Life and Love Everlasting

“Mama, put the damned telephone down,” Susan admonished in a civil but aggravated tone of voice. Her mother quietly replaced the telephone in its cradle and leaned back in her easy chair, still petting the tiny dog on her lap. Susan, feeling guilty about her sharp tone of voice, gently touched her mother’s arm as she passed the worn out chair and it’s equally worn out occupant and headed to the clothes line with the basket of laundry on her hip.

As she hung the last of the clothes on the line; Susan enjoyed the bright sunlight on her face and the gentle breeze that ruffled her rapidly graying hair. She’d come to appreciate such small pleasures since she’d become caregiver for her 80-year-old mother. Caregiver for her mother…that title had drastically changed her whole life and the way she viewed it. It was a gradual thing, not sudden or overwhelming all at once, just slowly and steadily eating away at everything she held dear. The last three years had definitely sent her life into a downward spiral. She sat down wearily in a lawn chair to regroup, rest and reflect before returning to the house. An occasional bit of alone time seemed to help.

Susan’s mother had been a shaker and a mover in her day. She’d been the rock upon which Susan and her two brothers had depended all their lives and the touchstone for her grandchildren who affectionately called her “Baba.” Susan’s father had provided well for his family both before and after his death. Susan and her brothers had spent their inheritance nearly immediately but Baba had hardly touched her funds.

Actually, she’d never had a chance to spend them as she’d had a massive stroke less than six months after her husband died. Baba could say a few simple words like "yes" or "no" but might well mean the exact opposite of what she said. She could walk a bit -- trudging slowly along with a three-pronged cane in her left hand -- which helped swing her right leg encased in a heavy brace. Her right arm was totally useless and ensconced in a sling. Susan could never ascertain the extent of her mother’s dementia as there were times it seemed her mind was completely gone and others when it was apparent Baba was at least aware.

She’d definitely understood when Susan’s husband, Jeff, decided dealing with Baba’s stroke and subsequently having an old lady living with him and his wife was too much and left. It would have been impossible for her to be unaware as the arguments and dissention between Susan and Jeff, prior to his leaving were heated and mean. His last words, as he and his suitcase were going out the door were “It’s me or her and if and when you come back to your senses let me know!” Susan filed for divorce, from which she got the house and half the bills, and it had been both a financial and emotional struggle ever since.

Susan finally managed to get past Jeff but day-to-day existence had taken some tough turns. Both her kids were grown and self-supporting – for which she was truly grateful – but as a freelance writer her income was either feast or famine -- leaning toward the famine side most of the time. Baba contributed her Social Security check to the income pot – which was a blessing – but it was the mortgage on the house that was the biggy every month. Susan and Jeff had purchased her dream house when they both had great incomes. Interest rates had been at an all-time high then but had been given little consideration as the couple had, unfortunately, lived only in the moment with little regard to the future. Consequently the house payments, which Susan had to make alone, were astronomical

Susan got up and moved her chair to the shade, momentarily interrupting her chain of thought, when the sun became a bit too warm for comfort. Once settled in again; her mind went back to finances. Well, she thought, foreclosure is the next step as she’d received a call from the bank that very morning and that was their position. They hadn’t been rude just definite. Where could she go that would allow her to not only survive herself but to take care of Baba? She didn’t even have enough money for a deposit on the cheapest apartment. Well, at least Baba was safe and secure in her dementia haze and unaware of the gravity of the situation.

Baba…it was difficult for Susan not to consider her mother the source of all the troubles in her own upended life. She hated to admit to herself that her resentment toward Baba had grown exponentially these last years but it was true. The wonderful childhood, support and love Baba had provided Susan all her life were fast taking a back seat to the problems her presence and disability had created for her daughter. Guilt overwhelmed Susan and tears of frustration had began to trickle down her cheeks when the cell phone she had in her pocket rang.

Susan blew her nose, wiped her eyes and answered. It was the bank again and her heart fell to her toes as she was in no mood to further discuss the details of the foreclosure proceedings. She was surprised to hear John’s voice and not a lesser bank employee. John had been the man at the bank her father, her mother and she had considered their personal banker for many years but she hadn’t talked to him in over a year. “Susan, I just wanted to call and congratulate you, as the caregiver, on the marvelous recovery your mother has made. I never expected she’d be back on top of her game after that massive stroke – it’s truly a miracle.”

“John, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Susan replied, “mother’s health is as it’s been since she had the stroke.”

“Well, she called me and I just got off the phone with her. We had a most delightful conversation. She sounded like her old self, chatty and funny as hell, conducted a bit of business and seemed on top of the world – in fact seemed happier than I’ve known her to be since your father passed away!”

“What was her purpose in calling you, John?” Susan hesitantly asked as she looked at her watch and suddenly realized she’d been in the backyard, lost in thought for nearly two hours and it was within minutes of noon. “She called to pay off the mortgage on your house – I just figured you knew about it. She said she and your dad had discussed it and had decided they wanted to do that – which I knew, well – you know – just figured there was still enough dementia present she’d forgotten he’d passed on. Anyway, the paperwork will be ready in a couple of days and thought you’d like to come by the bank and pick up the documents,” he happily replied. Not only puzzled but apprehensive, Susan said she’d come to the bank, thanked the banker, clicked off the cell phone and hurried to the house.

Gidget, her mom’s little white poodle, met Susan at the back door. Strange, thought Susan, Gidget literally lives in mom’s lap so what's she doing out here? She picked up the little white dog and headed for the den. As she entered her view was of the back of her mom’s easy chair and the gray hair peeking out over the top of the chair back reassured Susan her mom was in the chair and hadn’t fallen or whatever else the hell could happen. “Mom, did you just call the bank?” Susan inquired as she put Gidget back down on the floor.

There was no answer and when Susan was finally in front of her mother she found her asleep. That was strange as the discomfort of the brace on her mother's leg usually prevented her from sleeping in her chair. Terror struck Susan’s heart full force as she took her mother’s hand and found it icey cold. Not only grief but guilt overwhelmed Susan when she realized Baba had died alone while her resentful daughter was having a pity party in the back yard and talking to bankers.

Baba’s funeral was a graveside service, attended by not only family but the many friends Baba had made over her long life. When the mourners had all left and Susan was once more alone in the house she now actually owned, thanks to Baba, she poured herself a glass of wine, sat down on the sofa and tried to put all the pieces of the last week together. She absent mindedly looked through her mail stacked up on the coffee table and immediately identified one envelope, by the return address, as being her mother’s death certificate. She opened it and after a cursory glance went back to the time of death.

The certificate stated Baba had died at 10:05 a.m. Well, that’s wrong, Susan thought, that’s about the time I went out to hang clothes, the day Baba died, because I glanced at my watch on the way out the door. Besides, the banker called that day close to noon and he’d just minutes before, gotten off the phone with her. His call, in fact, had alerted Susan as to how long she’d been in the back yard leaving her mother alone in the house. Call John, she thought, he’s so exacting he’ll have written down the time he talked to Baba – bankers make notes on everything.

When John came on the line she wasted no time with formalities; just simply stated she needed to know the time he’d talked to Baba on the day she died. Without hesitation he checked his desk calendar and said the conversation had taken place at 11:45 a.m. She thanked him, clicked the phone off, and leaned back on the sofa. In a state of high agitation she called the funeral home and inquired as to the possibility of a mistake on the time of Baba’s death. They assured her the science behind such things was now very exacting and could be off maybe 30 minutes either way but rarely more than that. The death certificate said Baba died at 10:05 a.m. -- if that were true; how the hell could she call the bank and talk to John, obviously without handicap and coherently, at 11:45 a.m.? None of it made any sense at all to Susan.

That’s when she remembered that Baba could only access the landline phone and her call to the bank, along with the time she made the call, would be reflected on the bill she’d just received but not opened. She’d long ago insisted the phone company list every call, both local and long distance as Baba, in her mental haze, had once unknowingly placed a call to England while idly punching the phone buttons. The connection had been made, unbeknownst to Baba who left the phone off the hook for an inordinately long time before Susan found it and hung it up. That incident had cost a small fortune. Listing the calls helped Susan keep up with her mother's telephone habits.

Susan ripped the phone bill open and carefully checked every call that had been made from the landline telephone for the last month. Apparently Baba had punched the automatic dial button to call both of her sons several times the past month. Those conversations, if indeed they could qualify as conversations, usually consisted of her brothers chatting endlessly from their end and Baba replying "yes" or "no" repeatedly and finally "bye." Susan checked slowly, methodically and with detailed precision. When she was done -- mystified, grief-ridden and inordinately tired -- she once again leaned back on the sofa.

"Thank you...and bye -- my dearest Baba." There’d been no calls to the bank.

AngelaBlair©2012 All Rights Reserved.