by Pat Simmons
“I love you more. I’m still in awe that somehow love found its way into my life at my lowest point.”
“Don’t question it. Just love me back.”
“I do. I will.” She squeezed his neck, threatening to close his windpipe.
As the snow began to pile up around them, they still had a clear spot near the heater, so he steadied her, reached into his pocket, and tapped his iTunes to play a rendition of “Thank You” by the late Walter Hawkins.
As she continued to hold the umbrella, he snaked his arms around her and began to sway in a slow dance to the melody. Once the song ended, he hugged her tight. “One chapter of our life has ended. We’ll begin the new year with a new chapter as an engaged couple.”
Epilogue
Tabitha had hoped for more time to plan her wedding, but time wasn’t on her side when it came to Aunt Tweet’s mental health. Instead of outdoor fall nuptials, she and Marcus had agreed to tie the knot in a candlelight ceremony in early spring.
While waiting in the small, makeshift bridal changing room at her church, Tabitha glanced at her two bridesmaids. Her sisters were elegant and beautiful. Priscilla “Aunt Tweet” Brownlee would be her escort. The moment was somber without her parents’ presence. She sniffed so as not to compromise Rachel’s makeup artistry with tears. Before the hour was over, she would become Mrs. Marcus Whittington.
“I’m really happy Marcus came into your life. He’s a good man,” Kym whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Mom and Daddy would be proud.” Her big sister’s hug lingered.
“Thanks,” Tabitha whispered.
“Whew.” Rachel dabbed at her happy tears, then fanned her face. “I’m trying to hold it together, but I’m glad you found unexpected happiness in the midst of being a caregiver.” She hiccupped. Rachel seemed to be in a constant emotional frenzy. Her sister had confessed she felt overwhelmed daily.
When music from the string quartet floated to their room, the sisters readied themselves to leave, but suddenly, Aunt Tweet stated, “You need to pray.”
The sisters stared at their matriarch and caught a glimpse of the woman who gave them direction on things in so many ways.
“Right.” How had Tabitha forgotten the most important moment before she said “I do”? Taking one another’s hands, they moved toward Aunt Tweet to include her in their circle for prayer.
“Father, in the name of Jesus, thank You for this occasion and the man You had for my sister,” Kym began, squeezing Tabitha’s hand. “Please bless their marriage, my nieces and nephews to come, and…please don’t forget about the other two Knicely sisters. We need good men too…”
Once they said “amen” in unison, Tabitha smiled, hugged them one more time, then shooed her sisters out of the room. Turning back to Aunt Tweet, she studied her aunt. Her weight loss was noticeable, but she was still classy in her silk gold suit, stunning hat, and matching gloves. Tabitha kissed her cheek and whispered, “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me all these years, especially imparting your wisdom. I love you.”
“Umm-hmm.” Her aunt nodded, then became antsy. “Randolph’s waiting.”
The mysteries of Miss Priscilla Brownlee would never cease. “Yes,” she responded, knowing she had her own handsome and godly Randolph standing at the altar.
Tabitha and Aunt Tweet made their way out of the changing room. When the ushers saw them, they opened the double doors to the chapel. Tabitha took baby steps to keep her aunt steady.
She could feel the tug of Marcus’s gaze on her before their eyes connected. When they did, his raw happiness caused her to suck in her breath. With each step, Tabitha’s heart pounded. Her life was about to change again, and this time, she looked forward to the new chapter.
Soon, Marcus left his post and met them halfway.
“Thank you, Aunt Tweet,” he whispered and kissed her cheek.
Her aunt nodded, then allowed Marcus’s mother to guide her to the front pew.
“Ready to become my wife?” He gave Tabitha a tender expression.
“More than ready.” In sync, they finished the journey to the altar together.
Pastor Nelson nodded. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses…” he began.
“Tabitha Knicely, will you take Marcus Whittington to be your lawfully wedded husband, forsaking all others until death do you part?”
The moment was surreal as Tabitha stared into Marcus’s eyes, then blinked when she heard a small voice reciting the vows along with the pastor. It was Aunt Tweet. Even that distraction didn’t stop Tabitha from saying “I do” in a strong voice. When it was Marcus’s turn, he cupped her hands, resting them against his chest where she could feel the beat of his heart. It seemed as if her own heart felt it and synced with his. Tabitha trembled as the strength of his voice made her weak. She remained in that state until Pastor Nelson said, “Marcus Whittington, you may now salute your bride.”
With a smirk that made his nostrils flare, Marcus gathered Tabitha in his arms and delivered a passionate kiss.
“Now that’s a whopper!” Aunt Tweet declared loudly.
Author’s Note
Many of Aunt Tweet’s antics mimic my grandmother Grandma Jessie’s, who suffered from advanced symptoms of dementia. The ice cream on the face while the dog went missing was one of Grandma’s escapades. As I think back on those days, it makes me chuckle now. Not back then.
Being a caregiver is probably one of the most misunderstood positions. There is joy, sorrow, depression, frustration, pity parties, and more.
If you know someone who is a caregiver, drop them a card, send them flowers, give them a gift card for maid service or a day out… The ways you can bless a caregiver are endless.
For more information about dementia and Alzheimer’s, visit alz.org.
Rachel’s story is next. Every caregiver’s situation is different, and this Knicely sister is about to find that out.
Please take a moment to post a review and purchase a copy of Lean on Me for a friend.
Until next time, hug a caregiver and be blessed!
Pat
Reading Group Guide
1. Do you think the sisters’ caregivers’ pact was realistic? Have you ever shared caregiving with others? How did it go? If you haven’t had that experience, would you ever take it on?
2. What did you think about Marcus’s interactions with Aunt Tweet?
3. Aunt Tweet is now in the care of Rachel. What do you think is in store for her as the next caregiver? How did Tabitha do as a caregiver?
4. Do you think a single person should place a loved one in a nursing facility when there is no other help? What would you do?
5. How much do you know about dementia and the many diseases that share some of its symptoms?
6. How much do you know about the Alzheimer’s Association?
7. Discuss how being a caregiver affects families living in and outside the house.
8. What is your definition of a caregiver? Does it have to be limited to the care of an elderly or physically challenged individual?
9. What did you think about Marcus’s relationship with Victor and Latrice? Would you have become involved in their problems?
Read on for a look at book 2 in the Family Is Forever series by Pat Simmons
Here for You
Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca
Chapter 1
Dying? Rachel Knicely refused to accept that. Only three weeks ago, her great-aunt Priscilla “Aunt Tweet” Brownlee was the life of the party at the wedding reception. Her eyes had sparkled, her dance moves impressive for an eighty-five-year-old, and her childish giggles made the evening more festive, sometimes stealing the spotlight from the bride and groom. How could she be dying? Nope, I won’t accept that. I need her in my life.
Closing her eyes, Rachel
rubbed her face, trying to make sense of her aunt’s rapid decline. The youngest of three daughters, Rachel had made an agreement with her two sisters to share Aunt Tweet’s caregiving responsibilities six months at a time, first with the oldest, Kym, in Baltimore, next with Tabitha in St. Louis. Now it was Rachel’s “tour of duty” to care for their beloved role model.
Life was suddenly becoming too short. I’m not ready to lose my auntie yet. Rachel yawned and stretched on the chaise longue, posted by the bed in the makeshift guest bedroom in the loft of her Nashville condo. She forced one eye open briefly to check on her aunt.
Rachel was drained and wasn’t sure how she could be so tired. It was only 2:00 a.m. on a Saturday in a city known for its nightlife. Before Aunt Tweet’s stay, Rachel would be out on the town with her best friend, Jacqui Rice, at one of the many “must-attend” events around Music City after a long workweek.
She had tweaked her social calendar until June 1, when Kym would begin the second rotation as Aunt Tweet’s caregiver and relocate their aunt to Baltimore again.
Over the past months, she had learned that being a caregiver wasn’t a nine-to-five shift. Rachel did what it took to make her aunt comfortable. Her late nights were now spent watching over her loved one, even more so now as the Alzheimer’s-triggered dementia symptoms had her aunt acting out of character.
Rachel had no concept of the term sundown until Aunt Tweet began to wake in the middle of the night and wander through her condo trying to get out. Her loving aunt had been downright mean and combative toward Rachel for more than a month. Aunt Tweet’s behavior had crushed Rachel to the core.
A trip to St. Louis last month for Tabitha and Marcus’s wedding seemed to give her aunt a second wind, then after a few days back in Nashville, her aunt slipped again into another personality.
Aunt Tweet had stopped eating for two days. Two days! Rachel had freaked out and called her sisters, who in turn had a conference call with the doctor—the third one since Aunt Tweet was initially diagnosed more than a year ago. After moving Aunt Tweet from her home in Philly, she had a specialist in Baltimore with Kym, one in St. Louis with Tabitha, and now Dr. Allison Watkins here in Nashville.
“The kind of symptoms you’re describing become severe as the patient transitions into the last stages of Alzheimer’s,” Dr. Watkins had said—too casually in Rachel’s opinion as her heart shattered. Was it fair that her designated time with Aunt Tweet was marred with worry that at any time her aunt would slip away?
“Aunt Tweet’s doctor in Philly said a patient with dementia can live up to twenty years,” Rachel pointed out.
“Yes,” the doctor confirmed, “with no other contributing factors, but the average life span is usually four to eight years after diagnosis. Changes in the brain begin before any signs are manifested.”
“That’s the preclinical period of Alzheimer’s,” whispered Tabitha, the second oldest and a pharmaceutical rep.
“Yes, also called the mild stage, which allows her to remain active socially. Stages can overlap, so I suspect Miss Brownlee might have moderate to advanced Alzheimer’s. It is usually the longest stage and can last for many years.”
“Living longer is good news, but not with her condition worsening. My aunt is the sweetest person on earth.” All Rachel wanted was more bonding time with Aunt Tweet, so she could tell her over and over again how much she loved her, admired her, and wouldn’t let her down on the expectations Aunt Tweet had set for her three nieces.
“Based on these new symptoms, let me see her in my office to determine if she has progressed to the next stage.”
“Which is?” Kym asked, but Rachel wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
“The late stage,” Dr. Watkins said matter-of-factly. “Unfortunately, the last stage of Alzheimer’s is the most severe. Without warning, she can lose the ability to respond to her surroundings or control movements, or she may stop walking, sitting, and eventually swallowing.”
When the call ended, Rachel was numb. The conversation had both depressed her and upset her stomach. Dr. Watkins’s speculation was one thing, but taking Aunt Tweet into the office to confirm the inevitable was disheartening. Had her aunt stopped eating because she couldn’t swallow?
The next day, Aunt Tweet woke with a voracious appetite. Relieved, Rachel cried like a baby. This was proof that Aunt Tweet had not progressed to another stage. She had bounced back. She whispered “Thank you, God” and considered canceling the doctor’s appointment.
Kym was the first to veto the idea. “Go, Rach, or I’ll fly down there and take her myself,” she threatened.
“All right!” Rachel reluctantly agreed.
On second thought, Rachel wondered if all three of them going to the doctor with Aunt Tweet wasn’t such a bad idea. Depending on what the doctor had to say, they might need to hold one another’s hands.
Unfortunately, one week later, Rachel was on her own as she escorted Aunt Tweet to the appointment. She didn’t care what it looked like to others in the waiting room; Rachel held her aunt’s hand as if she were a lost little girl, not a twenty-nine-year-old engineer who was at the top of her game.
After the preliminaries, Dr. Watkins gave Rachel the heartbreaking news. “From my assessment and everything you shared on the phone, your aunt has indeed transitioned to the last stage.” She was quick to add. “Don’t give up hope yet. It’s not over. This stage can last from several weeks to several years. It’s not the quantity of time but the memories you have with her that will give you comfort.”
Rachel nodded but didn’t feel any comfort in her words. It was the memories of Aunt Tweet’s laugh, unfiltered conversations about life, and attention to a meticulous appearance that were fading too fast, being replaced by a shell of a woman whose independence had been stolen.
“It’s important that you keep a sharp eye on her for signs of pain, since her level of communication may become more limited.”
Oftentimes, that meant Rachel sitting at her bedside throughout the night, reminiscing about happy times as a child, unsure if Aunt Tweet remembered or understood, but it was therapy for Rachel.
The influence Aunt Tweet had on the Knicely sisters—especially Rachel’s life—was astonishing. Their aunt was all about confidence and character building. Plus, detailed attention to a woman’s personal appearance.
Kym inherited Aunt Tweet’s wisdom as the oldest sibling. Tabitha’s features were almost identical to a younger version of Aunt Tweet as if their parents, Thomas and Rita Knicely, had no say in their daughters’ DNA. But as the baby girl, Rachel had a special bond with her great-aunt.
Aunt Tweet seemed to infuse Rachel with her personality: a flair for fashion that included hair, nails, and makeup to be camera ready at all times, a thirst to achieve a high level of intellect with education being the primary goal. Then there were the many lessons on how to act like a lady. And the most important was philanthropy. There was nothing wrong with enjoying the finer things in life, but one had to remember others less fortunate and help them climb to success.
Courtesy of Aunt Tweet, there were many life lessons learned. The only topic her aunt didn’t bring up much was living happily ever after with the love of your life.
* * *
Wednesday morning, Nicholas Adams was on his way home from work when he received a call from the church office. Overnight, he was a project manager at the Nissan plant in Smyrna about half an hour from downtown Nashville.
By day, afternoon, evening, and night, he worked for his church as a minister. His pastor assigned him and several other ministers to visit church members who were sick, homebound, or hospitalized.
“Hello, Minister Adams,” Laura Emerson greeted him when he answered. “I know it’s early, but we received a call over the weekend from a Tabitha Whittington with an urgent prayer request. She’s a member at one of our sister churches in St. Louis.”
“It’s okay, Miss Emerson,” he reassured the elderly secretary.
“Good, I’ll send you the information,” she said in a quiet voice. “Miss Whittington would like someone to visit her great-aunt, Priscilla Brownlee, who is staying here in Nashville. I’m sure she’d appreciate your visit—the sooner the better, the note says.”
Nicholas nodded to himself. As soon as he said “I’m on it,” Nicholas glanced in his rearview mirror. He had planned to get to the barber because a haircut was already a week overdue.
His phone chimed as he took off. At a stoplight, he stifled a yawn as he glanced at the address Sister Emerson had texted him for Miss Priscilla Brownlee. It was in Midtown, minutes from downtown and not far from Vanderbilt University, but a good half hour drive during morning rush hour. It was also a bit early for a house call, so maybe everything would work out. He would make a stop at Hats Off Barbershop in Antioch, which was in the direction of downtown. Hopefully, he could get in and out.
When he arrived, he counted seven heads before him, or maybe his eyes had crossed. Nicholas resolved that he would have to wait longer than he had hoped. Making himself comfortable in an empty folding chair, he mumbled a prayer for Sister Brownlee before he dozed off. A few times, someone nudged him to pull him into a conversation about sports or to give his opinion about a world event from a “preacher’s viewpoint.”
Two hours later, he walked out a tired man with a fade cut to his wavy hair, a trimmed mustache and five o’clock shadow outlining his jaw. At least he had gone into the restroom to rinse his face with cold water and pop a breath mint. He slipped on his shades after squinting at the sunlight that seemed to have brightened while he’d been inside. Now he felt presentable enough to perform his task.
Once in his car, he confirmed the address again. It was after ten, so surely someone would be awake by now. He tapped the address to activate the navigation app and headed westbound on I-24.
