by B. C. Harris
“That’s because she lives in a long term health care facility. It’s also because my mother never wants to take me to visit her. She says that my grandmother no longer recognizes anyone so there’s no sense visiting her. I haven’t seen her for a very long time, likely around eight or nine years. I always thought that when I was old enough I would visit her on my own. I always wondered if she could tell me more about my father’s disappearance.”
“Why haven’t you done this?”
“It isn’t as easy as it might sound.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, for starters, she lives about three hours away from here. I have no way to get there unless I take a bus or train. As a kid I could never consider traveling there on my own. Even now, it would require me to be gone for most of a day and I know that my mother is never going to approve of me going.”
“Sounds like your mother is preventing you from discovering something that she doesn’t want you to know.”
“Yes, I agree with you. While this might be a long shot, I’m hoping that if I show a picture of the New Messiah to my grandmother, she might know something about him. If my mother knows who he is, then there’s a possibility that my father’s mother might also know something about him. Even if she doesn’t, perhaps I might find a picture of my father in her room. If I can obtain a picture of my father, I can probably use my emerald to find him. That would be worth the trip to visit her.”
“Except that you said that she’s unable to recognize anyone,” Jamie says.
“Before you arrived this evening, I did some research about some of the things that can happen to the mind of an older person. I read mostly about dementia, where a person might have trouble carrying on a realistic conversation in the present, but in some cases might have a remarkable recall of past events.”
“Yes, I know about dementia,” Jamie says. “My grandfather lives in a home for seniors. Sometimes he recognizes us and other times he doesn’t. Sometimes we can have a bit of a conversation about the present although he tends to keep repeating what we have been talking about. At other times he’s able to clearly talk about things that happened many years ago as though he was talking about them happening today.”
Jamie is sounding like himself once again. If nothing else, I think I have regained the trust of at least one of my friends. One victory at a time, I tell myself. Jasmin and Drew will have to wait for another time.
“Jamie, I need to visit my grandmother as soon as possible. My mother has already told me that she’s going to be working tomorrow. With no school, it would be the perfect opportunity for me to visit my grandmother, but I need an excuse to be away from my house.”
As Jamie considers what I said, I wonder if something like going to the library or even going to a movie would give me the excuse I need.
“Soon we’re going to be doing a project in our ancient history class,” Jamie says. “Why don’t we say we are going to the Smithsonian for the day? We could even go to the Smithsonian for a short time before catching a train to visit your grandmother, although we could also use your emerald.”
I’m pleased that Jamie is willing to help me. I had thought before about using my emerald, but decided on taking the bus or train so I had more time to think on the way. I could always use the emerald for returning back home to save time.
“That’s a great idea,” I say as I give Jamie a hug. “You’re one person who my mother really trusts. She’ll have no problem agreeing to let me go to the Smithsonian with you.”
Jamie smiles.
- 12 -
AN UNFORESEEN PROBLEM
Jamie and I arrive at the Splendid Gardens Long Term Care Facility mid-Saturday afternoon. My mother has only contacted me once by text at this point in time, although there was a woman on our train who looked exactly like her, but she was sitting too far away to know for sure.
As we walk up a long, meticulously landscaped path leading to the entrance of the facility, memories of previous visits, even though I was likely only around six or seven at the time, begin to flood my consciousness. I recall the fragrance of my grandmother’s room. I think it had that old furniture smell, although if might also have been the result of constant cleaning by the staff to fight any disease outbreaks that I know older people are more susceptible to.
“Any memories?” Jamie asks.
“Yes, I remember the strong smell in her room. I think I remember that my mother had trouble communicating with my grandmother, but I’m not completely sure about this.”
As we enter the front door, I visualize an image of her room.
“There were pictures in her room. There were photographs everywhere. On her dresser. On her shelves. Even on her walls. Do you think I will finally discover what my father looks like?”
“I hope so,” Jamie replies.
The door leading to the main hallway inside the facility is locked. There is a keypad on the wall beside it.
Jamie is reading a display on the wall beside the door.
“One, two, three, four,” Jamie says. “Can’t be much simpler than that. They’re obviously not worried about the wrong kind of people sneaking in here.”
I laugh at his comment as I enter the code. I’m sure I must have done this before when I was a little girl.
As the door swings open, we enter the main hallway. I immediately notice a decorated Christmas tree.
As I hear the door closing, I look back towards the long path behind us.
A tall, slender woman with short black hair is walking in our direction. She looks like the woman on the train.
“Which way?” Jamie interrupts my thoughts.
“I’m not sure,” I reply.
An older man wearing a green shirt is washing a window in the hallway.
“Excuse me,” I say as I approach him. He turns and smiles. He has a friendly face. “I’m looking for my grandmother. It has been awhile since I was last here and I don’t remember her room number.”
He has a name tag on his chest that says Marty.
“What is your grandmother’s name?” the worker kindly asks.
“Her name is Margaret Sylvester,” I say.
“Margaret Sylvester? I don’t think I know anyone by that name,” he says. “Why don’t we check at the main office?”
After placing his squeegee in a pail of soapy water, Marty motions for us to follow.
Stepping in his direction, I glance over my shoulder at the door we entered. I catch a glimpse of the tall woman standing outside. She immediately turns away before I can get a good look at her.
As we follow Marty into an office, there’s no one at the reception desk. Behind the reception area are several offices. They’re dark.
“There’s limited staffing here on weekends,” Marty explains. “Let’s try one of the nursing stations.”
Once again, we fall in line as we’re led along the hallway.
As the worker, a man who has a positive sense of energy, reaches another door, he pushes a red button on the wall.
The door opens.
“This way,” he says.
Within twenty steps we’re at a counter. Behind the counter is an office with a large window. There are two women, wearing green and white uniforms, talking to each other.
“One minute,” Marty says to us. “I’ll get one of the nurses to help you.”
As he moves behind the counter to enter the room where the women are talking, I glance around. Yes, I definitely have some memories of being here before. I think that maybe the walls are brighter. The furniture might even be newer, but the smell that I remembered is still here. It’s the odor of too much cleaning.
“How may I help you?” I hear a woman’s voice.
As I turn, I notice that one of the two nurses has arrived at the counter where Jamie and I are standing. I glance at her name tag. It says Sharon.
“Hi,” I reply. “I have come to visit my grandmother. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here so I don’t remember
which room she’s in.”
“What’s her name?” the nurse asks in a manner that suggests she has more important things to do.”
I watch Marty walk away. I want to thank him again for his assistance, but the nurse in front of me coughs to remind me that she has asked me a question.
“Oh,” I say, returning my gaze back to the woman. She looks to be in her forties with hair that has been bleached one too many times. “My grandmother’s name is Margaret Sylvester.”
“Ah, Peggy…,” the nurse replies. She’s in Ward 2-G on the other side of this building. I believe she’s in room 147. I don’t recall Peggy ever having any visitors. It’s been a long time since…,” she smiles as though she wants to tell me something else, but decides that it’s not important.
“Thank you,” I say. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, having warmed up a little more towards me.
I push the first door we reach. It doesn’t open. Jamie is looking at a small notice on a nearby wall that provides a code for the keypad.
“Three, one, one, seven,” Jamie states.
I enter the numbers. The door swings open.
As we walk down the hallway to the other side of the building, I notice that the worker who had helped us is nowhere to be seen even though his pail of soapy water and the squeegee that he was using are still sitting on the floor of the hallway. Perhaps it’s his break, I think, although it seems unusual to leave the window washing equipment in the hallway. This could be a safety concern if one of the elderly residents was walking along the hallway.
At the end of the hallway we turn left which is our only choice. We encounter another locked door. Seeing a large red button on the wall I push it. The door opens.
Jamie and I enter the hallway. I notice that the layout of what lies before us is a mirror image of the ward we just left.
Although there’s a worker writing in a notebook at the counter of the nurse’s station, I walk casually past her as though I’ve been here many times before. The fewer questions I’m asked, the better.
She makes no attempt to ask who we are. The only think that strikes me about her is her bright red hair.
Entering another hallway, the first room number I see on my right is 141.
We’re almost there, I think. Is it possible that she will remember me? I’m bubbling with anticipation to see my grandmother and to find a picture of my father.
“One forty-five,” Jamie says matter-of-factly after we pass a few more rooms.
One forty-seven. I stop at the door.
The room is dark.
There’s a figure hunched over in a wheelchair.
I find a switch on the wall and turn on the lights.
There’s an old woman in the wheelchair. She doesn’t move. At the same moment I realize that there are no longer any photographs in the room. It’s barren of anything that might tell us anything about the person who lives here.
Perhaps the pictures are in a box somewhere, I think.
Taking another step or two, I look closer at the frail woman. She’s wearing dark glasses which are an extreme contrast to her white hair and white skin. She has a grey and blue blanket bundled around her.
I convince myself that she must be my grandmother.
She coughs. I almost jump out of my skin.
“Grammy…” I say softly after I regain my composure.
There’s no response.
With a little more vigor, I say, “Grammy,” again.
Still no response.
I look at Jamie.
“I think she’s sleeping,” he says. “Sometimes we have a lot of trouble waking up my grandfather. You may have to gently shake her.
I touch one of her arms. I’m shocked by how thin they are. I feel like crying. This is my grandmother. She’s so weak and helpless. How could my mother have abandoned her?
I gently shake her arms. There’s a slight stir from her, but nothing to show that she hears me.
I shake her a little harder.
“Grammy, Grammy. It’s me. It’s Emily.’
Jamie moves behind the wheelchair and touches the back of her head.
“I’ve seen my mother do this with my grandfather,” he says.
It appears that he’s gently massaging the back of her head.
My grandmother murmurs.
“Grammy, it’s Emily,” I say with renewed determination.
Suddenly she moans.
“Kelly? Is that you?”
“No Grammy, it’s Emily.”
“Kelly, is that you honey?” she says again.
“No Grammy, it’s me. It’s Emily,” I repeat.
“Kelly, I’m so glad you’re here. I need to go shopping to get something to cook for supper.”
Her comments set me back.
“Jamie, what’s she talking about?”
“She must be talking about something from her past,” Jamie replies. “She thinks you’re someone else. Do you know who Kelly is?”
“No. I’ve never heard of anyone in our family named Kelly.”
“Grammy, it’s Emily. I’m your granddaughter. I have come to visit you.”
“Kelly dear, I’m so glad that you are here. You need to take me shopping. I need to get something for your father’s supper.”
Father’s supper? My mind is racing a mile a minute. She’s referring to my grandfather who died years ago. If my grandparents had a daughter named Kelly, then this means that my father had a sister, and I have an aunt that I never knew existed.
“Kelly, if you don’t mind, maybe you could drive today. My eyes are a little tired.”
“Mom,” I say tentatively, realizing I need to improvise if I’m going to get my Grammy to talk. “Yes, it’s Kelly, your daughter…”
“Yes, I know you are my daughter,” my Grammy replies as though she’s losing her patience with me.
“Kelly, you need to take me shopping. I’ve got to get something for your father’s supper.”
I pause for a moment, my mind trying to make the most of this conversation.
“Mom,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “is David going to be coming for supper as well?”
There’s a blank look on Jamie’s face.
I whisper to him, “My father’s name is David.”
“Kelly,” she snaps at me, “you know I don’t like you talking about David. Now that he’s gone, you should leave him alone…” she says as her voice trails silently into obvious pain, but not before I realize there’s a slight British accent in her voice. Why had I never noticed this before? Then I remember I was only a child the last time I saw my Grammy.
As I gaze sadly at my helpless grandmother, I wonder why I have never heard of Kelly before? My grandmother knows that my father is gone. Does she know where he went?
I take the picture of the New Messiah out of my purse.
“Grammy, I need you to look at a picture for me,” I say.
There’s a slight unrecognizable mumble from her.
I hold the picture of the New Messiah up to my Grammy’s face.
She doesn’t appear to comprehend what I’m doing. Maybe her glasses are too dark, I think.
As I start to remove her glasses, Jamie says, “Emily, look. Over there.”
I glance at what appears to be a barren wall. Then I spot a white cane leaning against it. As I return my gaze back to my Grammy, I clench my body as I look into her cloudy eyes. She’s blind. My Grammy is blind. Is this what the nurse wanted to tell me?
I stagger away from the thin, wisp of a woman before me. Jamie hugs me. I start to cry.
Finally I get control of my tears. I turn back to my grandmother and kiss her on the forehead.
“I love you Grammy,” I say emotionally. “I’m going to bring our family back together again. I promise.”
Stepping back from my grandmother, I say, “I think we should go. I don’t think I can handle any more surprises today.”
“I agree with
you,” Jamie replies, “but shouldn’t we at least check her closet or dresser drawers to see if there might be any pictures in them.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” I say. “Jamie, I would appreciate it if you would do this for me. I need to get out of this room.”
The moment I reach the door and look down the hallway, I see the tall woman with the short black hair turning the corner.
Behind me I hear Jamie opening and closing drawers. Something deep inside tells me that all the pictures of my family were removed from this room years ago.
Looking back at Jamie, I see that he’s rummaging through a few meager clothes in my Grammy’s closet.
Suddenly, there’s a scream that permeates the hallway.
“Jamie, come on,” I say as I begin to tentatively walk down the hallway in the direction of the scream.
Jamie’s instantly by my side.
As we approach the nurse’s station, two nurses are rushing towards the door to leave this ward. As the door opens, I hear a woman shouting for help.
Jamie and I rush after the two nurses.
Once we are in the next hallway, I see several workers rushing in and out of the office area we had entered earlier with Marty.
As we arrive at the office door, a horrified worker stumbles into the hallway where Jamie and I are standing.
There are four or five shocked workers looking downwards. Several nurses are bending over a body.
I force myself to enter the office area. I feel Jamie close beside me.
My uncontrollable curiosity brings me to the edge of a fragmented circle of people wracked in anguish.
Peering between two workers, I see the body with blood splattered everywhere.
Looking a little closer, I realize it’s Marty.
“He’s been murdered,” is the last thing I hear before I yank Jamie away from the room.
“Jamie, we’ve got to get back to my Grammy. I have a horrible feeling,” I manage to say as I struggle to breathe.
“Why?” Jamie asks. “What’s wrong?”
“I noticed a woman following us earlier. I think she might have murdered the worker.”
I don’t mention to Jamie that this woman looks like my mother.
Rushing towards my grandmother’s room, I realize we’re all alone. All the nurses and workers are back in the office area. If the tall woman is still in the building, we might be her next victims.
