The Other Side(59)
“Okay. You look so tired. Are you having trouble sleeping again?” The concern in her voice is so real. I know she thinks she’s talking to Irvin, but it feels like she’s talking to me.
I shake my head and avoid using words that I know will fail me.
“It’s not your fault, Irvin,” she whispers.
I don’t know what she’s referring to in their past, but her consolation is so heartbreakingly comforting that I want to believe it for myself. But I can’t.
There’s a heaviness in her eyelids and I wonder if it’s natural tiredness or a side effect of the extra medication bottles I noticed alongside the regular ones on the coffee table.
“Maybe I’ll just go back to sleep for a little bit?”
It’s a question, not a statement. She’s waiting for permission from her husband who’s been dead for decades.
Afraid I won’t be able to speak, I lean forward and kiss her on the forehead gently. Her skin is cool to the touch and has an almost waxy quality to it, like the fake fruit on display in the wooden bowl on her kitchen table.
When I pull back, her eyes slide closed and she murmurs, “Thanks, Irvin.”
“Sleep well,” I manage to whisper.
Joey is uncharacteristically clingy after that, and I wonder if he can feel her slipping away like I can. Every time I try to set him down so we can play with his blocks, he cries. So I sit on the couch and I hold him like I’m trying to shield him from it all. He rests his head on my shoulder like he does when he’s tired, but instead of sucking his thumb or rubbing his eyes, he starts jabbering. It’s welcome in the silence of the sad apartment, so I join the conversation to try to keep him going.
“Oh yeah? Tell me more, little man.”
He does. The sounds are more guttural this time and gurgle their way out like there’s conviction behind whatever it is he’s trying to tell me.
“Wow, that sounds serious,” I say, hoping he hears how much I want him to continue.
He lifts his head from my shoulder and I adjust him to sit on my lap so we can look at each other. When his eyes meet mine they crinkle in the corners and his gummy smile appears, excitement in his high-pitched, almost-sounds-like-real-words words.
I can’t help but think that apart from Alice, this is the best conversation I’ve had in the past few years.
Twice he giggles.
And twice I laugh, unable to resist. Because every once in a while, life gives you a sliver of happiness…however brief.
Far too soon he’s rubbing his eyes that are beginning to droop like sleep has already come for them.
After changing him and feeding him his bottle, I sit in the rocking chair in Chantal’s room and hold him while he sleeps. I can’t help but think about how much I’m going to miss him when I go. I won’t see him grow up.
As promised, Chantal is home early from her shift. And as promised, she wants to talk. Her tone, her posture, put me on edge. When she reaches for Joey like she always does to put him down in his crib, I reflexively ask, “Can I hold him while we talk?” like I need to feel his warmth and smell the purity of him to get through this.
She nods. “I took Grandma to the hospital today. She’s been bad all week. Really bad. I thought I was going to lose her last night. I met with her doctor and a counselor before we left. They’re encouraging me to put her in a facility…” Her eyes glaze over at the thought.
I didn’t know sadness could induce goose bumps, but it can. My arms are covered with them. “What kind of facility?” I whisper.
“A nursing home.” Her voice breaks and it breaks me because I know that would be her last stop. When she enters, she won’t leave.
This woman isn’t my family, but it’s still hard. People age, I get that. She isn’t just aging, she’s decaying like a bouquet of flowers whose vibrancy has run its course and is wilting away to dust. I nod, waiting for her to say more.
She covers her face with her hands to hide the tears and the shame. “Am I a horrible person for agreeing with them?”
“Do you feel like you can provide the medical attention and care she needs?” I ask.
Face still hidden behind her hands, she sniffs and I watch her entire body heave upward with the effort to clear her nose and calm her down. “I used to be able to, Toby, but I can’t keep up anymore. She’s worse every day. She has trouble eating, she can’t bathe herself anymore, she’s wearing adult diapers now—it’s not fair that someone so strong and smart and fun can have their life stripped away from the inside out. I feel like my grandma is gone. She forgets who I am far more than she remembers and I know that shouldn’t upset me, but it does. It does. I want my grandma back.” She shakes her head and purses her lips to hold back a sob. “I miss her, Toby. I’m in this apartment with her all day, but I miss her so damn much…” she trails off because when you’re this worked up, there isn’t room in your throat for words and shame and sadness. Only one of them wins that battle and it’s never words because shame and sadness steal your breath.
“Sometimes in life, you do everything you can and it still isn’t enough. And that sucks,” I whisper. It’s true. It’s so true.
She nods and drops her hands to reveal wet cheeks and watery eyes. “Yeah, it does.”
I nod. I’ve never been the type of person who gives or receives pep talks, and I don’t think Chantal is either. I’m the last person who should give advice, so I always stick to straight talk instead. And with Chantal at least, it works.