He raced to his bedroom to see if he had missed a call from the care center on his phone.
I clicked the mute button again.
“I’m sorry, Betty. Uh, yes, I . . . I guess I can talk to her. I didn’t think I would be speaking to her this quickly or that she was allowed to call me.”
“I’m sorry, but she keeps insisting. Thank you—one second please.”
Great. She keeps insisting, so you give in that easily and have her talk to me? The one who left her there? Oh God, please help me . . . please, God . . .
“Sarah? Sarah, are you there?”
Hearing my mom’s voice on the line, I wanted to sob. I wanted to tell her I was so sorry and how much I loved her. My mother. My best friend.
“Hi, Mom. I’m here.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Sarah, oh, thank God! I’m at this place. This place, with these people, and they won’t let me leave. Where are you?”
“Well, I’m . . .”
Mom cut me off.
“Where’s your dad?”
“Uh, Dad’s out of town visiting his brother.”
At this point, I felt like throwing up. The phone was slippery from my sweat-soaked hands.
“Oh, sure. Great. He’s out of town,” she said sarcastically. “Where are you? I need you to pick me up. I’m at this place, and they won’t let me leave.”
“Uh, Mom, I . . . I can’t right now.”
She cut me off again, panic and frustration in her voice.
“Sarah, listen to me right now. I need you to get your keys, get in your car, and drive to this place.” I heard her say to Betty, “What’s the name of this place again?”
I don’t even think she heard the name—she just kept talking. “I need you to get in your car and come pick me up right now. You hear me, Sarah? Right. Now.”
“Oh, Mommy, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I love you, Mom.” My eyes filled up with tears. I didn’t know how much longer my voice could remain calm and collected.
“Sarah! No! Sarah! Listen to—Sarah. Don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me!”
Oh. My. Gosh. She knows. She knows she’s been dropped off. Does she know it was me? God. Help me.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but . . .”
She cut me off. “Sarah. If you don’t come get me right now, then don’t ever call me your mom again.”
Tears streamed down my face. She had disowned me and would never forgive me for what I had done. All I could do was cry silently as I kept hearing, “Sarah? Sarah, are you there?”
“Yes, Mom, I am here. I love you.”
“I am going to tell you one last time. If you don’t come pick me up this minute, you may never call me your mom again, and I will never call you my daughter again. Come get me. I have to go. The lady here needs to make a phone call.”
Suddenly, Betty got back on the phone. “Thank you, Sarah. I’ll be in touch.”
Click.
Silence.
I was stunned at how articulate and clear my mom’s speech was. She hadn’t been that clear in over a year, possibly longer. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, how to say it, and when to say it. The only thing she couldn’t figure out was where she was. She just knew that she wanted out.
All I could think about were those women at the facility we’d visited, banging on the glass doors, wanting out. I had turned my back on them. I couldn’t rescue them. But this time, it was my own mother.
What in the world am I doing to her? God, how can I turn my back on her like this? She is begging me to get her out, just like those women! The difference is, those women were smiling at me, but Mom is pleading with me to rescue her, and she’s confused and full of pain.
Dad turned the corner as I wept like a baby. I tried to tell him about the conversation, but I couldn’t get the words out as I choked on the tears.
Dad sat next to me. “Sarah, I am so sorry. I had a missed call. They tried to call me first. When you were on the phone they called me again. The head nurse apologized and said she was very sorry they had to call you, but there was a mix-up with the topical gel prescription. They are supposed to have it to rub on Mom’s arm to calm her down. Apparently, the pharmacy delivered it to the wrong floor, and they have been trying to locate it. She was causing a disruption with the residents; they thought they could kill a few minutes having her talk to you. I don’t know what to say. I am so sorry.”
“Calm her down? We told them to be prepared for her, and I am pissed off they would even think to call me! They are supposed to be the professionals, Daddy. Not us! I just placed her for God’s sakes, and they want the person who placed her to calm her down? Are they out of their minds?”
Dad nodded in agreement.
I sobbed even more.
“I think they are out of their minds,” Dad said slowly, “because Mom has made them feel that way. We knew this would happen. Not the phone call, but . . . I can only imagine the trouble she is giving them. I’m frustrated because I went to the pharmacy the other day myself, and they told me they would deliver it for me. It was hard enough for me to go back over there and sign the papers.”
“She told me not to call her Mom anymore, Dad! She told me if I didn’t come pick her up, I am not her daughter anymore!”
I couldn’t get those words out of mind. It didn’t matter what Dad—or anyone else—said to me. I’d been the one on the other end of that phone. I was the one who had heard her voice. She had been stern, angry, scared, anxious, trapped, and yet also discerning about what was really happening to her. She knew deep down she was being left there, and she had let me know.
That was the worst phone call I have taken in my entire life.
TWENTY
I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART
August 12 to August 14, 2016
THE NEXT MORNING, I WOKE up to the sun shining brightly through the blinds of my parents’ guest bedroom. The house was quiet, and I could hear the birds chirping from the large pecan tree outside the window. I didn’t want to move. It would be another emotional day: emptying drawers and moving furniture, among other things. I had clothes to sort and errands to run. She would need new underwear, socks, a toothbrush, soap, shampoo, and fresh pajamas.
She loved P.J. Salvage pajamas. Soft and colorful, they came in all sorts of prints. But most of the tops were button-down, and Mom could no longer button her pants or tops. I needed to find pajamas just as soft that she could pull over her head without buttoning or tying.
Smelling coffee from downstairs, I wondered if Dad had gotten any sleep. We had both been up late, distraught over Mom’s phone call. Despite four hours of sleep, I still needed to start the day and be strong for Dad. The next day he would watch her things be taken out the front door and loaded onto a truck, another goodbye to many loved possessions. He had already packed up her favorite paintings and crosses and her Rangerette yearbook.
I headed downstairs to join Dad in the cozy living room, his first morning without her.
He held a cup of coffee, his Bible open on his lap. He admitted to not sleeping well either.
In the kitchen, I popped a coffee pod into the machine and flashed back to Mom. I still remembered the time we went to Starbucks when Frensley was about eight months old. Mom liked her coffee extra hot, and as we sat around the small table to eat our fruit and yogurt, Frensley reached for Mom’s coffee—and spilled it everywhere, including all over her own chubby baby legs.
Frensley screamed bloody murder. Terrified, Mom and I grabbed her from the highchair and threw her into the restroom sink, turning on the cool water. Luckily, she was fine, but it was a story we would laugh about for years when ordering extra-hot coffee or zapping a cup in the microwave for an extra forty-five seconds.
As I sat down in Mom’s favorite chair, Dad closed his Bible.
“I miss the little things already,” he said, “like cooking her turkey bacon or pouring her coffee. I can’t believe she’s not home anymore.”
“It’s so surr
eal,” I said. “Do you think she remembers how she got there yesterday? I pray she doesn’t. That kept me awake all last night.”
“I don’t think she will. But, if she does, you have to remember we did it out of love.”
“I get it, I guess. I discipline my kids because I love them, but it’s also in hopes they learn from it. Mom won’t ever learn a lesson from this. She’ll never know why. I just hope she knows when we see her again how much we really do love her and she doesn’t resent us. I hope I didn’t destroy her love for me.”
“Sarah, your mom will always love you. Do you know how hard it was for me to hold you on my hip when you were a baby? Mom wouldn’t put you down! She went to the bathroom with you, cooked with you, took naps with you. If I ever had a chance to hold you, it was a miracle.”
I smiled. I’d heard him tell that story many times, and he’d shown me pictures of her holding me all through my toddler years.
Mom had had a stillborn baby two years before I was born. My sister, Jessica, died during labor, and they never knew why. Years before, Mom told me she had known during labor their little girl wasn’t going to make it. She had felt and heard God say to her that she would have to give her baby up. She even wrote about it. Yet she was in such peace.
Mom and Dad both said it was because of Jessica’s death that Mom would not put me down.
“I suppose that’s why Mom is my best friend,” I said. “She never left my side. You’re right: She loves me big.”
Looking around the room, I thought about the things that needed to be done. I would need to wear both my business hat and my daughter hat.
We discussed all of the different things to pack: the rug, bath towels, pillows and bedding, as well as artwork and chairs and an ottoman.
I called Carie to confirm the moving plans. “Hello, my BFF,” she said. “You and Dad doing okay? I’ve been thinking about you all mornin’.”
There was something about Carie’s drawl that made you want to melt in her arms.
“I’m not sure how to answer that. Actually, we’re not well. Last night was unbelievable. Mom called me.”
“What? Why in the world did they let her call you? I can’t believe what I’m hearin’!”
It broke Carie’s heart to hear the words Mom had spoken.
“Listen, BFF, I’m going to be there around 3:00 or 4:00. I’m bringing you and David dinner, and I’m preppin’ it right now. That time work okay?”
“It can’t get here soon enough. I can’t wait to hug and be with you.”
“Awww, honey, me too. Don’t you worry. We will get it all done. I’m also bringin’ us some Cabernet, so you better get out Becky’s finest wine glasses!”
I dressed while Dad left to run a few errands. I think he needed to get out of the house. Meanwhile, I was ready to get to work and tackle the next twenty-four hours.
Later that day, Carie arrived.
“Hey, David. I’m so sorry. I know your heart is broken to pieces.”
Dad gave her a big hug.
“Well, thank you. It is broken, but there’s not much we can do about it. It needed to happen. How’s ol’ Bobby doing?”
Bobby was Carie’s father and Dad’s fraternity brother. As much as I tried, I could not pry any stories out of Bobby about Dad in college. Their bond remained firm no matter the distance or the time that had passed since they’d last spoken.
“You know Dad. He’s the same old, same old. You should go to Fairfield some time. I know he would love to see you and cook you a few steaks.”
Carie made herself at home, unloading the groceries, turning on the oven, and searching for pots and pans. I loved that about her. She knew we were family, and she acted like family.
As Carie prepared dinner, I sorted Mom’s clothes in her closet.
She loves these shorts, and these. Oh, and those blue cropped pants, where are those? Let’s grab her black workout pants. They make her look slim and are easy to put on. How many outfits is that? She probably shouldn’t have too many to choose from. Awww, her favorite shirt.
I started crying in the closet. I sat on the floor and I wept. I squeezed her black pants and held them to my heart, bowing my head into them as the tears rolled down. These were clothes we had purchased together, and now I might never shop with her again. The memories of Chico’s and her taking her shirt off in front of the cashier—it all flooded back, and it was all too much.
Pulling myself together, I gathered her shoes, her flip-flops, and a pair of tennis shoes. I began neatly packing her clothes.
When I went into the kitchen, Carie saw I had been crying.
“Oh honey, let me give you a hug. You’re gonna get through this, I promise. Your mama is safe now, Sarah.”
“I know, it’s just . . . ” and I wept on her shoulder. Through my tears, I noticed Carie still wore Quelques Fleurs perfume, smelling just like she did when we were fifteen.
Carie put a baked Brie with puffed pastry and jalapeño jelly out to eat while we sipped on our wine. Dinner followed, with freshly baked okra in a delicious teriyaki sauce, butternut squash with rosemary and cinnamon, and chicken, also marinated in teriyaki, with a little lemon on top. It was the best home-cooked meal Dad and I had eaten in months.
We sat around the table talking about Mom and our memories with her. Carie and I recalled one hilarious story from our time in college.
“Sarah, do you remember when we were talkin’ about thongs? And your mom thought it was a sin to wear a thong! She was convinced that they were devilish or somethin’. Do you remember?”
“Oh, my gosh, yes!”
Dad asked, “What? Thongs?”
Carie went on, “Oh, yes, David. I nearly fell over the ottoman I was laughing so hard! You know how I like to yank Becky’s chain? Well, she thought wearing a thong was a sin and that it was devilish, so I said, ‘Becky, are you kidding me? It is a thong. And you know what? You might kinda like wearin’ it!’”
“I didn’t need to hear that!” Dad exclaimed.
I was laughing so hard. My nose crinkled, and making that ugly laughing face, I felt like my mom.
Carie kept us rolling in laughter with her stories. It felt so good to laugh. Daddy and I had been through so much the past few weeks, from the day we first set foot in a memory-care facility.
After dinner, Carie pulled out some labels with my mom’s name and room number on them. She had asked for Mom’s room number a few days ago, but I never thought to ask why.
“Let’s get to work. I’m gonna iron all of these labels onto Becky’s clothes. The last thing you want is for someone else to be wearin’ her cute clothes. We want to make sure the housekeeper knows exactly where these clothes belong.”
Dad and I looked at each other in disbelief—it was something we’d never thought about.
There was enough work that by the time Carie and I were finished, we were exhausted.
We shared a room, each in our own bed. Donning her sleep mask and employing her lavender oil drops and Aquaphor, she completed a bedtime routine that hadn’t changed in twenty years.
We lay there with the lights out.
“Carie, I don’t know if I can go with you and Jennifer tomorrow to set up her room. I’m worried she might see me, but I also want it arranged the way she would love. That is part of the reason I chose you—you know exactly how Mom would decorate it.”
“Let’s just see how you feel in the mornin’. You don’t have to go. Jennifer and I have it all under control. If you want to go, then go, and if not, that’s okay too.”
“I’ll just see then. Goodnight, BFF. I’m so thankful you are here.”
We fell fast asleep.
ONCE AGAIN, I WOKE UP to the sun shining through the blinds of the same window, with the birds chirping in the pecan tree.
Jennifer, her son, and a few high school boys were on their way with a pickup truck and trailer.
I feel sick. God, this is too much. I don’t want to see her things go. Why did it have to
go this way, God? Why?
Jennifer came in and we all got to work. Soon, the last load went onto the trailer, and the cars were packed with boxes, pillows, lamps, frames, and knickknacks.
I glanced at Dad and saw his tears.
Holding up a finger, he said, “Just a minute.” He went into his bedroom and quickly reappeared with a pillow that read, “I love you with all my heart.”
His voice cracked as he said, “Here, Sarah. Take this. She will know what it means.”
That pillow was the last of Mom’s items to go.
• • •
OUR PLAN WAS IN PLACE. Carie wore a baseball cap to be incognito in case there were any Mom sightings. While Mom was around the corner at an activities session, Carie, Jennifer, and the boys used the back elevator that, luckily, was next door to Mom’s room.
I had decided to go after all, but as we removed boxes from the cars and loaded the dollies, I felt paranoid—especially when I saw several windows overlooking the loading dock.
“Carie, what if she sees me? Should I stay in the car? What if that’s the respite room? I’d feel funny sitting here watching y’all do everything for me.”
“Sarah, didn’t you say they were taking her around the corner?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop worrying. I can promise you they aren’t gonna let your mom look out a window, especially overlookin’ the loading dock!”
But I couldn’t overcome the idea that Mom might see me, and I grew more anxious.
What if she sees me from a window and starts banging on it? What if she wonders why her stuff is coming in? What if she recognizes her bedframe and this side table?
Jennifer walked up.
“What if she can see me?” I said in a panic. “I want to help, but—”
“Sarah, stop.” Jennifer chuckled at me, but I didn’t think it was funny.
“No, Jennifer. I’m serious.”
“Sarah, honey, she’s not going to see you,” Jennifer said, smiling.
“I’m just not sure. I’m doubting everything and freaking out.”
Broken Beauty Page 19