Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
We were thrifty, Nanna and I. I didn’t work, because taking care of Nanna was a full-time job. I got a caretaker allowance but between that and Nanna’s measly pension, there wasn’t exactly dough to burn.
We didn’t have money saved for a rainy day, and our rainy days were becoming more and more frequent as it were.
I felt helpless, useless, and while Jim worked in the kitchen, I settled Nanna down in front of the television with a blanket and nice, hot chamomile tea. The moment I walked back into the kitchen, Jim twisted to peer at me before continuing his work. He spoke kindly but to the point. “How long is this going to go on, darlin’?”
I knew Jim had nothing but the best intentions, so I don’t know why my hackles rose as they did. I was just so tired. “You know our situation.”
What more could I say? I left it at that.
“I do,” he said gently, attempting to remove the melted plastic from the stovetop. “I also know your Nanna isn’t the woman she used to be.” He paused before ripping up a piece of plastic and throwing it into the sink. It landed with a tinkle. “And she almost burned down this house. With you in it.” He frowned down at the stove. “She put a plastic kettle onto the stove then walked away. She’s losing sense.” He stood tall, staring down at me. “Don’t tell me you think this won’t happen again. We both know it will.” His eyes softened marginally as he whispered, “She’s getting worse, Em.”
She was. She was getting worse than I cared to admit.
Jim was like the grandfather I never had and his dedication to our tiny family was more than we deserved. He was a good man. A great man.
Suddenly overwhelmed, my lip began to quiver. “What can I do?” A low groan sounded as I pulled out a chair at the small dining table. Sitting, I slapped my hands down onto my thighs and spoke firmly but quietly, “I can’t afford to put her into a home.” When Jim opened his mouth to speak, I amended, “A good home. Not a state home. Jesus, have you seen those places, Jim?”
My nose bunched.
No.
They were awful. I wouldn’t do that to Nanna. Not after everything she had done for me.
Jim watched me closely sensing my distress. He came over, pulling out the chair next to mine and sitting. “Honey, I love Fay, but she’s got dementia.” He leaned in and his eyes searched mine. “She’s not going to get any better. It’s only going to get worse from here. And—” He seemed to regret what he was about to say. “—most of the time, she doesn’t even recognize you.”
My chest ached painfully.
I knew that. Believe me, I knew that.
It was utterly heartbreaking.
I was tired, and this conversation was wearing on me so I said the only thing I could to put an end to it.
“I’ll think about it.”
***
2018
“Thanks again, Jim,” I said wearing a sunny smile, holding the spare light globe between both hands.
Running out of bulbs was not a big deal normally but not when you had a dementia patient in the house and had to leave the lights on pretty much all the time. Jim, as usual, came to the rescue.
“Not a problem, Em.” He watched me walk back into my yard, as he always did.
I waved to him from the door and stepped inside. Nanna was sweeping the hall and I grinned to myself. She liked to keep a tidy home. “I could’ve done that.”
Nanna spun around, a terrified yelp leaving her mouth. Before I could register what was happening, she lifted the broom handle and brought it down, hard and fast, over my head.
And then I was on the ground, momentarily dazed and disoriented.
The blow was so unexpected I bit my tongue and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
Nanna, wide-eyed and frightened, lifted the broom a second time but I held out my hands, shuffling backward. “Nanna, no! It’s me, Emily!” The broom came down across my arms and I let out a pained shout. “It’s me!” I cried out a desperate, “It’s me!”
Shocked and shaken, the hot rush of tears wet a trail down my cheeks.
My panicked cry combined with my horrified shout brought Jim running.
He already had his cell phone out, dialing with one hand while helping me up with the other. “Yes, I need an ambulance.” A pause, then, “It’s 8634 Cedar.”
My entire soul felt numb and looking across the hall, I heard Paul Anka’s “Put Your Head on my Shoulder” as I watched my petrified grandmother look at me as if I were a monster.
And with that look, my entire world changed.
I hadn’t realized I needed stitches until the paramedics looked me over. It looked worse than what it was, really. Just a tiny cut at the crown of my head. Unfortunately, the medic told me that head wounds tended to bleed a lot, especially in a panic when the heart is pumping hard.