Drawing Lessons

by Patricia Sands

  On Christmas morning, before anyone could stop him, Ben suddenly pulled the tree over and tried to drag it out the apartment door. Ornaments crashed to the floor, sending bits of glass flying across the hardwood. Her voice caught somewhere between her heart and her mouth, Arianna watched memories of their life together smash into pieces as she scrambled to grab at branches and end the chaos Ben was creating.

  The noise was calamitous. A lamp was knocked over, and water from the tree stand added to the mess.

  The caregiver attempted to calm Ben after he yelled and pushed Arianna down and Faith away when they tried to stop him. He glared at them both as the nurse led him to the bedroom. It was the look of a man Arianna did not know. It was not her Ben.

  As she sat where she landed on the floor, Arianna was too stunned to cry. Her face drained to the palest of pale, and she trembled as Faith took her hand and helped her to her feet.

  Finally finding her voice, she murmured, “I can’t believe he did that. I knew it might happen one day, but never really accepted it. I—I—” Her face reflected despair and anguish as her words caught.

  “Mom, Mom . . .” Faith whispered, holding her mother. “I’m so sorry. That wasn’t Dad. It was the disease that has stolen him from us. We have to let him go.”

  With her arm around her mother’s shoulder, Faith guided her to the kitchen. “Sit here, Mom, and I’ll make us some tea.”

  Arianna felt numb, her thoughts jumbled. Her voice was just above a whisper. “I’ve hit a wall, Faith. I don’t know what to do.”

  Arianna’s heart was wrenched even more as she felt Faith’s despair. She appreciated the comfort her daughter was offering. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She knew Faith wanted to make it better, and she also knew that at this point nothing would. Her heart ached for her entire family.

  “Don’t do anything, Mom. Just sip your tea, close your eyes, and try to feel calm. You know how we’ve been meditating. Try to do that now while I clean up.”

  Silent tears slipped over Arianna’s cheeks. “There’s something so terribly sad about seeing a fallen Christmas tree and broken ornaments, even if it was an accident. But this is so much worse. I feel awful that you’re cleaning it up. I should be doing it.”

  “There, there, Mom.” Faith’s voice was soothing. For the first time, Arianna became fully aware of the reversal that was taking place. Her child was assuming a parental role. As much as it was appreciated, it was also disconcerting.

  Faith gathered up all the food, including the traditional holiday treats that had been collecting on the table over the previous week. She knew it would be unthinkable to leave behind the sweet melomakarona and powdered sugar–covered kourambiethes. No Greek Christmas was complete without those delicacies.

  When Arianna protested, Faith decreed they would eat themselves back into the Christmas spirit. Then she bundled her mother into the car to go to Tad’s house. They stopped to pick up Sophia on the way, after Faith called to explain they had been delayed. She felt it best to wait to share the details.

  Faith followed her grandmother to the car, carrying a pot of avgolemono soup, prepared the night before. Sophia cradled her homemade loaf of Christopsomo, the slightly sweet, light, buttery bread. The car was immediately filled with the fragrance of cinnamon, cloves, and orange, the familiar smell of Christmas Day for them.

  Arianna felt shell-shocked. Sophia was consoling, her own pain set aside. Faith was a rock. For this to happen at such a special family time made it all the more difficult to process.

  They all agreed a turning point had been reached. Quietly, each in their own way, they attempted to insert a semblance of Christmas cheer into the day. Subdued and saddened at times, they also found moments of laughter. The grandchildren’s joy and excitement at opening their presents was not to be denied. Sophia busied herself in the kitchen or snoozed in the rocking chair. Faith, Christine, and Tad persisted in recalling good times. There had been many.

  Ben slept at home, sedated.

  Tad and the four women tried to create a festive atmosphere as they all pitched in to prepare the traditional Christmas pork dinner. The grandchildren were welcome distractions with their unabashed excitement. But Arianna knew this time of year would never again mean what it used to.

  As she had for months now, Arianna kept silently questioning how everything could change so dramatically—even though she knew nothing in life could be predicted or controlled. She’d been through it with her parents’ accident. She’d seen it happen to people she knew. But somehow that still didn’t stop her from questioning it.

  How could she ever move on? She struggled to accept that life as she knew it was over. Her Ben was gone. Their marriage, as it once was, was gone.

  Yet Ben was still physically there. Arianna was still his wife. She still loved him and felt committed to him.

  “That’s the conflict,” she confessed to Gloria one chilly morning in January as they walked briskly through a neighborhood park. The freezing air caught their breath in puffs.

  “I feel increasingly alone,” Arianna continued without a hint of self-pity. “That’s the reality.”

  Gloria slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “It’s frightening to watch and accept. We keep wondering how we can do more.”

  “That’s the thing. No one really can. It’s not like he’s an invalid and friends can come visit, chat, take him for walks, play cards, watch a movie—all those things we want to do . . .” Arianna’s voice trailed off into a sorrowful sigh.

  “The only—and I do mean only—consolation is that I’m assured by all the medical support people that at this point he is unaware of what is happening. If I thought his mind was somehow still present, that would be torture . . . for all of us.”

  Gloria nodded. “So sad that this is the good news.”

  “For better or worse. In sickness or in health,” Arianna murmured.

  Their eyes met. The two friends stood at the side of the path, wrapped in an embrace of support, friendship, love . . . and sadness.

  In the following weeks, Ben slipped into a heavily medicated regimen to counteract his increasingly abusive and stubborn behavior.

  Nursing became necessary around the clock, and everyone advised Arianna that moving him to an assisted-care facility was best for all concerned.

  Tad, Christine, Faith, Sophia, and Arianna spent long hours comforting each other as they came to terms with the inevitable decision. Arianna gave thanks constantly for her strong, loving family.

  Just over a year and a half had passed since the day Arianna and Ben had sat with Dr. Spencer to hear the dreadful diagnosis. Every day since then, they really had been coping with grief over the loss of Ben as they knew and loved him. Some argued that, in certain ways, this was more difficult than dealing with death.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A steady lulling sensation accompanied the increased motion of the train. As the urban backdrop of Paris began to fade away, the TGV accelerated into its legendary high speed.

  Arianna’s face relaxed. Her eyes softened, and her lips turned up in a half smile.

  France! I’m finally here.

  The bittersweet feeling that accompanied these attempts at smiles for almost two years had become part of her. She wondered if that would ever change.

  She had always been a confident traveler. But she had also always had her husband with her, taking charge. He’d made it so easy. The reality that she was on this journey alone was not lost on her. However, as Faith had so accurately pointed out, she essentially had been functioning on her own for many months now.

  And somewhere along the way during those months, Arianna had lost herself. She’d stopped moving forward. Each day had vanished into the next. Her focus was only on Ben. She had visited him every single day for the four months since he had been admitted permanently to Lakeview Assisted Living. Not that he knew it.

  There had been much arm-twisting applied by all of her family before Arianna had agre
ed to this trip.

  Faith and Tad had sat with her and expressed their concerns. “We’re losing our father. We don’t want to lose our mother too. Please, Mom . . . listen to us.”

  I’ve got this. I promised the kids I would do it . . . and I will.

  She settled into the comfortable seat and blew out a quiet sigh. She was glad her train connection at Charles de Gaulle Airport had been easy. Her anxious anticipation of what lay ahead during the next weeks in Provence was replaced by a calm that descended upon her like a soft blanket.

  Arianna was going to participate in a two-week art workshop. The website made clear that this particular course was for seasoned artists, not beginners. Applicants had to submit photos of four completed pieces and give a detailed educational and practical history of their experience. The stated goal was to “guide you into a deeper understanding of your craft, en plein air, surrounded by the light, color, and atmosphere that has inspired painters for centuries.”

  After letting go of art in her life for so many years, she had worried her application would be futile. She’d waited with a combination of excitement and anxiety to see if she would be accepted. Now she was on her way.

  The location was a bonus. Arles was where van Gogh had his most productive years, and she had been drawn to his art ever since she was young, when she tacked up posters of his sunflowers on her bedroom wall. At university, her attraction had turned to infatuation. Here she would have the opportunity to walk in his footsteps. A dream come true.

  And there were no shared memories with Ben in France. This was her choice. These would be her memories to make. She wondered if she could.

  The window beside her was wide and surprisingly clear, somehow missed by the graffiti artists who had spoiled many of the others, she noted. It didn’t much matter, though, as the train rolled past blocks of suburban apartments that looked like any other city outskirts, with no hint of the magic of the City of Light.

  She planned to have time to enjoy the treasures of Paris for a few days after her course in Arles. Faith had helped her plan a week of travel. She had arranged a rental car and would spend a few days on the Côte d’Azur before flying back to Paris, and then home. A twinge of pleasure ran through her.

  Her thoughts slipped back forty years to when she had spent a month in Paris as part of her final year at university. The students had been immersed in museums, galleries, and art classes for those four weeks. Arianna had been torn the entire time between her love of all of that art and obsessive thoughts of her fiancée, Ben, back home waiting for her. That had been the last time she’d seen Paris.

  She turned her attention to the window again. Soon she was thankful for her unimpeded view as the countryside surrounded the train. She felt herself being drawn into the contentment offered by the rural landscape: a blur of spring’s green on the brown and yellow palette.

  Young crops reached skyward in some fields. Orderly rows of vineyards stretched endlessly in others. Freshly plowed furrows offered the promise of new yields.

  Arianna felt a sense of renewal as she watched the scenery unfold.

  Bursts of color, as if applied by afterthought, would intermittently appear as the train sped by. Splashes of bright-red poppy fields and golden rapeseed in bloom dotted the landscape. The solid, jumbled-limestone mass of an ancient village with clay-tiled rooftops punctuated the scenery from time to time. Rivers and forests changed the perspective. The cloudless May sky layered on a shade of blue that inspired only optimism.

  She took out her new art journal, bought for this trip, and worn leather pencil case. Without thinking, she briefly caressed the soft, caramel-colored lambskin with her long, graceful fingers before she opened the zipper. The pencils had been changed a few times through the years, but the case had aged along with Arianna. The fine lines in the leather represented the passing years.

  Like the lines in my face, she mused as she traced along the front of the case and lost herself in thought. Goodness knows I’ve added many more in the last two years.

  She had purchased the pencil case in Paris during her student days, and it had fueled many dreams. The familiarity of that touch soothed her even more now. It had been too long since she had felt that.

  A brand-new little tin field kit of paints was in her travel bag, to use when she wasn’t in motion. Everything she needed to get started. She felt excited to open the first page of her journal and begin recording this artistic journey.

  She drew with a fine-tipped waterproof marker. Then, choosing each freshly sharpened pencil with care, she created a patchwork of colors as she saw them. Where others might write in a journal, Arianna sketched, rubbed, and blended to create the desired shades and hues that captured her eye, creating memories. Every once in a while she added a word about how she was feeling.

  Excited, nervous, curious . . .

  As far back as she could remember, color was as integral to her as breathing.

  Her childhood dreams centered around primary colors, with secondary colors blending in as she grew. Even without understanding about mixing colors in those early years, she was soon using the complete spectrum of the color wheel in her coloring and painting. She would entertain her parents with stories about the taste of color. Sophia would chuckle, hugging her young daughter with delight. Nikos would shake his head, wishing she would talk about the taste of food.

  Arianna left those thoughts behind now, contentment wrapping around her as colors filled the page. She had missed this feeling. Missed these tastes.

  The truth of the matter was, she had not touched her paints, pastels, pencils, or any other art materials since Ben’s diagnosis. It occurred to her several months after that day in Dr. Spencer’s office that she was seeing things only in stark black and white.

  Her thoughts had focused solely on how to get Ben through the day. How to get herself through the day. She had even stopped watching the news. Her family’s sorrow was all she could handle. There had been no color.

  Books had been her escape. Always an avid reader, she was able to lose herself in the pages of good stories and was grateful each time she sat down with her current read.

  Thanks to Faith, she had an e-reader fully loaded with new books. Her daughter had been instrumental in bringing technology into her life in the last few months. Arianna had to admit it was so much easier than packing a bunch of print books, as much as she still loved to turn the pages of a book in her hands.

  She flipped another page of her journal, surprised at how she much she was enjoying creating in this way again. Old feelings might come back after all.

  Again, she was pleased to have the seating space to herself. Her luck was holding, she thought, as her mind wandered.

  The flight from Toronto had been without incident and not full. Arianna felt it was a good omen that the middle seat in her row had been empty. She and the woman in the aisle seat had appreciated sharing that extra space. Arianna also appreciated that the woman was not particularly chatty. After a few initial pleasantries, each had settled into her own involvement with the entertainment system, reading, and catching some sleep until breakfast was announced shortly before landing in Paris.

  Arianna liked that. She wasn’t one to easily engage in small talk with strangers. She had always been a bit of an introvert.

  Ben, like Nikos, had been the chatterbox and the über-friendly guy in the room. That was one reason why both men had been so successful at running the restaurant for so many years. It took that kind of personality. Arianna loved that about her husband, along with a lot of other things.

  Ben . . .

  How she missed him. She thought about the saying that you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Well, not with Ben. She always knew what she had and was always so thankful luck had shone on her when he came into her life. Even when he was dating Gloria during their high school days, she’d secretly adored him.

  His smile lit up a room, never mind her heart. Everyone wanted to be his friend, chat with
him, share a few laughs. He always saw the good in people but was perceptive and an intuitive judge of character. No one took advantage of Ben, but plenty of people received help from him. He always made life an adventure.

  Arianna knew there were many other types of men who would not have brought as much laughter or love into her life.

  And he cooked. He cleaned. But most of all, he loved his family with a passion. He had so much more to give.

  Tears filled her eyes and rushed down her cheeks before she could quell them. Fumbling for a tissue in her pocket, she turned her head to the window and dabbed at her face. She decided to let the tears silently continue, knowing they would anyway. She had learned these outbursts were brief. It wasn’t going to be one of her loud and painful sobbing fits. She could now sense those in advance and find a private place to let go. And even those moments were diminishing . . . she was well aware of that.

  How she loved him. What a solid marriage they had shared. They had weathered the ups and downs and put effort into making their commitment to each other work. Plenty of their friends had not been so successful. Arianna and Ben admitted to a certain smugness about that.

  It had been excruciating to watch him be eaten alive by a terrible disease and disappear into himself.

  And Sophia . . .

  Bless her mother. Eighty-five years old. Ageless in her attitude. She devoted herself to helping however she could, constantly thinking how Ben’s illness was so wrong. “It’s just not fair. It should be me,” her mother would say every day, even as she tried not to. “This would have devastated Nikos. He loved Ben so.”

  When they had coffee together the day before Arianna left for France, Sophia clasped Arianna’s hands in hers. “My darling daughter, I’ve been a widow for twenty-two years. I’ve lived like this, carrying the loving memory of your dear baba with me, as I should, and as you will always keep dear Ben in your heart. But Greek women of my generation dressed in black and mostly never moved on with our life. I don’t regret it. It was my role. But it is not your role. You have a lot of life to live, and I hope you live it. Ben would want you to live it.”