and a tool belt. Red tools.”
“Red tools, green flag. Did you talk to him?”
I shook my head. “I’m not in a decent headspace for that right now. At all. But it was nice to finally notice someone again. Good to know there’s still a sex drive in there somewhere,” I mumbled.
We sat in silence, listening to the music while she peered at me through her sunglasses. “So how long.”
She didn’t have to tell me what she meant. I gazed out over the railing at the pink trumpet trees in bloom. “One to three days. That’s my best guess.”
She let out a slow breath through her nose. “She had a great life.”
I nodded. “She really did. And she’s going to have a great death too. Surrounded by people who love her, at home, not in pain.”
“I hope I die like that,” she said. “Or doing what I love.”
“Not me. I wanna die doing what I hate. Put me out of my misery, kill me on the stair-stepper.”
She laughed and balled up her napkin and threw it at me.
She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “This is so hard. Like, seriously. How do you do this for work?”
“It’s easier when it’s strangers,” I said.
“No, it isn’t. I’d be a hot mess doing this, you’re built different.”
“I’m not. It’s hard as hell. Even for me.”
“Did you know that it’s not ‘hard as hell’?” she said. “It’s hard as hail.”
I tilted my head. “Is it?”
“Yeah. You know who told me that? This homeless guy at the farmers market.”
“No. I’m googling this.” I picked up my phone and typed. “Oh my God. You’re right. I mean, the internet is a little divided on it, but there’s definitely a ‘hard as hail’ camp.”
“It makes sense. Hail is hard.”
“Hell is also hard, though,” I said.
“Well, we’ll never know. Neither of us are going.” She checked her phone. “I gotta take off,” she said, getting up. “I’m getting a new guinea pig foster.”
“You and your guinea pigs.”
“I love ’em. They only need four hours of sleep a day.”
“Like someone I know.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
When Jillian was gone, we had a rare lull in visitors again, only this time the energy was very different. Grandma wasn’t awake, talking to me. The apartment was buttoned up, the lights were off, and the curtains were drawn. It was eerie. It was never this quiet during sunlight hours.
She’d sleep more and more now. That was normal. She might start to have visions, see people who’d passed on before her. Her mother, Grandpa. She might see a light or an angel. A tunnel.
All normal.
Some patients wait until the loved ones they want to see have come. Then they let go. A lot of people rally right before they pass. They have one really great day where they’re awake and alert. They might even ask for food or something to drink. Then when everyone leaves, they slip away.
I hoped for that the most. I wanted her last moments to be her, surrounded by everyone who loves her.
I sat at the tiny table and pulled out my book.
“What are you reading?” Her frail voice surprised me.
“Just a romance,” I said.
She sat up. “Did I fall asleep? What time is it?”
I looked at my watch. “Six fifteen.”
“Early still. I must be worn out from yesterday.”
I think she knew why she was worn out. We both did.
“Do you need anything?” I asked, getting up.
“No. I’m just enjoying the quiet. It’s been a train station around here this week.”
“Do you want me to shorten the visits?” I asked.
“Oh no. I’ll rest when I’m dead.”
“Ha.”
She smiled. “Come over here. I want to give you something.”
I put my book face down on the table and made my way to her bedside.
She slipped her jade bracelet off her wrist. “Here. This is yours.”
My face went soft. “Grandma, I can’t take this. Grandpa gave you this.”
“You can take it. I don’t want to be buried in it. In fact, I don’t want to be buried in any of my jewelry.”
“What about your wedding ring?” I said.
“No. People bury the silliest things. Why would you throw something like that away?”
“Because it’s yours. It should be with you.”
She shook her head. “Let it be with someone who will love it. Sell it if you don’t want it. Let it be a gift for a stranger. Things should bring joy. If these organs weren’t ninety years old, I’d say don’t bury these either. Donate them so someone else can live.”
I smiled a little. That was very her.
I peered around the dim room, the sunlight etching the edges of the drawn curtain.
“You know what I wish I would have done?” she asked.
“What?”
“Had sex with strangers.”
I barked out a laugh.
“What?” she said. “It’s true. That’s not how things were for women back then, we didn’t have birth control like we do now. Lord knows I would have taken some of those men up on the offers I got—before your grandfather, of course.”
“Of course.”
She sighed. “You’re so lucky to be young when you are. When I was your age, women couldn’t even serve on a jury. Couldn’t run a marathon or get a credit card without your husband’s permission. Now you don’t even have to get married.” She took the bracelet from my hand and slipped it on my wrist.
I held it up to look at it.
“It’s perfect on you,” she said. Then she closed her eyes again. “I just need to rest a little. I still have so many things to tell you. Maybe tomorrow. I think I will take a little of that pain medicine,” she said. “If you have time.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and went to get her morphine.
When she fell asleep, I slipped out for a few minutes to get some air. There was a courtyard in the complex. It had some pretty landscaping and a bench. I wanted to sit there, clear my head. Touch some grass.
I stopped at my car to get a sweater first. When I got there, I checked the tire to see if the card was still there. It wasn’t. There was a nurse bobblehead instead.
She was in light-blue scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck. She had brown hair like me—a coincidence, I’m sure. There was a little note attached.
H, I saw this and I had to get it for you, so you can tell your car apart in the endless sea of white Hondas. Thanks for the gift card. I was glad to help.
I laughed and held it, leaning against my door. I loved it.
I don’t know how, but it felt like this stranger was a guardian angel. Like the universe had put him here to be there when I needed him with his small giant acts of kindness.
That’s the thing about kindness. You never know how big the ripple is. How one little selfless gesture can make all the difference for the person who receives it.
When I got home, I was going to make a small Thank You sign out of cardboard and glue it to the bobblehead so it looked like she was holding it. I’d put it on my dash in my car so he’d see it the next time he walked past. I hoped he got to see it.
Because I wouldn’t have a reason to come here much longer.
John
CHAPTER 8
Iwas out in the courtyard, walking Doobie. We’d just gotten back from the store. I’d had to run out to Home Depot again for caulk. Frank said he got some, but what he actually got was a bottle of glue.