Last Winter's Snow

by Hans M Hirschi

  Casper had a defiant smile on his face. “We’re about to find out, aren’t we?” He pushed himself up the ramp, but had to give up about halfway, and he was unable to stop himself from rolling back. By the time he’d hit the brakes, it was too late. The chair had fallen over and deposited him on the stone path.

  A series of expletives escaped Casper’s mouth, and Nilas rushed to his side, righting the wheelchair then helping Casper to sit down again. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

  Casper shook his head. “Only my pride. Can you help me, please?”

  “Of course I can help. I think I offered as much already.”

  Casper was angry. “I know, but I need to be able to do this myself. I can’t always rely on you to help me with everything, you know that, right? You have to go back to work, and you won’t always be here.”

  Nilas felt ashamed. “I know, I know. And it’s not what I meant. You’ve worked so hard to get to this place. I still remember the doctor’s words after you first had your stroke. He wasn’t quite as optimistic.” He walked behind the wheelchair again and pushed him up the ramp and into the house, letting go as soon as they were inside the hallway. He didn’t want to do any more than what was absolutely necessary. The therapists at the rehab facility had been telling him all along that for Casper to regain his independence, he had to do as much as possible on his own, and that if Nilas wanted to help, it had to be on Casper’s terms, not the other way around.

  Casper wheeled himself down the corridor, noticing the larger doors to the office, the kitchen, and the guest toilet. The only thing unchanged were the double doors to the dining room, which they usually had open anyway. He did notice the fact that all the thresholds were gone, though. And he saw the stairlift. He smiled. “Have you tried this already, beäjvviebájttuo?”

  Nilas blushed when he admitted to having ridden the lift once or twice, just to see how it worked. It was the first time Casper had laughed out loud since the stroke. “I can’t blame you. I would’ve done the same. May I?”

  “Of course. I did install this for you, not for me.”

  Casper rolled onto the small platform, secured his chair, and pushed the button. The elevator began to silently move upstairs, along the installed path, following the narrow staircase. Nilas followed silently.

  “I had no idea they could install these in a staircase as narrow and steep as ours.” Casper marveled.

  “It was a close call. A couple degrees steeper, it wouldn’t have worked, and we would’ve had to remodel the entire house, which probably would’ve meant we’d have had to move, because there’s no way to fit an accessible bathroom downstairs.”

  Once upstairs, Casper first moved to their bedroom, noticing the new door and the missing threshold. Nilas had moved their bed a little bit so that Casper could better access his side with the chair. He had tears in his eyes, when Nilas saw his face again.

  “Are you okay, babe?”

  “Yeah, just a bit emotional, s’all. Being home again, seeing everything you’ve had to do, just to accommodate a cripple.”

  “Don’t use that word, Casper!” Nilas admonished. “You may be disabled a bit from your stroke, but you’re not a cripple!”

  “Cripple, broken, whatever you want to call it. Thing is, I’m a burden to you, and to society, from now until I die. And you’ve had to ruin our beautiful home for me.”

  “Please don’t say that, babe.” Nilas was saddened by the harsh words used. “I don’t care about the house. And who cares if you can’t walk like you used to? We can still go out, walk and talk. Who cares if you need a chair to get around, or a walker? It doesn’t make me love you any less!”

  “I know you mean well, beäjvviebájttuo. I know you love me. But from this day forward, I’ll never be truly independent again. I’ll never be able to walk up or down a flight of stairs again. I’ll need elevators or ramps. I’ll never be able to surprise you with breakfast in bed again, not the way I used to, because by the time I’m in my chair, you’ll be wide awake from all the ruckus. I’ll never be able to climb the mountains back home with you again, never be able to hike with you, and I know how important that’s always been to you. Before long, you’ll grow tired of me, you’ll resent me.” There was genuine sadness in Casper’s voice.

  “Never, babe, never. And who cares if things become a bit more complicated? So what if you can’t make me breakfast in bed again. I’m sure you’ll figure out something else to surprise me with, in time. The important thing is that you’re home again, home, with me. I missed you, every night.” He bowed down and kissed Casper. “Now come on, I need to show you something else.”

  He briskly stepped around Casper’s wheelchair and pushed him from their bedroom into the master bathroom. “Here, babe, look at this.” Nilas pointed at the sink. “You can lower it, with these buttons, if you come in with your chair. And I can raise it again for me. And here.” He pointed over to the new bathtub. “Look at this beauty. It came just yesterday. This bathtub allows you to walk in before you fill it up with water. I know how much you like to take your baths. Now you can again, without risking a fall.” Nilas was beaming with pride.

  Casper was shocked. “What did you do with our Jacuzzi?”

  “I had to get rid of it. And this one still has a Jacuzzi function. But it’s handicap accessible. Isn’t this great?”

  Casper began to weep.

  “Babe…” Nilas hadn’t expected this. For weeks, Casper had complained about the rehab facility’s lack of a bathtub. He had a shower in his room, and a chair to sit on and wash himself, and they had a large swimming pool for physical exercise, but there had been no bathtub, no Jacuzzi, not like the one they had at their house—big, with space for two adults, and lots of jets and bubbles for soaking and relaxing in the hot water. Now it was gone, replaced by an ugly contraption with a door.

  “I thought you wanted a tub, babe?” Nilas was saddened by Casper’s response.

  “I do, beäjvviebájttuo, I do. It’s just that I had this mental image of you and I in our old tub, sipping champagne, being massaged by the jets. Now it’s gone, and we’ll never be able to do that again. I hate this body, I hate that I’m doing this to you.” He turned around and rolled out of the bathroom, back to the bedroom, where he hauled himself out of the wheelchair to lie down on the bed.

  Nilas followed him silently, hanging his head. He’d expected a different reaction, but in a way, he could understand Casper. The stroke had altered his life, forever, and it was only now, being at home again, that he understood just how drastic and lasting those changes would be.

  Over the coming weeks, Casper slowly adapted to life back at home, as difficult as it was for him. He even tried to sit down and write, but he couldn’t. Something inside him had been lost, and he couldn’t find the right words he needed to put on paper. He became irritable and cranky, and Nilas bore the brunt of it, silently, patiently.

  For better or worse, they’d promised each other. For thirty-three years, it had been for the better. Now there was a stretch of for the worse. He could do this; he would do this. Because they still loved each other, as much as they ever had.

  There were good times, too, days when Casper felt strong and when the weather allowed them to go out for walks, or when friends came by to visit, or when they both sat cuddling in their comfortable couch, catching a movie or a documentary.

  They decided not to travel to Gávtjávvrie that Christmas. It was only a couple of weeks before Christmas when Casper had finally been able to come home, and they both agreed that the trip would be too exhausting for him at this stage of his recovery. Instead, they decided to make the most of the dark and rainy Gothenburg winter, decorating their house, buying a nice big tree, and enjoying each other’s company, going to concerts and taking it easy.

  * * * * *

  2016

  Tjidtjie?

  “Tjidtjie?” Nilas’s voice barely carried as he dialed the number to his parents in Ammarnäs, where they stil
l lived in their old house. At seventy-eight, his mother was very active, as was his dad. They hadn’t been to Gothenburg to see their son in a couple of years, but there had been tentative plans to visit this spring, and the boys always traveled up north every year, to hike, to help with the herds, and for the holidays, with the exception of this past Christmas, just three months ago.

  Her voice seemed tired. “Nilas? What’s the matter? Is everything okay?”

  It seemed, to Nilas, that mothers possessed a sixth sense when it came to such matters. Then again, his voice probably told the story.

  “It’s Casper…” Unable to say anything else, Nilas began to sob and wail like a wounded animal, as the realization of his loss once again tore through him like a spear.

  His mother seemed alarmed yet confused. “What do you mean, son? Is he okay? What happened?”

  “He’s….” was all Nilas managed to speak into the receiver as relentless waves of tears and sobs washed over him.

  “Shhh…” Inga said. “It’s going to be all right. I’m here, son. I’ll stay here on the phone with you.”

  Nilas was unsure if his mother understood the meaning of his words, or the lack thereof. He sat at the foot of the bed for what seemed like an eternity, crying, sobbing, sniveling, every now and then encouraged by a tender word from his mother, or a simple “Shhh, it’s okay son. It’s okay.”

  When he was able to put the words across his lips, Inga fell silent.

  “He passed away last night. He was just lying there when I woke up this morning. Dead. The paramedics were here a little while ago and picked him up. Oh, Mom, I don’t know how I can go on living without him.” There was no response on the other end, only heavy breathing. “Tjidtjie, are you okay?”

  Finally, she spoke up again. “Oh, my baby, I am so very sorry. I’m just shocked, that’s all. Casper is like a child to me… Was…” Another moment of silence followed.

  “Tjidtjie?” Nilas didn’t know how to proceed.

  “Do you want us to come down? We’ll get on the next plane.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” New tears began to flow.

  “I’ll go wake up Dad. And I’ll look into flights. It’s going to take a while. Not sure which airport is better, okay? We’ll try to make it quick. So I better run. See you soon. I’ll keep you posted. Until then, do you have someone else to call, to keep you company?”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll pay you back for the tickets. I’ll call Elin, our neighbor. See if she’s home.”

  “Good. Talk to you soon. Bye, son. Love you!” She hung up, leaving Nilas to his sorrow and thoughts. There was so much to do, so much to get ready for.

  Nilas sent a text to his assistant at the office. It was all he could muster: Casper passed away last night. Won’t come into work today. Sorry.

  What now? What did people do when their spouse passed away? Nilas had no idea. Instinctively, he returned to the bedroom and picked up Casper’s pillow, hugging it once again. The warmth was gone, but it still smelled of him, that scent he’d come to love so much, a scent that embodied closeness, home, trust, love. He lay down on Casper’s side of the bed, trying to remember their life together, from that first accidental encounter to last night, when they had shared a simple meal. They had been so good for each other. Casper had been good to him. How would he go on? Alone?

  An hour later, his parents called and confirmed they’d gotten tickets from Arvidsjaur to Gothenburg via Stockholm. They’d arrive at nine p.m. Meanwhile, Nilas had called their neighbor and friend, Elin, who’d come over. She was in the kitchen making tea for them both when his parents called.

  “Who was that?” she asked when she carried a tray with sandwiches and the tea pot into the living room where Nilas was lying under a blanket.

  “Mom. They’re flying down. I’ll pick them up from the airport tonight.”

  “I’ll drive you. I don’t want you to take the bus or a taxi today.”

  The tears welled once more. Even the word “today” had a very specific meaning: the day Casper died.

  “I’m sorry.” Elin placed a hand on Nilas’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s okay,” Nilas sniveled. “I think I’ll be a mess for a long time…a drama queen.” He laughed, and his reaction took him so completely by surprise that he began to sob anew.

  Elin sat down next to him and took him into her arms, holding him. “Shhhhh, Nilas. It’s okay. Let it out. You have to let it out. Don’t keep it bottled up. I recall when my Ola passed away. I was a mess for days, so just let it go. Cry. You’re not alone!”

  There was no answer, only sobs and wails. When eventually the crying calmed, Elin offered Nilas his cup of tea and a pill.

  “What is this?”

  “It’ll help you relax. It’s something the doctor gave me when Ola died.”

  Without questioning her, Nilas swallowed the pill and drank from his cup.

  Twenty minutes later, he’d fallen asleep, and Elin, knowing most of Nilas’s and Casper’s friends, began to make phone calls, informing people about Casper’s passing.

  When Nilas awoke again, it was late afternoon, and at first, he was confused. Why was he lying on the couch under a blanket? Why was Elin sitting in the love chair and reading, a wrap around her shoulders? It only took him a second or two before we remembered, and he began to cry again.

  “It’s okay, Nilas,” Elin comforted. “Listen, they called from the hospital. They’re wondering if you would like to come by and see Casper one more time, before they perform the autopsy?”

  “Can I?”

  “Yes, that’s why they called. We also need to make some decisions, about what funeral home you would like to use et cetera. I assume the autopsy will only take a couple of days.”

  Nilas sat up and rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes. He felt exhausted. “How long are they open?”

  “Who, dear?”

  “The hospital.”

  “Oh, I presume they’ll receive us whenever. We just need to call them before we go there, so they can get ready.”

  Nilas nodded. “I need to shower. We can go right after that.” He felt absolutely forceless, and powerless. What difference did anything make anyway? Prepare for what? Why would they have to call in advance?

  He walked out of the living room and made his way upstairs as he heard Elin make the call to the hospital. Half an hour later they were at the morgue. A male nurse received them and asked them about who they had come to see. “Casper Jonsson” Elin said factually, eliciting new sobs from Nilas who was barely able to stand upright next to her. The young nurse had seen a fair share of grieving relatives and left without saying another word.

  After what seemed like an eternity, but probably only was a couple of minutes later, he came back and gestured them to follow him. “This way, please.” They followed him down a corridor to a room where a simple bed was placed in the middle. On either side were two large candle holders standing on the floor. Both candles were lit. Apart from that there were no decorations, except a few religious symbols hanging on the walls. Nilas slowly approached the bed, supported by Elin.

  Casper was lying on the bed, his hair combed, and he looked as if he was asleep. His hands were folded, and he seemed to be wearing a white shirt of sorts.

  “He looks peaceful, doesn’t he?” Nilas remarked. The nurse came back with two chairs for them to sit. “Take as much time as you need!” He said before leaving them alone. The room was cool and quiet. Nilas put his hand on Casper’s. “Do you think he was in any pain?”

  Elin choked on tears. “No, Nilas, I don’t think so. I think he simply fell asleep and didn’t wake up. You did find him in his favorite sleeping position, didn’t you?”

  “I did.” Nilas said, as fresh tears were welling up in his eyes. It was such a painful memory. He collapsed on top of Casper and cried, loudly. “How could you leave me like this? We were going to grow old together, babe. Remember? You and I, in our house…”

 
Elin moved closer and put her arm on Nilas’s back, gently stroking him. “Life is funny that way. So unpredictable. You might not see it that way today, maybe not even tomorrow, or even a year from now. But someday, hopefully, you’ll see that this was Casper’s final gift to you.”

  ***

  The next morning, Nilas called a funeral home he’d heard good things about and made arrangements to meet them in the afternoon. His parents joined him. When they returned after the meeting, Nilas was furious.

  “Did you hear that? She thought Casper was my brother. That was so humiliating.”

  He had been crying the whole trip back to the house, as the definitiveness of his loss bore down on him with all its might. Talking about caskets, cremation, funeral services, and eulogies had somehow finalized the difference between “is” and “was.” That realization was excruciating for Nilas. It had been on the streetcar ride back, when Nilas first had that strange sensation, the impression that Casper felt gone, a mere memory, and his emotions had been weirdly conflicting: pain and loss, mixed with something else. A faint feeling of peace? Relief? No, that would be unfair to even think of. He didn’t know, but it all was overwhelming, and as soon as they arrived back at the house, Nilas excused himself and went upstairs to his room, where he took another one of Elin’s magic little helpers and fell asleep.

  When he woke up again, the house was silent. He looked at his watch; it showed just past four a.m., but he was done sleeping. He put on his robe and slippers and grabbed his phone to go downstairs to the kitchen, checking in on his parents along the way. They were both fast asleep in one of the guest rooms.

  Outside, it had snowed through the night, unusual for the time of year. At least, it was these days. Usually, March meant the first signs of spring on Sweden’s West Coast, not the last throes of winter, but hey. Stranger things had happened.

  The heavy blanket of snow had a noise-dampening effect, and not a sound penetrated the house from the outside, not from the streetcar tracks a few hundred yards away, not from the freeway, even closer. Nothing. Then again, it was probably too early for that.