A Storied Life

by Leigh Kramer

  I made a notation about this practical tip. It could also be a good way of keeping the family in the loop. They could add their own questions and read updates about each visit. Even better, it could take some of the burden off of Gram and me from conveying the same information over and over again.

  “Now that you've learned about Sanctuary's program, would you like time to talk it over or are you ready to make a decision?” Beth asked.

  Gram looked at me for a moment. Her face serene, eyes clear. She looked truly peaceful, though sadness still lurked in her expression.

  Gram took a deep breath and returned her attention to Beth.

  “No need to talk it over. I was impressed with how you folks took care of dear friends of mine and I know you'll take good care of me.”

  “Very well then. I'll just need you to fill out a few papers.”

  “Oh, goody.” Gram clasped her hands together like a kid in a candy shop. “There's nothing like signing my life away.”

  “Gram.” I shook my head and groaned at her attempt at black humor.

  Beth led Gram through the various forms for insurance, HIPAA, and hospice itself. She then showed me the parts I needed to sign as Gram's Power of Attorney for Health Care. It was official now.

  Beth separated the duplicates and triplicates, leaving our copies in the folder. She then withdrew a bright pink form.

  “This is not something you need to sign today but I would definitely encourage you to think it through. This is a Do Not Resuscitate form, also known as a DNR.” Beth let this sink in before continuing.

  “What I'm about to discuss may come off as stark or insensitive, which is not my intention. I do want to be up front with you, however. It is possible you will stop breathing or your heart will stop beating, possibly in conjunction with your cancer or due to something else. If your heart stops, we need to know if you would like to be resuscitated at that time.”

  I didn't understand the question. I looked at Gram, bewildered.

  Gram remained erect and resolute in her chair.

  “What do you mean by resuscitation? What does that involve?” she asked.

  “Most likely CPR, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, which would be a series of deep thrusts into your chest in an effort to restart your heart, followed by mouth-to-mouth to get your lungs going again. There's a risk of broken ribs because of the thrusting that must occur for effective CPR.”

  This didn't sound like the heroic rescues we saw on TV and in the movies.

  Beth continued. “Depending on where your incident took place, if a defibrillator is nearby, your heart could be stimulated by the shock. Even if one is not around, CPR could buy time until an ambulance crew arrives.”

  “I have to be frank with you, and I'm not trying to sway you in any one direction. I want you to have a clear idea of what you'll be up against, if this situation occurs. Though we may be able to resuscitate you, your body will still be physically ill. It may not tolerate these efforts, in which case you may need further interventions, such as a breathing tube.”

  “I don't want to be hooked up to any machines,” Gram interrupted adamantly. Her eyes flashed as they bore into me. I was shocked by her intensity.

  “Gram, I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do,” I said. My voice shook and I tried to find the right words. “I don't know about any of this. When you asked me to help you, I didn't know we'd be talking about resuscitation and machines and...” My voice trailed off. Tears began appearing in the corner of my eyes. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to gather my thoughts and failing. This discussion made me feel more helpless.

  Gram blinked and her face softened. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I've asked a lot of you but I know you'll do me proud. I wouldn't trust anyone else with my wishes.”

  “It is a big responsibility, Olivia,” Beth quietly interjected. “All this is overwhelming. I've given you both a lot to think and talk through this morning. I know it might not seem this way now, but it is better to have everything out in the open.”

  My stomach churned. No matter what, I needed to be strong for Gram. We could talk later about why she chose me and what happened to make her feel so strongly about it.

  “I'll be fine. It's a lot to take in,” I offered, trying to smile at Gram in reassurance. “I'll support whatever you decide, Gram.”

  The three of us sat in silence for a few moments. I circled the rim of my mug with my middle finger, tracing the edge round and round again. This was not my decision, none of it, and I hadn't the first clue on how to guide Gram. I rubbed my temples, trying to massage the confusion away.

  Gram reached across the table for the bright pink paper and pulled it closer to her. She slid her reading glasses down to the edge of her nose and scanned the page.

  “It seems to me we'd only be prolonging the inevitable.” Gram spoke as she thought. “I don't want anyone guessing at my wishes; I want you to know them.”

  With that, she signed her name with a flourish before sliding the page over to me.

  “Your witness, madam,” she grinned with a wink.

  I couldn't find the strength to smile back.

  The kitchen suddenly felt small. I wasn't qualified to make these decisions. Why did Gram believe otherwise?

  I could hear the family's response from here, indignant that I didn't stop Gram. But stop her from what? She and Beth shuffled through papers, already moving on. Gram didn't doubt I would affirm her choice.

  I picked up the pen, heavy and clumsy in my hands. I added my signature in the appropriate spot, then looked over at Beth. Her eyes tried to give me the reassurance I sought.

  Inside I saw a little girl playing dress up, not a woman upholding her dying grandmother's wishes. The little girl believed this was all a misunderstanding. The little girl wanted a different option.

  I served us all a piece of warm apple crisp. I tasted nothing as I chewed, certain I'd signed Gram's life away.

  Chapter Six

  The coffee shop bustled with activity. Children cried as mothers chatted, freelancers typed away on their laptops, and a group of elderly men held court in the corner. I waited in line and fought the compulsion to turn to strangers and tell them about my morning.

  It was noon and I remained unsettled about my role in Gram's demise. Not ready to return to the gallery, I decided a little indulgence was in order. That and a peace offering.

  Drinks in tow,I walked the few blocks to the bank. The rain had stopped, allowing the sun to peek through the clouds. As the granite building came into view, gleaming with tradition and dependability, I wondered how my great-grandfather's family responded when he decided to start a bank. After all, banks were not necessarily known for stability in those days. Although, work in finance maintained an air of prestige no matter how the economy fared. I sighed in concession.

  This building served as a stark reminder that I did not fit in nor belong, even though I bore its name. I only graced its halls under dire circumstances. Years ago I'd switched my accounts to a bank around the corner from my apartment and never looked back. My family added it to the list of my treasonous behavior.

  At one point, a trip to the bank was the highlight of my day. Skipping next to Dad as I helpfully “assisted” him with various tasks. Picking out my favorite sucker from the stash reserved for pint-sized customers. Being known as a Frasier by those coming and going.

  All well before Frasier became synonymous with controlling vitriol.

  I shook myself out of the reverie and marched inside. Best not to go down that road any further. I avoided eye contact with anyone who might know or be related to me as I headed toward the back offices. Finally, I wound my way to Aunt Elaine's desk.

  As she hung up the phone, I held out her favorite drink.

  She looked up from her desk. “Mint Condition?” Dark circles lined her eyes and she looked less polished than usual, though I couldn't pinpoint why. At least I wasn’t the only one losing sleep over this.

  “O
f course.” I waited for her to take the first drink. Her eyes closed with bliss as the concoction hit her taste buds.

  “You didn't need to bring a peace offering, Livvie. You didn't do anything wrong.” She chastised me while taking another appreciative sip.

  “Everyone else is mad at me. I don't want you mad at me too. I need someone to be on my side.” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice, as well as the whispering tears at bay.

  “Since when has anyone's opinion mattered to you,” she drolly replied. “Mom made her decision. They'll get over it.”

  “Before or after Marcus sticks a knife in my back?”

  Elaine simply stared me down until I recanted.

  “Okay, he wouldn't do that. It's too obvious, not his style. I just—” my voice broke. “I don't know why she picked me, Elaine.” I couldn't admit I felt in over my head. She may have been my favorite aunt but she was firmly in camp with her siblings. She was a daughter, I a mere grandchild. That had been made clear to me on more than one occasion. Still, I couldn’t afford to lose her goodwill.

  Elaine sighed and set her drink down, contemplating her desk before speaking again. “The two of you have always had a special bond.”

  “Not any more than you and Gram do,” I responded.

  She came around from the desk to hug me and I sank into her embrace. Some of the tension left my body but I was still on edge. She patted me on the back before continuing, her voice vibrating in my ear.

  “That's very sweet of you to say but we both know that's not true. You and Mom have always been like peas in a pod. You have that same adventurous spirit.”

  Some adventurous spirit to keep us both in Illinois.

  “Don't worry about what happened yesterday. Everyone will calm down. When they stop and think about it, they'll realize you were the obvious choice.”

  “I know, I know. I'm the one with a flexible schedule,” I muttered as I broke the embrace.

  “It's not just that and you know it. We numbers-oriented people have a hard time with the unknown, while you're able to navigate uncertainty. You don't need all the answers ahead of time. You figure it out as you go. When I think of all that Pop went through and what Mom might experience, I know you'll handle whatever comes your way, even Marcus, with grace.”

  Elaine's words fell over me, soothing the rough spots.

  “Is that really how you see me?” I didn't think I handled uncertainty gracefully. It simply became a way of life. The art world was full of ups and downs. That I'd been able to make a living with the gallery and hire staff was the icing on the cake. The trick was making sure the cake kept replenishing itself.

  “You have no idea how capable you are, Liv. I admit I was hurt that Mom didn't ask me to be her POA. The more I thought about it though, the more it made sense. I am usually tied up at the bank. If I'm not here, I'm throwing dinner together for Roger or running to a grandkid's activity. I try to be superwoman but I can't do that for Mom. She deserves better than what I could give.”

  “I'll support you however I can and I'll be there for Mom to the best of my ability. It really gives me peace of mind knowing you'll be there for her. And if anyone gives you trouble, just send them my way.” I quirked an eyebrow at the thought of Elaine taking on her brothers for me. That would be unprecedented.

  A weight lifted. Mom and I had smoothed things over yesterday afternoon by phone but Elaine's silence had bothered me. We were fine for now.

  I filled Elaine in on the meeting with Sanctuary but glossed over the more serious discussions. Gram would fill her children in on that particular choice. After a few more minutes, I hugged her goodbye and headed back to the gallery.

  * * *

  The installation was underway when I arrived. A shiver of excitement went through me as I considered this next exhibition. Of all the gallery tasks, showcasing new talent was easily my favorite part.

  Jane, the curator, met with potential buyers in the back corner, gesturing to a larger piece currently on display. A big sale would be a lovely pick-me-up. A few older women walked in behind me, then headed upstairs for an art class, talking animatedly the whole time. Suzy waved as I made my way through, then turned back to the installation in progress. We looked to be in good shape for Wednesday.

  As long as the other two artists submitted the rest of their work by the end of today, tomorrow and Friday would be a breeze.

  Madison Gallery surprised everyone with its success. Oak Park has its share of galleries, and naysayers weren't sure the town needed another. My vision for highlighting new artists and hosting classes for children and adults in the community had won them over, and we'd become a staple in the neighborhood. We were always hosting one event or another.

  When Walter Booth first encouraged me to open my own place, I thought he was kidding. I'd been curating at the Art Institute for a few years by then and enjoyed the routine and rhythm of museum life. He poked and prodded at my unspoken dreams, even my insecurities, until I finally saw the appeal.

  It helped to have him as a backer but since opening the doors four years ago, the gallery had bloomed under my watch, and I took pride in the results. Even so, a nagging feeling lingered. Was this enough for me? I couldn’t have been farther away from my old dreams, but people change. They grow up and the old dreams stay in the past. Or at least, they should. I kept shrugging off my discontent.

  If I didn't work at the bank or the gallery, what would I do? I had no easy answer to that question and so I ignored it.

  I wondered whether Gram's circumstances would change my feelings. Based on this morning's conversation, my fifty-hour work weeks wouldn’t continue much longer.

  Suzy appeared, sprite-like, at my elbow.

  “How'd the morning go?”

  I gestured for her to follow me in to my office. I collapsed on the couch and let my tote fall to the floor.

  “That good?” Suzy sank into the overstuffed chair next to me.

  “Oh, it was fine. As fine as a morning can be when you discuss your grandmother dying and what she wants you to do if her heart stops.” I looked over at her in a panic. “I have no clue how to do this. The hospice nurse gave us the overview and there are going to be a lot of visits from this team. I don't know if I need to be there for all of them or when people will come or how that's going to impact the gallery.”

  I paused and took a breath. “But what I really don't know is how I'm going to watch her die.”

  The truth of that statement hit me anew.

  Maybe it was my position on the couch or the lack of sleep but I found myself sharing my fears with Suzy. She became my confessor in that moment. As I let it all spew forth, my spirit felt lighter.

  There was a lot I didn't know, but I did know this—I would make sure Gram had a peaceful death, no matter what.

  “Thank you, Suzy. I know you’ve been wanting more of a challenge here and you’re about to get it. I don't know what I'd do without you.”

  “I'm here for you,” she said in return. “Whatever you need me to do, just let me know. Please. You were there for me when my mom got sick and when Alicia broke up with me.” I scowled at the mention of her ex-girlfriend. She’d really done a number on Suzy, which made me all the more grateful Suzy had met Mei. “All I’m saying is I want to be there for you. If I need to do more here, if you need a glass of wine, whatever. Promise me you'll keep talking to someone. You get so stressed from holding everything inside.”

  My head shot up in surprise. Apparently this was a day for people to reveal all sorts of information about me. I didn't realize those nearest and dearest read me so well.

  I saluted her. “Yes, ma'am. Now let's get back to work.”

  * * *

  The train car opened and I flew out, pushing past people to get to the stairs. The Green Line was a few blocks from the Red Line entrance where Reagan awaited. As usual, gallery tasks had consumed me and I'd lost track of time.

  I felt ridiculous attending a game in my work clothes but
there wasn't time to change. My trusty Konerko jersey thrown over my dress shirt would have to do.

  Reagan lounged in front, flanked by scalpers and vendors. Unlike those around him fiddling with their phones, he tapped his feet to the beat of the Bucket Boys pounding away across the street. He hadn't noticed me yet and I envied his carefree expression, as if he had all the time in the world.

  I tapped his arm. A smile split across his face and I lit up inside. Oh, man. I was going to be in trouble if I was already reacting like this.

  “Did you get the message that I was running behind? I hope you weren't waiting too long,” I babbled. I felt flustered by the day, as if I'd never catch up.

  “Yeah, I got it. I decided to leave on time anyway so I could see what the South Side is like.”

  “And your verdict is?”

  “Lots of interesting characters,” he mused, angling his head toward the scalpers and their staccato requests. “I'll reserve judgment until after the game.”

  With that, we began walking toward the stadium. I loved being around fellow fans decked head to toe in Sox gear.

  “I see you dressed for the game.” I noted his black t-shirt with curiosity. “I'm glad you were smart enough not to wear anything Cubs-related.”

  He laughed. “It's stupid to wear another team's stuff unless they're actually playing each other. I'd rather not get beat up tonight.”

  “I suppose I would protect you if it came down to that. Seeing as how you're a prospect for the gallery and all.” I looked up at him and envisioned myself fending off drunk fans. Reagan towered over me, making him the more likely protector. I liked to think of myself as tiny but mighty.

  We bantered as the crowd swept us through Gate 5 and then to our seats in the upper deck. Kristy and I rarely sat in the same place twice each season. It would have been nice if tonight's game was one of our lower deck options, but we had a good vantage point between home and first base.