Tie Died

by Carol Dean Jones

Sarah didn’t get a chance to order. The dinner had been preordered and was served family style. As she fixed her plate, Sarah listened to the many conversations and the excitement in people’s voices, and she realized this was exactly what she needed. Again, she felt that tinge of excitement. Something good was wrapping itself around her protectively.

  Some months later, Sarah came to realize that not everyone was having this much fun at Cunningham Village. There were people—some even younger than herself—who never came out of their homes. Some in the assisted living units rarely left their rooms. They had moved into their senior years unable to accept the many losses they had experienced and were collapsing in on themselves. She could see it in their bodies as their heads lowered and their shoulders drooped forward.

  “Depression,” Sarah had said to Sophie one day when she was speculating about the people who rarely came out of their houses. “I know many of these folks are in poor health and have much to regret and grieve, but if you let the bad times rule your life, it can cause you to fade like a dying flower.”

  “You think too much.” Sophie had retorted with a chuckle as she poured coffee and bit into another pastry.

  Chapter 5

  Sarah had just finished breakfast and was thinking about signing up for a computer class when the phone rang. “Hi, Andy. Funny you would call right now. I was just looking over the computer class schedule and ...”

  “That’s exactly why I’m calling,” he interrupted. “They start next week, and I was going over to sign up. Have you decided what you want to do?”

  “I don’t know a thing about computers. I was just reading that we need to be learning something completely new as we get older to keep those brain cells firing, so I’m going to give it a try. But ...”

  Andy interrupted again, saying, “My guide and mentor, Norman Vincent Peale, says all you have to do is picture yourself succeeding, and you will. That’s what I did, and you should see me on that computer now.”

  “You know Norman Vincent Peale?” she asked with astonishment.

  “Well ... not the real person, actually,” he said reluctantly, sounding a bit uncomfortable. “Just the books. But they changed my life back in the 50s when I read my first one. He taught me that you can do it if you can imagine it, and that has been my philosophy all these years. ‘Positive thinking,’ he calls it. Of course, it didn’t help me much on the golf course,” he chuckled, “but then I might have been much worse without it.”

  “Okay, I’ll take a lesson from Mr. Peale, and I’ll imagine myself as a whiz on that computing machine of theirs. I would love to be able to write letters on it.”

  “Emails,” Andy corrected.

  “Okay. Emails,” Sarah repeated with a sigh.

  * * * * *

  Sarah entered the room reluctantly. The few people who were already there had their computers turned on and were actually doing something. She felt intimidated before she even sat down. If you can picture yourself doing it, you can do it. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop picturing herself completely destroying the computer with her first touch.

  But she didn’t destroy it, and, in fact, she learned enough that day to browse the internet (new words in her vocabulary) and look up the current weather in her own city and in Tulsa, Oklahoma (for no particular reason other than for the fun of it). She also read parts of the local paper online. By the time class was over, she wanted to know more.

  Sarah found all this very exciting. It had always been her nature to enjoy life. But after Jon died, she became despondent for months. She refused invitations and spent many hours in her garden, sometimes just sitting and thinking, sometimes crying, and sometimes working with harried speed as if attempting to meet some unrelenting deadline.

  But one day she woke up and heard the birds in her garden, and she realized that life was still good. A few weeks later, Arthur was born. Joyce and Jason were overjoyed to have a son, and Sarah was now a grandmother. She would always have Jon in her heart, but he wouldn’t want her to grieve forever. And her new grandson deserved a happy grandma. So she put a smile on her face and dove back into life.

  The first thing Sarah did was go to Keller’s Market and see if she could get her old job back. Well, it wasn’t exactly her old job. Twenty-three years had passed, and the store was filled with all-new faces. But she was only forty-eight and had “energy to burn,” people said. So she put on her best outfit, held her head high, and applied for the vacant manager position.

  And she got it. It helped that one person was still there: Jacob Myers. Jacob had been a manager when she worked there many years before. He was now at Corporate, and she listed him as a reference. He gave her a glowing one, of course, and called her personally to offer her the job.

  Chapter 6

  “You were on the internet?” Martha asked with surprise. “Where? And how?”

  Sarah told her daughter about the classes, and of course Martha found a thing or two that could go wrong. “You have to be very careful, Mama.”

  “I’m enjoying it, and I’m meeting nice people. This is a good thing in my life, Martha.” She wanted to add “Please leave it alone” but didn’t. I must remember to buy Martha a copy of Mr. Peale’s book.

  “Okay, Mother. Do what you want. But just be careful,” she repeated.

  Sarah made a weak excuse to end the conversation and curled up in the recliner by the front window, contemplating Martha’s warnings and wondering just when it was that Martha became so negative and suspicious. As a child, she had been full of joy. Once Jason was able to run and play, he and Martha had become fast friends and managed to get into more than their share of scraps. But as she got older, she seemed to enjoy life less. She worked as a researcher for the government and put in endless hours on projects Sarah couldn’t begin to understand. And Martha told her less and less about her work as time went on.

  Martha was married briefly to a man she met in college, but they separated after a couple of years. Martha wouldn’t talk about what went wrong, but Sarah always hoped she had someone to talk to about it. It worried her that Martha kept so much inside.

  * * * * *

  “Okay, I’m here,” Andy said strolling into the computer lab. Andy was a slight man, weighing only 145 pounds or so. His steel-gray hair was always in disarray, and he wore faded jeans and a white-and-gray baseball shirt. He probably owned more than just this outfit, but Sophie claimed she’d never seen him in anything else. He pulled a chair over and gave Sarah a quick lesson on sending emails. While he was at it, he took her into several chat rooms. She was instantly intrigued.

  “These are all total strangers just talking to each other?” Sarah asked. “I can’t understand what they’re saying. Is this some sort of code?”

  Andy laughed. “Yes, it’s the code of young people. I have no idea what they’re saying, either. But if you go into a more grown-up chat room, it gets somewhat better. You do need to learn a certain amount of shorthand, but it will come to you. Just watch at first. And be careful,” he added. “Don’t give out any personal information. You don’t really know who you’re talking to, no matter what they say.”

  Since it was the second time she had been told to be careful, she decided she would heed the advice. Sarah spent an increasing amount of time at the lab in addition to her class. She met a few people in chat rooms who wanted to talk to her by email, but she politely refused.

  Chapter 7

  It was one of those chilly, gray days with steady rain. There were many days like that when she and Jon visited Seattle. He had considered a job there where he would have made more money, but they decided they just couldn’t leave their home. Sarah sat in her recliner by the window, a spot that was becoming her place for reflection. Her mind drifted back to Jon’s funeral. It, too, was a gray and rainy day.

  Distracting herself from the onslaught of pain, Sarah thought about rain and funerals. So often, even in movies, people huddled together, a sea of black umbrellas, as they watched their loved one de
scend into the soggy earth. So it was for Jon.

  During the months following his death, Sarah had tried at various times to pack up his belongings. She was finally able to donate his clothes but had kept his ties and a few of his shirts, hoping to someday learn how to put them into a quilt for Martha. But most of the other things, things she thought of as his treasures, she had simply put in his service footlocker and stored away.

  Sarah was reluctant to go through the footlocker. It had not been opened for nearly twenty years, but she felt compelled to take a look today. She gasped when the imagined smell of Jon drifted from inside as she opened the creaking lid. She had forgotten that his uniform and his favorite work shirts were inside. He often said he was unable to make repairs unless he wore one of his tattered shirts. “They bring me luck,” he had said with a smile, “and sometimes they even bring me skill.”

  And sure enough, Jon was always able to find the problem, whether it was a busted pipe or a rattle in the dashboard of his treasured ‘65 Mustang. As Sarah quietly sobbed, she reluctantly continued to explore through the forgotten items. Why did I keep this? She wondered about the many insignificant things she discovered. But in the end she closed the trunk with all its items intact.

  Over the next months, Sarah spent much of her time at the center, enjoying her newly discovered obsession: the internet. She and her new cyber friends spoke often, particularly through the garden chat room. One day when she and her new cyber friend, Prissy221, were discussing their past gardens, Prissy said that she lived in a high-rise condo and had her garden in large pots on the balcony.

  That reminded Sarah that she had toyed with the idea of a small garden just beyond the concrete patio outside her back door. She discussed the idea with Andy, and he agreed to loosen the soil for her. Together they placed a brick border around the little square of soil to make it more attractive. She then drove to the local nursery and chose a few of her favorite annuals. Andy had offered to drive her there and help her with the planting, but she wanted to do that part alone.

  Martha had been adamant about her mother giving up her car. She pointed out that there was adequate transportation in the community, and whenever Sarah needed to go other places, Martha or Jason would be happy to drive her. The car should be sold, Martha had insisted.

  Sarah’s daughter came by her stubbornness naturally. When Sarah made up her mind, that was it. The car stayed, and Sarah let Martha know that there would be no more discussion about it. Sarah had a strong independent streak that should not be challenged.

  When she finished planting her new garden, Sarah settled into the well-worn garden chair she had brought from her home and sipped lemonade while scrutinizing her handiwork. With all her experience, she was able to project herself into the future and see how her garden would develop. She would have to admit, however, that at this moment it appeared a bit scrawny.

  Chapter 8

  Detective Charles Parker retired in 2008 after more than twenty-five years on the force. Back in 1989, he had been disappointed when the captain had decided to close the Miller case. A brief investigation determined there was no evidence of foul play. The case was closed, and the officers were reassigned. Parker had been uncomfortable with the findings and had tried to persuade the lieutenant to keep the case open, but to no avail. He didn’t have much clout in those days, and he didn’t make detective for several more years. But he still had a bad feeling about the circumstances. Perhaps he was just hoping to see the lovely Sarah Miller one more time.

  Before moving to Colorado, Charles Parker’s sister-in-law lived in the Millers’s neighborhood, and he often drove by the house, wondering about the pretty widow. Her image would return to his mind: her long flowing hair, her smiling eyes, the basket of flowers. And then her slender frame collapsing in his arms. He hated being the carrier of the news that caused this beautiful woman unbearable pain.

  Early in 2006, Parker read about the tragic death of her grandson, Arthur. He contacted Sarah to express his condolences. Much to his surprise, she had remembered him and thanked him for his concern.

  The accident had happened just blocks from the boy’s home as he biked to a friend’s house. He was hit by a speeding car that was never identified. The medics said he had died immediately upon impact; it was little comfort to the family at the time, but in the years to come it was their only solace.

  Parker stayed in touch with the investigating officers, hoping something would come up. It never did. He attended the boy’s funeral on a cold, rainy day in November, but he sat in the back, out of sight. He didn’t want to be a reminder of Sarah’s previous loss. He knew only too well the pain of losing a loved one. His Betty had been gone now for many years, and a day never went by that he didn’t miss her.

  Three years after Detective Parker retired, he suffered a debilitating stroke that left him temporarily unable to speak or move his left side. He was hospitalized for two months and ultimately moved to a nursing home for rehabilitation.

  Chapter 9

  Despite the fun she was having in her computer class, Sarah was beginning to feel she needed more in her life. She had often passed by the nursing home and wondered about the people she could see sitting in their wheelchairs at the large windows on the second and third floors. She thought that the windows must offer a spectacular view of the community and the mountains in the distance. But heads were lowered as if their laps offered more interest than the view.

  One morning Sarah decided this was the day to learn more about the nursing home. As she approached the rather ominous building, she felt a cold shiver as if death were close by. She dismissed the feeling as being her own apprehension, but once inside the facility, she realized death was, in fact, hovering everywhere.

  A woman sat in the hall holding a tattered doll to her breast. As Sarah passed her, she realized the woman was softly singing one line of a lullaby over and over. Sarah turned to speak to her but realized the woman was unaware of her presence. She continued to the administrator’s office, where she had an appointment to discuss volunteer opportunities. She imagined herself visiting, perhaps playing cards, sitting in the gardens, or just enjoying a few hours with a lonely senior citizen.

  By the time she reached the administrator’s office, however, she was beginning to realize her imagined visits were far from the reality of life in Cunningham Nursing Home. Mrs. Barnett’s tour of the third floor confirmed this. The halls were lined with wheelchairs with gentle restraints holding the shells of their imprisoned passengers. Unseeing eyes stared into nothingness. Occasional cries pierced through the thick smell of hopelessness. None of the residents seemed aware of Sarah passing through their world. What can I possibly do here? she wondered.

  Back in the safety of Mrs. Barnett’s office, Sarah asked about her duties as a volunteer. By this time, she had also seen the second floor and was encouraged to see that there were, indeed, woman and men who still appeared to occupy their bodies. Several smiled at her as she passed by. One man stopped her, thinking she was his sister. He seemed happy to see her, anyway. Looking into the private rooms, she saw pictures and flowers and colorful quilts.

  Mrs. Barnett explained that about one-third of the residents of Cunningham Home were indigent. Their care was paid for by the state, and many had no families. They were lonely and frightened. A friendly face, even once a month, would bring them much joy. Mrs. Barnett felt that Sarah would be an excellent resident visitor.

  Sarah expressed her concerns, but she agreed to give the idea some serious thought. Mrs. Barnett agreed to begin looking for an appropriate assignment for Sarah. Sarah left the home with mixed feelings, not knowing just why she was both reluctant to pursue this and yet drawn to it.

  * * * * *

  “You did what?” Sophie yelled, sputtering coffee across the table and all over Andy’s shirt.

  “Watch it,” Andy cried, jumping out of her line of fire.

  “Why on God’s green earth would you want to spend time in that depressing
place?” Sophie demanded.

  Sarah started to explain, but Sophie immediately cut her off. “Haven’t I told you to stop thinking so much? Relax. Enjoy your retirement years. We’ve all earned the right to just be happy.” Sophie sighed and shook her head. “I just don’t know what gets into some people. They just go looking for trouble,” she muttered as she waddled into the kitchen to refill her coffee cup.

  Later Andy walked Sarah home and asked if they could sit on the front porch for a few minutes. Sarah was tired and wanted to enjoy the solitude of her peaceful home, but she agreed to sit down for a few minutes. She had the feeling there was something Andy wanted to talk about.

  “You’ve got to understand Sophie,” he began, “and that’s no small task. Despite the joke telling and that never-ending cackle of hers, Sophie is hiding a lot of pain. Her husband died in that home last year, and it was after years of watching him sink into the oblivion of Alzheimer’s. The last few years he didn’t know her, couldn’t walk, and couldn’t speak, and ultimately he just curled up in a fetal position in his bed, staring without seeing. This went on for many months until he finally just stopped breathing. His passing was a blessing for him and for Sophie.”

  They both sat quietly, Sarah not knowing what to say. Andy continued, “She never acknowledged what she was going through. She never talks about him. But she’ll tell you that she hates that facility and all it stands for.”

  “I guess that’s her way of coping,” Sarah said sadly. They sat quietly for a while. Andy finally stood and said goodbye. Sarah felt drained. She wondered if she were making a wrong turn by getting involved at the nursing home. She wondered if she should discuss it with Martha but decided she should make the decision herself. Sarah took a long, hot shower and went to bed.

  Chapter 10

  Several days later, Sarah was looking through the box of ties she had kept. How can I possibly make a quilt with these? she asked herself. I have no idea where to start. Then she remembered the center’s class schedule and wondered if there was any kind of sewing class. She still had the Singer she had bought when the kids were young. She never did much sewing—just Halloween costumes and an occasional simple curtain for the house. She realized her copy of the class schedule was out of date, so she stopped by the Resource Room later that day.