Grandma Vera’s Last Surprise

Growing up we were taught to respect people, particularly family since they are blood and all. This made logical sense to my brother and I except for one case…Grandma Vera. Although she passed away some twenty years ago, I swear her venom continues to burn holes through the red velvet lining of her casket.

I know my mom took a lot of abuse growing up but when she ceased to take it anymore, my grandmother transferred it over to me. One evening she skipped the verbal attack and moved right into the physical. She beat the crap out of me. I know what you must be thinking…”Come on, some old Granny beat you up?” And you’d be right to think it because she was a small woman…only about five feet tall, but honestly, she packed a mean punch. In hindsight, I don’t know why I didn’t defend myself. Instead I kept my hands at my side while she wailed on me. The next day, true to form, she’d forgotten the entire sordid affair. That’s the fuzzy effect a few vodka tonics persistently had on her short-term memory.

Soon after the attack she became sick. Cancer had spread from her breasts to the bones in her pelvic area. Her doctor gave her six months to live. We moved her into a nursing home. Toward the end of her life she lay in bed barely able to drink a can of Ensure. Her fighting weight was down to seventy-six pounds, but she was still more than capable of unleashing a devastating one-two with her lethal tongue. She accused the nursing home staff of stealing and they countered her attack by threatening to evict her, forcing us to beg them to reconsider.

The last time I saw my grandmother alive she was too weak to move and her eyes took on a porcelain doll-like quality…dull and lifeless. Then the pain overtook her and she began thrashing back and forth. I rang the emergency buzzer above the bed. A nurse entered. She moved through the room at a professional distance.

“Is there anything she can take? She seems to be in a lot of pain,” I said.

She flipped open a chart. “Her next dose is in 45 minutes.”

“Yeah, but look at her. Maybe you could crank it up a notch.” I asked.

“I’m not authorized without a doctor’s permission.”

Grandma Vera moaned and her eyes rolled back in her head. The nurse spoke to me as if my grandmother was already gone and she was recapping. “She had a dreadful night. She rang that bell continuously. When we’d arrive, she would scream at us. Called us butt-swishers and whores…and anything else she felt like. She refuses to learn our names. Pardon me for saying so, but she is very difficult. Oh, and for whatever it’s worth, we didn’t steal anything from her. She gave Maggie, one of the day nurses, a music box…the Eiffel Tower, I think. Vera liked Maggie. She insisted she have it. If that’s a problem I’m sure she’d gladly give it back.”

I told her it was a difficult time for all of us…and that Maggie could have the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, or anything else my grandmother doled out.

Grandma Vera died the next day. My mother stayed in her room until 4AM but true to her rebellious nature, Granny shutdown at 4:35. All of her things were immediately packed up and waiting for us at the nurses station at 8 that morning.

A week later we scheduled her memorial. None of us knew how many would attend. My grandmother spoke of a few friends although we had never met them. That probably sounds odd, but that’s just the way it was.

The day of the memorial we arrived at the chapel an hour early with two hundred printed announcements. We stood at the door waiting for the guests to arrive. No one came. Not one friend. Just five family members fulfilling their obligation.

“Should we wait a little longer?” Pastor Nordsletten asked the handful of us.

“I think this is it,” my mom said.

“Well, then spread out,” he said.

Just as the minister began to speak, a little old man wearing a blue suit shuffled into the chapel and sat in the back pew. I tried to be discreet, keeping my head down as I turned to stare. He had short gray hair and his back and shoulders were hunched as if he’d spent the good part of his life in physical labor. What I remember most was his face. The lines were deep and straight like they were made with an Etch-A-Sketch…his eyes red and swollen. He looked like the type of man who had actually lived, not just skirted around the edge, but felt the full weight of life.

“For those who wish to continue to celebrate Vera’s life there will be a special gathering at her daughter’s home. The address is listed in your announcement.” Pastor Nordsletten flashed a tongue and cheek smile toward the family pew in a feeble stand-up comic attempt to cheer us.

The little man in the blue suit slid out of the pew. He wandered out into the foyer looking disoriented, until he pushed his way out through the large wooden doors and into the parking lot. The rest of us collected the flowers and stack of programs. We piled into the old family station wagon and headed home. Upon our arrival my dad immediately started pouring stiff drinks while my mom pulled tray after tray from the fridge. “What are we going to do with all this food?” she said.

Then the front door opened. The man in the blue suit climbed the stairs and met us in the living room. His eyes moved slowly and deliberately from one of us to another. I think it was my mom who spoke first. She introduced herself and extended her hand to the stranger. He said, “Bea, I know who you are.” He held both her hands in his.

“I have to apologize for my rudeness…I don’t recall meeting you.” My mother said.

“We’ve never actually met, but I know all about you…and your sister.” He said, turning to smile at my aunt.

“How did you know Vera?” My mom asked.

He took a deep breath and looked at the two middle-aged sisters. “Oh dear, where do I begin?… I guess you could say that I’ve loved your mother for as long as I can remember. Since the time we were little kids. You see, we were neighbors. My family had a small farm next to where Vera grew up in Kansas. I used to carry her books to school. I know this probably sounds sappy to you folks but it’s what we did back then when we were smitten. And I certainly was taken with Vera. We talked a lot about running away together since neither one of us were particularly happy at home. Vera’s dad used to beat her with a horsewhip for no good reason. I wanted to take her far away and save her from that whip. But then her mother became ill and died. Soon after, Vera’s father remarried and since there was so much sadness in that house and his new bride had family in Sacramento, they packed up and left. That was an awful day when they pulled out of the driveway for the last time. Not long after they left, my father had a stroke and could no longer take care of things. I quit school and became a farmer. It wasn’t a bad way to live, but I was restless. A few years later I got this hair brained idea that I’d hitch a ride to Sacramento and ask Vera to be my wife. I didn’t have a lot of money back then so I was nervous since I knew she wanted nice things. A house of her own and some pretty clothes. When I arrived, she was even more beautiful than I remembered. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.” He cleared his throat. “Could you spare some water?” he asked.

My dad quickly passed him a glass and the old man took a long sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes rested on my mother and her sister, as if he saw something of Grandma Vera resting in their features. No one spoke, waiting for him to continue.

“It nearly killed me when she said no. She turned me down flat. I can still hear her words. She said, “There are no guarantees in life…I know that, but I’ve watched my family struggle over paying bills and keeping food on the table all my life. I’m not going to make the same mistake, at least about money.” I remember feeling pretty small, wondering how she could turn down the kind of love we shared on account of my modest means. Let’s just say I have no memory of the trip back to Kansas or much else about that time in general. I do remember some drunken nights and a fleeting thought about taking a dive from a tall bridge into shallow water.” The old man took another sip of water and continued to speak.

“Not long after, Vera married your father, John. I assumed they knew each other for a while so she probably had him in her sights when she turned me down. I never met the man. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, but the last letter I got from her said she thought he could make her happy. Believe me, that hurt. I found out they moved to Seattle so I packed my bags and left the farm. I’d sacrificed enough for that place. I got to the Northwest and bought myself a home and a few acres. I figured even though she wouldn’t be my wife I was going to be near enough if she needed something. I sound silly, but damn it, I know what I like. A few years later I met Nettie at a church gathering. I told her I had a big heart but half of it would always belong to Vera. She said she’d take the other half and we got married. Nettie was a good wife. We raised three sons and were married 42 years. When she died I knew I had to take a little time. It would be disrespectful to her memory if I looked Vera up so soon. Besides, her husband John had died and I knew she was probably grieving as well.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. His voice began to shake.

“This morning marks a year since my wife’s passing. I talked to my boys about it and they gave me their blessing to contact Vera. I woke up early, got out the phone book and circled her number. I was like a schoolboy with his first crush. I barely ate any breakfast. But you have to understand…sixty five years is a long time to wait for a dream.” Then the tears dropped…one after the other onto the carpet.

He sighed heavily and continued. “It was too early to call so I grabbed the newspaper on the porch and sat down to read. I always look at the weather first. That’s the farmer in me. Then I take a quick glance at the obituaries. A bad habit I guess, but when you get to be my age there’s a good chance you’ll know someone. This morning my eyes weren’t focusing…then I saw it. Vera’s name nearly jumped out at me…” There was an uncomfortable pause, then through tears he blurted, “I must look pretty awful. Can’t seem to stop crying. It took all my energy to put on this damn suit. I thought I was saving it for our date.

We stood motionless in the room…mouths open. He was honoring a woman that none of us knew. The grandmother who needed guarantees. The man who stood before us was the ever patient lover, waiting in the wings for his unfulfilled dream of undying devotion to finally come true…. But the possibilities and intensity of his longing would stay forever unknown.

As if the old man couldn’t stand the pain a minute longer, he lowered his head and pointed to his heart. After a brief moment, he set his empty glass down and walked toward the stairs.

“I need to ask you one more thing,” he said. “When we were young we talked about getting out of Kansas and traveling the world. I told Vera that I’d take her to Paris. I even gave her a music box of the Eiffel Tower. Did she ever get to Paris?”

“No,” my mother whispered.

He nodded, and with one final look in our direction, he descended the stairs.