The Visitor

The Visitor

"No one should be alone in their old age, he thought." - Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

He looked at the laminated piece of paper taped to the outside of the door, just as he did every time, and cursed himself once more for helping her to hang it. The others, all with inspirational quotations or sayings, he'd understood. She had printed them off, and they had adorned them with cutouts of different bright and beautiful flowers together. She'd never been one to mope, she said, and she didn't intend to start now. They would help her to stay upbeat and remember who she was until she couldn't read them anymore. When the words ceased making sense, she felt sure the cheerful blooms would lift her spirits up. So after they had finished pasting on the flowers, he took them to be laminated. That had been a whole other story. When he'd asked why she wanted to have it done, she had laughed out loud and told him it was just in case she decided to have a tantrum and throw her applesauce. She didn't want to ruin them, she had told him with a wink. He had laughed with her at the time, but it didn't seem so funny anymore...not when it had been necessary on numerous occasions to wipe them clean.

When he had helped her hang them to decorate the last room she would ever live in, he had picked up the one with the blue forget-me-nots intending to put it up on the wall with the others. She had stopped him, telling him it was for the outside of her door. After he had taken a moment to actually read it, he'd asked her why she had chosen it. It seemed so out of place with the rest of them. She'd laughed again and told him it was to make everyone who came to visit her feel guilty for not coming to do it more often. He wished he could tell her how brilliantly it had worked. He almost never missed a day. He came straight after he finished at the office for the day like clockwork to sit with her for a few hours before heading home to his own family. Theresa and the kids came with him on Sundays. Knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, he took a deep fortifying breath and made his way in, wondering what kind of day she would be having today.

He found her sitting in the chair by the window, looking confused and crying softly. One of those days, he thought. He went and sat in the chair beside hers and took her hand.

"Mom?... Mom, it's me, Tommy. I'm here, Mom. What's wrong?" He paused before trying again, "Can you tell me what's wrong?" She didn't answer. She almost never did anymore, especially on days like these. So he just sat there with her silently, keeping her hand in his own, like he did so often now. After a few minutes, the tears stopped coming, and she smiled as she looked at their hands, not a single syllable leaving her slightly trembling lips.

He wished so much that they could talk like they used to, that he could ask her what she was thinking. Or in lieu of that, he wished he could see into her mind. He missed her so much. These visits were getting harder and harder to make as the mother he knew slowly faded away, as she lived her life in reverse. But the sign, and the sound of her laughter still ringing in his ears as clearly as the day they had hung it, as well as all of the sacrifices willingly endured for his sake and all of the love bestowed upon him by the person she used to be, kept pulling him back. This was the least he could do for her now.

***

It had started slowly at first. It had only been small things... forgetting where she left her keys, missing an appointment, not paying a bill on time. Then it had progressed to getting sick because she hadn't remembered how old the leftovers really were. One by one, people's names started disappearing from her mind like the lights in the neighborhood winking out as night set in. She recognized her husband and her son and his wife and her grandchildren the longest. Until finally, she couldn't even remember her own name. It, along with all of her memories, the entirety of her life, seemed constantly just out of reach. She knew whoever she was must still be locked inside her somewhere. She knew there were things, very important things, she ought to remember. She could feel their absence in the holes they left behind. The emptiness was deafening. The utter loneliness of not even having yourself for company was terrifying. She couldn't help crying. It sometimes seemed the only thing left to her was to feel...to throw her food in anger when treated like a baby and unable to express her frustration in any other way, to cry when lonely or scared, and to smile when happy. Her hands were often the catalysts for the weeping. They confused her so much. They never looked right.

At first, when she reached for her glass of water, she would notice her wedding ring was missing. She knew James wouldn't like that. She would wonder where he was and hope he would be back to get her soon. She couldn't remember where she was, and she didn't like the too-white walls, but at least the flowers on them were pretty. She would tell herself that James would come, they would find her ring together, and then he'd take her home.

...When she reached for the glass of water, she saw hands moving where hers should have been that were not her own. They were too old, and besides, she had just had her nails painted and those nails were bare. She'd gotten them done because Tom had just left for college, and she and James were going on a second honeymoon. She wanted it to be special. No, those weren't her hands.

...Those hands were too old. She might be exhausted from running around after her energetic little Tommy all day and cleaning up the many messes he managed to make, but she was still young. Her hands couldn't possibly look like that.

...She was too young and vibrant for those to be her hands. That handsome James hadn't been able to keep his eyes off of her all night at Meg's dinner party yesterday. Meg had dragged her into the kitchen to tell her so, and they had giggled about it together until the cause himself had walked in to see if he could help them bring out dessert.

...She was going to have to take her bath quickly if she was going to get all of these dirty spots off and get ready in time for Meg and the boys to pick her up for the dance tonight.

...She and Meggie had just been jumping rope outside, but they never usually got this dirty. Her hands looked like an old lady's. She had to hurry and wash up for dinner, or she was really going to get it.

...She was...someone...Wasn't she?...

...She was scared...And lost...

...Where was she?...Who was she?...

She was cold... She was alone... She began to cry...

...A sudden change... A pleasant warmth was starting in her hand and working its way into her heart. Someone was holding her hand. She wasn't scared anymore. She wasn't alone...

She was loved. Her tears slowed to a stop, and she smiled.