Leavetaking

It’s a rainy Friday, a rare weekday that is not a work day, and I’m driving to Philadelphia in an hour or so. My 97-year-old grandmother had a bad fall, and I’m going to visit her in the rehabilitation facility where she is likely making life very difficult for a bunch of nurses, physical therapists, and aides. A 97-year-old leopard does not change her spots, and my Nana was no picnic when she was young and in good health. But family is family and this might be my last chance to see the old girl when she’s still lucid. 

I knew yesterday that rain was likely for this drive, and I wished that it wasn’t, but then I drove my son to school this morning and remembered that of all of my crazy anxieties and irrational fears, driving in sub-optimal conditions is not among them. I’d rather have my trusty Subaru but the rental car is fine, too. I am worried about my Nana, but I’m not worried about this drive. 

*****

As expected, the drive was just fine, and I'm here on Saturday morning, packing up and readying myself for the return trip later today. 

The rehab facility where my grandmother is staying is a very nice place staffed with kind and professional people. During the two plus hours that I was there, she was visited by a social worker, a CNA, a registered dietitian, and an RN. All of them seemed genuinely concerned about her well being. My grandmother,as we have established, is quite difficult, even ornery, but even she can't help but be nice in the face of so much kindness. 

When I arrived, she was sitting in a wheelchair in her very pleasant room, watching Bonanza at deafening volume. She was happy to see me, though she did ask me if I was Claire or Carole. My sister and I don't really look that much alike, but we resemble one another enough in appearance and mannerisms that a very old person with failing eyesight and dodgy hearing could easily confuse us. But after establishing that I was myself and not my sister, she asked about my husband and children by name. She has never failed to recognize me before, and she was quick on the uptake for the rest of the visit. She mentioned the names of the women who have been caring for her since Wednesday, and when these ladies stopped in later, their name tags matched the names that my grandmother had mentioned. Nana was pleased with herself, and rightly so. 

In my entire life, I had never seen my grandmother without makeup. She doesn't wear much, just some concealer for age spots, and some lipstick. She always wears lipstick. We have that in common. Her makeup items got lost in the shuffle between the hospital and the rehab facility, and my aunt forgot to bring her extra ones from home when she brought extra clothes. It bothered her to be without her makeup amid so many strangers. 

I offered to run around the corner to the drugstore to get her what she needed and she wouldn't let me go because she wanted me to stay with her for as long as possible before visiting hours ended. But when I was getting ready to leave, she mentioned a L'Oreal lipstick that she likes. "And the other thing is Cover Girl." 

*****

I stayed at my sister’s house on Friday night. After a morning of driving and an afternoon of visiting in a nursing facility, I was so tired that I fell asleep on her couch at 9 PM. My sister shook me awake and made me go to bed. I woke up very early for a Saturday, and went for a walk in the early morning mist. The sunlight was pale yellowish white and the air was fresh and chilly and the trees were a veritable color riot and I thought about how a morning like this could easily turn a person into an autumn lover. But then I came to my senses. 

Normally, I walk my sister’s crazy dog, but the canine lazybones was still sleeping, so I finished my walk and then drove to my beloved Gateway Pharmacy, which was open bright and early. They had my grandmother’s Cover Girl makeup and her L’Oreal lipstick, so I bought them, along with a half pound of her favorite dark chocolate vanilla buttercreams. I picked up two cups of Wawa hazelnut coffee and my sister and I drank the coffee while the silly dog, now wide awake, barked a complaining bark, a bark that indicated his disappointment at my failure to get the leash and take him out posthaste. 

Oh of course I took him out. What am I, an assassin? My brother-in-law told me that the silly creature already been out in the yard and had probably done whatever he needed to do, but he supplied me with plastic bags, just in case we needed them. And of course we needed them. And without sharing too much of the revolting details, let me just say that the consistency of the dog’s output did not lend itself to a thorough clean-up, and that anyone who steps into a certain pile of leaves on Revolutionary Lane in Phoenixville is going to be unpleasantly surprised. I did the best I could but sometimes a person’s best is not enough. And this is why I don’t have a dog. 

After coffee with my sister and breakfast with my mom, I quickly packed up my things, having for once in my life actually fulfilled my resolution to pack light for a trip. I had just one small overnight bag, and even that was only half-full. It was too late for morning visiting hours and afternoon visiting hours didn’t start until 1:30 meaning I wouldn’t get on the road until 2:30 or 3 meaning I’d be driving on the interstate in the dark, which I no longer do. So I left the gifts for my grandmother with my sister, and I drove home, first through some medium-heavy rain and November northeasterly wind, and then in blinding sunlight. 

*****

It was late afternoon when I arrived home. The sky was pale and almost clear, with a few clouds tinted red and gold by the setting sun. My sister texted me that my grandmother loved the lipstick and the chocolate. 

*****

My grandmother is recovering. God willing she will live to see one more birthday, one more Christmas. On Friday when I visited, she wanted to talk about her funeral, and where she’d like the mourners to go for lunch, and my mother told her not to be ridiculous. But it’s not ridiculous for a person in her 90s to talk about her eventual death. Death is a certainty.

And life is excruciatingly fragile. It’s Tuesday now; and as a 97-year-old lady regains her strength and fights as best she can for a few more days or weeks or months, a sweet 19-year-old boy, my son’s close friend, lies in a funeral home. The poor child took his own life yesterday, for only God knows what reason. 

*****

If you can make someone happy with some stupid little thing, a lipstick or a box of chocolates, do so immediately. If you love anyone at all, stop what you’re doing right now and make sure that they know it. That is the only thing I have to offer after this very long post; the only takeaway I can gather from this very sad day.