Broken Beauty

by Sarah B. Smith

  Mom was thrilled. “Let’s go!” With that, she gulped the last of her wine. My eyebrows raised in shock at how quickly she finished her wine, and she knew she was busted. We all burst out laughing. “Wow, Beauty—don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.”

  One of my favorite things about Mom was her laugh. Her nose scrunched up, her eyes teared up, and she made that ugly happy face when you laugh hard. When she laughed like that, it exposed the small gap between her front teeth.

  Thank you, God. Thanks for letting me experience my favorite thing about Mom, her smile and laugh, one last time—for who knows how long. I needed that.

  • • •

  WE WALKED THROUGH THE FRONT doors of the care center. My hands were sweaty and my heart was anxious.

  But there was Janet, ready to show us around. As planned, Lisa would play along, like she had been there before.

  As Janet introduced herself, she made her way to me. “Janet,” Lisa said, “this is Sarah and her mother, Rebecca, and Sarah’s friend, Ginny.”

  Janet stuck her hand out. “Hello, Sarah and Ginny. Hello, Rebecca. I’m Janet. It’s so nice to meet you. Have you ever been here before, Rebecca?”

  Mom smiled and said, “Oh, yes! We love it here. Sarah, me, and David have been here. We eat here a lot.”

  I gasped. I had to look down because I didn’t know how to play along.

  We eat here all the time? What?

  Thankfully, Janet kept walking and leading the conversation so I didn’t have to reply.

  Janet pointed to the private dining room. “Rebecca, do you like to entertain? We love to entertain here, and we have this beautiful dining area and private dining room to host parties and things like that.”

  Janet had read everything about Mom. Every detail we wrote on paper, she had down pat. She knew exactly what to say, how to make it more appealing to Mom and how to engage her in a conversation. It blew my mind.

  Mom looked at Janet as she slowly walked and looked around. “Yes, I love to do that. David and I have done that here. Before. We had a party there. In that room there.”

  This is amazing. Why and how does she think she’s been here before? Thrown a party here? God, this is so You! Thank You for taking over. I can’t speak. I’m so scared.

  After we toured the first floor, Janet said, “Shall I show you ladies upstairs?” She looked directly in my eyes. I knew it was time.

  “Yes, that sounds good, thank you.”

  We got on the elevator. My heart was pounding. My body felt weak, and I wanted to just stay on the elevator. Maybe it would get stuck and the doors wouldn’t open. Maybe we could go back down and pretend this didn’t need to happen.

  Please, God. I’m so nervous. Please help me right now. I can’t do this. I don’t think I can do this. God, I feel like I’m going to vomit. I’m shaking. Please, please, please help me right now. I can’t do this.

  As the elevator bell dinged, I looked up and saw the number four in red lights. As we exited, I saw the door with the security keypad. As Janet entered the code, Lisa and Ginny put on their game faces.

  “Rebecca, I’m so glad you are here to meet some of my friends,” Lisa said. “You will really love them.”

  Mom smiled. “Yes. Me, too.”

  As we walked through the door, Janet started to walk toward a group of people. I noticed Mom slow down. Walking a little behind me, she looked at me and began to turn her head from left to right very slowly.

  “What’s the matter, Mom? We are just here to see Lisa’s friends.”

  She said, “But I’ve done this. I’ve helped people. I don’t want to be here long.”

  “I know, Mom. I understand.”

  Friends Place. She’s thinking of Friends Place. She’s already tried to volunteer with me, and she thinks it’s the same thing. She doesn’t want to be here but will do it for a few minutes. Shoot, God. I don’t know when to leave. You have to guide me. I don’t know whether to step left or right or forward or backward. You are my feet. This is it. I can’t do this anymore.

  We approached a group of residents being led by a caretaker in filling in the blanks of songs and famous sayings.

  “Hello, everyone. How are you? Hi, Bart! Hello, Lucy! How are you today?” Janet said.

  I waved at them, and Mom waved, too. Lisa went to talk to a few of the residents, and Mom followed her. I noticed that Mom was by far the youngest one in the group. Most of them were in their eighties, sitting in wheelchairs or with walkers beside them.

  Mom went from one person to the next. She bent down to hug one woman in a wheelchair and then moved on to the next, grabbing her hand and smiling. “Hi, I’m Rebecca. How are you? You are so beautiful.”

  I was enamored with Mom. The gifts that God had given her were coming alive by being around others. She loved to serve, to hug people, to bring joy and light. She wanted to make them feel loved and purposeful.

  I turned to Little Ginny, saying, “I think it’s time. I think I have to leave now. I think I need to leave when I see her loving on them, so she won’t notice I’m gone.”

  “Let’s go. You can do this,” Little Ginny said.

  I took one last look at Mom. In her sleek turquoise outfit and sporting a new hairdo, she was Beauty. She bent over another woman in a wheelchair, cupping her soft hands over the lady’s. I knew her hands were serving as the hands of Jesus that day. I would walk with faith from that moment on and trust God that He would take care of her.

  Little Ginny and I rode the elevator down in silence. I shook and felt queasy. Suddenly my knees buckled, and I fell to the floor. I wailed with grief, pain, and anger. I was too weak to stand up, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Little Ginny kneeled down, put my arm over her shoulder, and said, “Sarah. Oh, Sarah. It’s okay, Sarah. Come, hang on to me.”

  As the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the first floor, Little Ginny carefully helped me out, carrying every burden for me. I thought of Jesus hunched over, carrying a heavy wooden cross for every human being. Little Ginny painfully, yet with unexplainable strength and courage, carried me to safe ground.

  Short of breath, I cried out, “I need a restroom. Help me find a restroom, please, Ginny.”

  Not ten seconds later, I went straight to a stall and slammed the door shut. My entire being, fully clothed, sank to the toilet seat. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I couldn’t control myself. Every emotion poured out, my tears like tidal waves. In pain, I cried out to God and yelled. I don’t even remember what I said.

  As I stood up, I leaned against the cold metal door and cried some more. I heard someone whisper to Little Ginny, but I was too overwhelmed with guilt to comprehend the words.

  I blew my nose several times, and as I opened the door, I was met by a beautiful black woman. She opened her arms wide then hugged me, holding on firmly.

  “Oh, honey. It will be okay.”

  I lost control again. I cried on the shoulder of a total stranger, feeling weak yet loved. I wanted to fall down again, but she held me up. She just let me cry, rubbed my back, and said, “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s going to be okay. Bless your heart, it will be okay.”

  After I started to calm down, she grabbed my shoulders and said, “What is her name? What is your mother’s name?”

  “Rebecca. Rebecca Bearden. I didn’t want to do this. We didn’t want to do this. We didn’t have a choice.” I started to cry again, unable to hold back the tears. “I abandoned her up there! She didn’t know. She doesn’t know what’s going on. She will wonder where I am. She’s going to look for me!”

  Turning to Little Ginny, the woman asked, “What’s her name?”

  “Sarah.”

  “Sarah, honey, my name is Stacy. I am a nurse here. I promise you, I will look after your mother. You have my word that I will check on her. Look at me. You have my word. I see how much you love her. I will love her, too.”

  As I looked into Stacy’s eyes, I saw love. I felt love through her hands, her hug, her e
yes, her shoulders, her voice.

  From that point on, I called her my angel. God purposely had her in that restroom with us. He knew what I needed at the perfect time, and He provided.

  NINETEEN

  THE PHONE CALL

  August 11, 2016

  LITTLE GINNY AND I WALKED over to the fireplace of the sitting area and sat speechless in the leather chairs. Our mission was complete. My eyes were swollen from crying, and my head was pounding. The grandfather clock chimed 4:00, but I didn’t want to leave. I could have slept in that chair from mental exhaustion. My emotions were so raw, and neither of us knew what to say.

  “Do you want me to text Lisa to see how your mom is doing? I can let her know we are still downstairs,” Little Ginny said.

  “Sure. I guess so.” Putting my forehead in my palms, I slowly massaged from the top of my hair all the way down to my neck.

  “I can’t believe it, Ginny. I just can’t believe my mom is officially here. She won’t be home anymore. I can’t wrap my brain around it.”

  “I know it’s hard to call this home right now, but it will be. She will be happy here, Sarah. It is so beautiful. It’s very Becky. You have to trust the caregivers. They are going to help her get settled in. The hardest part is over.”

  Little Ginny’s phone dinged. “Lisa is on her way down now.”

  A minute later, Lisa turned the corner and sat in the leather seat beside me.

  “She’s still talking to the residents, and she didn’t even realize I’d left,” she said.

  “Did you notice how old everyone is?” I asked. “Do you see how she is the one trying to comfort them, yet she is one of them? She is going to flip out when she realizes she is with them for days and weeks to come. I just can’t stop thinking about how she will flip out when she realizes she can’t get out.”

  “You can’t think that way,” Lisa said. “They are professionals. They take over from here and will do their job and will do it well. You brought her here for your dad, and now she is safe.”

  We sat in silence a few more minutes. I turned to Little Ginny.

  “Thank you. I don’t know how I could have done this without you.” My eyes welled with tears again, and I began to cry. “And Lisa, just having you here as a professional caretaker gave me so much more peace. I’m still in shock. We’ve dropped her off and abandoned her, and she doesn’t even know it yet.”

  “Sarah, I’m sorry,” Little Ginny said, “but I can’t listen to the word ‘abandon’ anymore. You are not deserting your mother. You are loving her by giving her a better quality of life. You will see her again, and you will be doing her makeup again, and you will be dancing with her again. Stop believing the lies in your mind.”

  I grabbed her hand.

  “Thank you. You always tell me what I need to hear. I don’t like it sometimes, but you are usually right.”

  “Well,” said Little Ginny, breaking the ice, “can we talk about the red wine being the ticket?”

  I laughed. “I should have gone with my gut and just ordered the red at lunch. Oh, well—leave it to Mom to keep us in suspense. She never makes anything easy, does she?”

  Little Ginny laughed and boldly said, “No, she does not!”

  Lisa leaned in. “Sarah, I was hesitant when you said y’all were placing your mom in the first place. But when you told me she drank nail polish remover and tried to cut a mole off her skin, I knew she was a danger to herself. I’ve been around people with this disease, and I’ll be the first to say it can be very scary. I’m really proud of you, dear. I really am.”

  “Thank you, Lisa. I told you Mom is sly. She can make you believe she’s okay. And she looks so great for her age, which makes it that much more confusing.”

  Looking around, I noticed the pink and purple hydrangeas on the coffee table arranged in a blue and white vase. The entryway was quiet. Mom’s new home gave me a sense of peace and comfort.

  I turned to Little Ginny, “I guess we should go. I’ll text Dad and let him know Mom is here.”

  We took Lisa back to her car. Hugging her goodbye, I told her thank you several times. Now that Mom had twenty-four-hour care, I wondered if we would see her again.

  “Lisa, I don’t know what this means. I don’t know what will happen in the future, but it’s my hope that you see Mom again one day.”

  I could see the sadness in Lisa’s eyes.

  “I hope to see her again, too, Sarah. I love your mom. I really do.”

  We hugged tightly. It was a difficult goodbye.

  I CALLED DAD AND ASKED if he was okay and if he needed any food. He said he wasn’t hungry and told me to enjoy some time with Little Ginny. He knew I needed to decompress.

  Little Ginny and I ordered salads and split a margherita pizza at Taverna. Exhausted, I felt like I could fall asleep at the table.

  As we reflected on the day, I was reminded how God steered the ship. He had carried me through that day, step by step, and taken me from place to place. As if floating, I could hardly comprehend our movements.

  I immediately thought of a Bible verse in Isaiah: “But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint” (40:31 NIV).

  That was how I felt that day. I had hoped and trusted that God would lead the way, and He had given me wings like an eagle and renewed my strength. We were able to run the race and not grow weary or faint.

  • • •

  WHEN LITTLE GINNY DROPPED ME off at Dad’s, the house felt empty as I walked through the front door. I wanted to call out, “Hey, Mom” and see her turn the corner and greet me with a hug. This change felt so permanent.

  I walked toward the kitchen, where Dad was sitting at the table alone. The whiskers on his face were full, and his eyes were swollen and glassy. His sadness made me feel as if we had just attended a funeral.

  Putting my purse on the countertop, I saw one of my favorite pictures of Mom in a frame above the built-in desk. Dad had moved it to a more visible place. She was wearing her Kilgore Rangerette uniform and was posed against a streetlight in New York City, her back leg kicked up while standing in the snow. Mom had performed at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and she looked joyful and energized.

  Dad stood up to give me a hug, and, as he did, I noticed a box of tissues at the table.

  “Hey, sweetie, how are you?” he asked.

  I didn’t want him to let go of me. It felt so safe to be in my daddy’s arms. I started bawling.

  “Oh, Daddy, that was the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life.”

  I heard him snort and sniff and knew he, too, had tears. He was trying to be strong for me, but we were both drained.

  Holding on to me tight, his voice cracking, he said, “I know it. I can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. I just couldn’t do it, Sarah.”

  “I know, Daddy. God gave me strength, and it’s done now. I’m just sad and tired, and I feel a wretched guilt. I can’t get past just leaving her and not telling her why.”

  “Daddy, do you think she will remember I was the one who put her there? Do you think when I see her she will be so angry with me that she will slap me? What if she hates me? It’s like me dropping off one of the kids at some stranger’s house and not telling them why or when I will be back.”

  My dad’s wisdom began to pour out.

  “Your mom can’t rationalize, honey. Her mind can’t think logically. If we told her, she wouldn’t understand. Even when she occasionally recognizes her memory is failing, she doesn’t understand the severity of the loss and the difficulties it places on the family.”

  I nodded.

  “A child is different,” he said. “A child may not understand the big picture and why, but you can tell them and they trust you because they’re dependent on you. It’s that childlike faith. Your mom gets paranoid and doesn’t trust anyone. She wants to make her own decisions and be completely independent. I don�
�t blame her—she’s seventy years old!”

  It made sense to me. You could teach a child a lesson, but you couldn’t teach Mom because she wouldn’t remember a few minutes later. Even if I had told her, she would have manipulated me into thinking she was fine, and then forgotten moments later what either one of us had said. Some things are better left unsaid.

  AROUND 9:00 IN THE EVENING, I went up to take a shower and check in with Thad. I hadn’t spoken to him since the morning. He had texted me during lunch to tell me he loved me, that he was praying for me and that they had arrived safely in Colorado. But being so focused on the placement, I never responded. He was relieved to hear the placement had gone well.

  Daddy and I reconvened around the breakfast table. He had picked up a few appetizers from Dive, a local fish restaurant. Though neither of us was very hungry, we had a few healthy bites.

  “I’m hurting so much, Dad. I can’t even begin to understand your broken heart right now.”

  “It’s broken, that’s for sure. It’s hard to walk into our bedroom and bathroom and closet. Her things are everywhere. And we haven’t even started gathering her clothes and bed and the other things that will be moved on Saturday.”

  My cell phone rang, and it was a Dallas number I didn’t recognize.

  “Hello, is this Sarah?” asked a woman on the other end.

  “Yes, this is she.”

  “This is Betty from The Tradition. I have Rebecca here, and she says she needs to speak with you.”

  Suddenly, my heart beat rapidly and my face turned bright red. With huge eyes, I looked at Dad and he knew something wasn’t right.

  “Who is it?” he mouthed.

  “Uhhh, Betty, I’m so sorry—can you hang on just one second?”

  Hitting the mute button with shaking hands, I started to cry.

  “Daddy, it’s Betty from The Tradition. She says Mom needs to speak to me. What do I do? I’m terrified! What do I say?”

  “What? Mom needs to speak to you? Why in the world are they letting her call you? Gosh, Sarah, yes, go ahead and talk to her. Just see what she wants. Tell her I am out of town visiting my brother.”