by Leigh Kramer
“Kris, you don't have to do that. It's enough to talk on the phone.”
“Don't argue with me. Gram means a lot to me too and this is what friends do. How many times have you dropped everything for me? You need me and I haven't been there enough for you lately.”
“We've both been busy. I understand,” I countered.
“I know you do, but I'm coming anyway.”
An hour later, she walked into the house and wrapped her arms around me. She knew what I needed, even I did not. When words were not enough, her presence would carry me through. We spent the afternoon going through Gram's old photo albums, interspersed with checking on our patient. We talked about Reagan and her husband Cory, our old high school classmates, and who made the best pizza. We talked about everything but the obvious.
When the nurse's aide arrived, Kristy stayed in the background, occasionally asking questions I wouldn't have thought of. Charlene demonstrated how to help someone as they walked and the best way to transfer someone to the toilet. Gram had woken up enough at that point to let Charlene help her in the shower. When Charlene finished, Kristy hugged me tight and then kissed Gram’s cheek. She and Charlene walked out together, leaving me with Gram.
She sat propped up in her bed with a tray before her, her spoon lazing through the bowl of soup she'd requested. By the looks of it, she hadn't taken a bite. She'd been unsurprised to see me when she'd woken earlier. She looked at me now, her eyes bluer in the daylight.
“This is it, isn't it, Liv?” she asked me. She knew. My heart crumpled.
I wanted to deny and couch it in uncertainty. “I don't know, Gram. Justin didn't say that for sure. You're probably tired from last night, that's all.”
She stared at me, disappointed by my evasion. My eyes dropped, disappointed in myself. She counted on me to tell her the truth and walk beside her. I owed her this.
“Yes, Gram,” I finally said, looking back up. She looked toward the window, her attention on the trees for a few moments.
“I sensed as much.”
Silence settled. I didn't know where to take the conversation from there.
“Justin is coming back to check on you tomorrow morning. Do you want me to update anyone in the family in the meantime? I'm surprised I haven't heard from Jeff yet. He was pretty worried about you this morning.” I didn't know if Gram remembered him taking her home or that he'd slept overnight.
“That boy is consumed by the bank. He'll emerge eventually,” she responded. “Don't say anything yet. I want to know what we're dealing with and then you and I can come up with a plan.”
We sat together companionably until I realized she'd drifted back to sleep. I picked up the unfinished soup, the bowl lukewarm and unappetizing. The room transfixed me. There were calls to make and things to do but something held me in that space. I was not ready to walk out. I wondered if this was how it would be from here on out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two days later, the whole family piled in to the great room, grandchildren included. Saturday mornings implied a later start but not for the overachieving Frasiers, oh no. I'd managed to push it back to eight o’clock, a hollow victory.
People paced to and fro, edging for the good seats or talking about which activity they had to get to next. No one seemed overly concerned about the meeting's purpose. I stood to the left of Gram's “throne” and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I'd had six hours of sleep combined since arriving at Gram's house Thursday and only caffeine trickled through my veins. I'd had little reason to resist the coffee I brewed for everyone. In short, I was not to be trifled with.
Reagan caught my eye and winked at me. I could do this. I knew I could. Even though Reagan wasn't technically a member of the family, Gram insisted I invite him for moral support. I needed to have someone in my corner.
“Thanks for coming everyone,” I began, but they chattered on, oblivious. “Hey,” I boomed. Silence descended as all eyes turned to me. A pit formed in my stomach. This wasn't how I'd envisioned our time starting.
My left eye twitched, the result of too little sleep and a body unaccustomed to coffee. I closed my eyes quickly, hoping to lull the twitch in to submission. I sensed everyone looking toward where Gram should be sitting. They had not expected to start without her. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“Like I said, thanks for coming this morning. It was last minute and we appreciate you clearing your schedules. As you can see, Gram's not with us. She's finding early mornings are not her best time so she's leaving this up to me. We have a lot to cover before we all go our separate ways. She did say that whoever wants to should stop by her room to say hi afterward, so long as she's awake by then.” Understanding, then curiosity, dawned on my relatives' faces. This was the turning point in our hospice journey. This was the moment where I became Gram's actual mouthpiece. We'd reached the crossroad.
When I'd checked on Gram earlier, I'd stood in the room and listened to the new rasp in her breathing as she slept. The cancer metastasizing in her lungs was getting worse. Even so, she slept peacefully. She didn't have a care in the world, in part because she'd bequeathed them to me. There was satisfaction and no small amount of fear in taking this role.
“First, Gram thanks everyone for her lovely birthday celebration. She was glad we, in her words, 'forced' her to acknowledge turning eighty-four. She said she couldn't have envisioned a more perfect evening, given our present circumstances.” I hesitated, unsure how to proceed. I wanted to let us rest in the memories of dancing and toasting and eating Gram's favorite cake.
“There's no easy way to say what I'm about to tell you. For the record, Gram forbade me from saying anything sooner so if you're going to be upset, please do not shoot the messenger.” I began to pace as I explained the events of the last few days. I didn't want to look anyone in the eye. The room grew cold with things unsaid.
I nodded toward Uncle Jeff. “You might have heard Gram was pretty worn out from her party. The truth is, she's slowed down a lot the last few weeks ever since...well, you know. I’d hoped the party would perk her up and I think it did in some ways. But the cancer is still pressing forward and her body has decided it's enough.” I blinked back tears.
The air sucked out of the room. Fidgeting ceased and cell phones were stowed, as they directed their attention toward me at last. No one responded so I kept going.
“I talked to the social worker the other day and she said sometimes people unconsciously hold on for birthdays or holidays, different kinds of milestones. We don't know whether that's happening here but the timing is interesting,” I said. “Anyway, the hospice nurse visited the last two days and we've had some fairly frank conversations. Gram's hardly eating. She's going to the bathroom more frequently. She hates this next part but I have to be honest with you—she had an accident the other day because she stayed in bed so long.” I let the news sink in. Expressions of horror came over several peoples’ faces.
“That's the other thing. She's sleeping way more. She doesn't have a lot of energy when she's awake, but we were able to have some good conversations yesterday. She seems comfortable propped up on her mound of pillows in bed.” I paused again, hating what I had to say next.
“Justin was honest with us. Gram's body is starting to shut down. He thinks we're probably looking at days to weeks, although he said he could be wrong. He could be, but Gram also said she feels different. She thinks this is it.” I exhaled long and slow. The worst part was over. I stopped pacing and looked at everyone. A box of Kleenex was making its rounds, just as it had the day Gram told us she had cancer. There were more people in the room, to be sure, but the response was much the same.
“Are you sure about this?” Marcus asked. “You know how you exaggerate at times.”
Asshole. I breathed the Serenity Prayer before facing him.
“Yes, I'm sure. If you don't believe me, you're welcome to wake Gram and ask her yourself.” While Justin had offered to talk to anyone who wanted m
ore information, I didn’t want to subject him to Marcus.
The room shuddered involuntarily. No one would dare wake her, not even her eldest son.
“What do we need to do?” Aunt Mimi interjected, easing the tension.
“The social worker talked to us about caregiving options: letting family take care of her, hire someone, and so on. Gram considered each one and we've decided I'll move in for the time being. I've talked to my assistant and things are fairly well-handled at the gallery. I'll still have to stop in maybe once or twice a week but that's flexible.”
Heads nodded understanding. They were tracking with me. Now we’d see who would step up to the plate.
“Gram's not an invalid by any means but it's best that she not be left alone because she's at risk for falling. So, here's where you all come in. I know you'll all be visiting like usual but we need to schedule some breaks for me. If anyone can come for a few hours here and there, stay overnight once in a while or take part of the weekend, whatever. I can't do this on my own. When you're here, I can run over to the gallery, run errands, take a walk. Just do something for myself.” There, it was out.
“I thought the whole point of you being Mom's POA was that you'd take care of her,” Marcus chided. He grated on my last nerve. Why did my family reduce me to this? I didn't want to play this worn role. Not this time.
“I am taking care of her,” I said through gritted teeth. “But I can't put my business and whole life on hold, nor does Gram want me to. I have other responsibilities and the social worker said it was important I have regular breaks.”
“Your responsibility is to her,” he said, his voice hard and biting. Aunt Pam put a hand on his arm and reminded him to stay calm.
“I know it is,” I countered. I barely kept my voice down. “That's why I'm going to be here every single day. Do you know how much sleep I've gotten the last two nights? Six freaking hours total. Because Gram needs to get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. And I'm happy to do this for her but that means I'm tired. I didn't realize it would be such an imposition to ask you to sit with your dying mother.”
Marcus sputtered. Reagan's muscles flexed in my peripheral vision. Before anyone could join the so-called discussion, Mom jumped from her seat across the room and came next to me. “Of course we're going to visit and give you a break, Olivia,” she soothed. She put her arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. It didn't defuse the tension but at least I wasn’t alone up front.
My cousins, Uncle Jeff, and the aunts chipped in their pledge to help out.
“Do you think she'd mind having the kids around?” one cousin asked.
“It would probably be a nice distraction,” I said, grateful they were thinking outside the box. I shook off my anger toward Marcus.
“You don't have to sign up now but I printed off a calendar of the next few weeks. Once you know when you're free, let me know and I'll put you down. That way I can plan around you.” I waved the sheets of paper in the air, before setting them down on one of the coffee tables.
“Are there any special instructions?” Aunt Mimi asked tentatively.
I thought for a minute. “Not really, at least not right now. If she's having a sleepy day, someone will need to wake her up every few hours to go to the bathroom. Mostly you need to be by her side when she's up and walking. It sounds like things could change fast though, so it's hard to tell. If you have specific questions, we can set up a time for Justin to talk to everyone and go through Gram's care needs.”
The sounds of rustling filled the room as people retrieved planners and pulled up calendars on their phones. The sheets of paper began to circulate the room as people signed up for when they could provide relief.
“I'll stay here tonight, Olivia,” Mom said to me. “Go home, get some rest, and pick up whatever you need.”
* * *
I dropped my suitcase in Gram's entryway and hid the large portfolio in the front hall closet. It would be safe there until Aunt Mimi left. Normally I called out my arrival at Gram's house but I didn't want to disturb the peace. I crept up the stairs and peeked in Gram's room. She opened one eye and waved briefly before descending back to sleep.
I made my way to the kitchen, the eternal hub, and found Mimi elbow-deep in flour. She let me kiss her cheek while she kneaded some sort of dough. “Rosemary focaccia,” she explained.
“It smells great. Everything go okay?” Mom stayed overnight and traded off with Mimi this morning, allowing me to not only go home with Reagan yesterday, but linger over breakfast this morning.
“Fine, fine,” she trilled. “Did you get some sleep?” She actually looked concerned. This was disconcerting. Was everyone worried about my mental stability?
“I did. Thank you so much for being here, Mimi. I really do appreciate it.”
Mimi waved her flour-covered hand, indicating it was no big deal. Flour dusted the air in her wake. “This is what family does, even if Marcus is inclined to believe otherwise. I thank my lucky stars Dan is nothing like his brother.”
I almost fell over from shock. “What? You've never said anything like that before.”
Mimi arched her eyebrow at me. “Olivia, your uncle has given every woman in this family a hard time. You are not uniquely lucky in that regard. A good Southern woman knows how to smile and nod.”
“Yes but, Mimi, you grew up ten minutes from here.”
“Hmm. I guess your grandmother's rubbed off on me,” she said with a wink and a shrug. She transferred the dough to prepared pans. “Speaking of my husband, I need to get home to him. The bread bakes for fifty minutes, if you can keep an eye on it. I thought it would be nice to keep on hand for any company who drops by. You're aware that word is spreading?”
Everyone wanted to pay their respects to Ella May Frasier while there was time. Dan disabled the doorbell so we didn't run the risk of waking Gram. Guests were supposed to call ahead but this courtesy was hard for friends and neighbors used to popping by whenever the spirit led.
Once Mimi left, I retrieved the portfolio from the closet and unzipped its contents. Despite my fears, I committed to seeing this through. I tiptoed upstairs, hoping Gram would wake to a sweet surprise. Instead, she was awake and smiling.
“I was about to ring the bell,” she said, referring to the bell now kept at her bedside in case she had any needs when no one was in shouting distance.
“Bathroom time,” I guessed. I set my treasure down in the hallway before coming the rest of the way in. When Gram needed to go, time was of the essence.
I pulled the covers all the way to the end of the bed, then slid her legs around so she could sit up. I counted to three, as I grasped her arm and helped her to stand. Her stomach bulged large and hard, an uncommon sight on an eighty-four-year-old woman.
“Is your stomach bothering you today?” It looked uncomfortable. I trailed behind her as she shuffled toward the bathroom. I prayed she'd make it there on time, for both of our sakes.
“No more than usual,” she replied, and continued on her way.
“Justin said we could drain it, remember. If it's bothering you, we can do something about it.”
“I know, dear. Thank you.” She finally stood in front of the toilet. I steadied her as she prepared to sit down on the toilet, then stood a respectful distance away.
“Gram, I think it would be better if we had Justin order the bedside commode. There's no reason for you to race to the bathroom every time you need to go.” I held my breath and crossed my fingers.
Silence. Then, a resigned assent. She finished and we repeated the song and dance to the sink to wash her hands and then back to her bed. It was a good time for a distraction.
“I brought you something,” I told her, trying to appear nonchalant. Was I really going to do this? My heart jumped in my throat.
“I thought so,” she answered. “You had that look you get whenever you try to keep a secret from me.” I made a face at her, then retrieved the canvas from its roost in the hal
lway.
I couldn't conceal it behind my back given its size, but I held it so she could only see its back.
“Is that what I think it is, Olivia Jane?” Gram's eyes brightened with expectation. I hoped she wouldn't be let down.
I turned the canvas around and braced myself for her reaction. She beckoned the painting closer until I propped it up in her lap. Her hand traced the outline of my painted face, then hers. She glowed with happiness as she took in the canvas.
She grasped my hand. “Oh, Livvie, it's beautiful. I remember this moment perfectly. This is us. This is how the world sees us—laughing, happy, radiant. And you did this,” she exclaimed. “You've carried this gift in you all these years.” She looked up at me.
Her optimism and belief in me never wavered and I couldn’t face it. “This is for you alone, Gram. A belated birthday present. I didn't know if I was going to show you or not.”
“I'm glad you did. Does this mean something?” Again, she hoped for something I could not promise.
“I don't think so, Gram. It's a hobby, not a career, but I didn't want to hide it from you anymore.”
“Olivia Jane, what story are you trying to tell? Look me in the eye and tell me you don't come alive when you paint.” Gram's insistence drew my gaze from the painting back to her.
“It doesn't matter. I have a business to run, there are bills to pay. You know I'd never hear the end of it if I chucked my career to paint.” Stubbornly, I held my ground. Why did everyone think they knew what was best for me?
“Ah, I see. You're finally admitting the family's opinion matters to you. Will you admit that's the real reason why you opened the gallery, then?” Her eyes narrowed, pinning me down.
I sputtered. “That is not why I opened the gallery. In the first place, it was Walter's idea. In the second place, it meant I could be part of the art community in Oak Park. In the third place, I'm still involved in the art world. It just looks different than what I'd originally thought.”
“But you still paint.”
