Trilliums

Sunday, March 23rd, I opened my phone to find a voicemail from my grandmother:

“Hello Annie. It's Grandma. It's 2:30 pm on Sunday. I just came from a big walk in the back woods, and oh, it is so beautiful! One day, I'd like you to come for a walk with me in the back woods and see how nice it is…on a nice day. OK, talk to you later. Love you... …How do I hang up? hm-” 

On Monday, the 24th,  around a quarter to noon, I drive to Grandma’s house with an excitable dog in the back seat. He has fluffy black fur with a messy patch of white under his chin, an eight-year-old cocker spaniel/poodle mix, wired for anxiety. He's pacing back and forth, sticking his head out of both windows. He yelps in between quick breaths. I try to calm him down. “We’re almost there, buddy. Are you excited to go see Grandma!?” He sticks his tongue out.

I pull into her gravel driveway, put the car in park, and stick my phone in the glove box. Opening the back door slowly, I stick one hand in and grab Sammy’s leash before he jumps out. He marks his territory on a rock as I open the door to the porch. We walk up to the main door. Through the window, I see grandma putzing around the kitchen. I wave and she says, “Oh!” and opens the door. “Hello!” Sammy pushes his way in and spins circles around her feet. She’s wearing her thick white socks with gold toes.

“Oh! Hello there, Sammy. Are you coming on a walk with us?” He plops down by her foot. She pets the gap behind his ear. 

“Yes, he is!” I take off his leash, and he leaves the kitchen to explore the rest of the old country home.

Grandma hugs me and sighs, “Well. I was hoping for a sunnier day, but oh well. That’s just how it goes…but that’s okay.” That’s her new catchphrase. “But that’s okay.” She says it with a cheery sort of sigh. 

We sit at the kitchen table and catch each other up on the last few weeks. I tell her I’m taking Spanish lessons. She tells me she just donated a big bag of grandpa’s clothes. She has been slowly downsizing since her husband Jim, my grandfather, passed away at the age of 91 last November. She let me go through his sweaters a couple of weeks after the funeral. I left their house with a garbage bag full of sweaters, a couple of his favorites, some that were likely only worn once. Grandpa always preferred worn and weathered garage sale finds. Today I’m wearing one of his green sweaters, comfortable, snug, and not too stained. Grandma notices.

“Is that one of Grandpa’s?”

“Sure is! I wear them all the time.”

She smiles and then checks the time.  

“12:10…Okay. Is it alright if we eat first and then go walk? I want to sit out there as long as we can.”

“Of course.”

“I bought you a veggie sandwich from Wegmans. I don’t know if it's any good.”

 She takes two sandwiches out of the fridge, a veggie on rye and a “Danny’s Original” submarine. Sammy hears crinkling and comes running. He sits at our feet and waits for crumbs to fall. I push past him to grab a seltzer. Grandma pours herself a glass of milk and shakes a couple dry dry-roasted almonds onto her place setting. We settle ourselves back into the wooden seats around the table and keep talking.

“Have you been swimming at the YMCA?” I ask

“Yes. I try to get out there when I can.”

“You do laps?”

 “Oh no no, I just go in and do my exercises… but I did something to my leg, pulled it or twisted it.”

“Oh no! Are you alright?”

“It’s better today. I thought it might help to sit in the hot tub afterwards, but oh, I don't know. This other lady was sitting in there. I thought she would know if the hot water would be any good for my leg. I wanted to ask her, but she wouldn't stop talking to her friend.”

“Oh. Why did you think-”

“Eventually, I just shoved her.” 

“Grandma!” 

She shrugs her shoulders.

“You shoved her?”

“Well..She wouldn't stop talking.” 

“Couldn't you have just said ‘excuse me?’”

 “Well…I didn't shove. I tapped her.” 

“Mhm…That's not what you said.” 

“She wouldn't stop talking.”

I laugh, shake my head.

Grandma frowns at her sub. She’s only a few bites in.

“It’s just not as good without that good oil they put on there… but I’m not supposed to eat that stuff anymore.” 

She can’t digest a lot of food properly anymore. Two years ago, at a routine colonoscopy, her doctor found an aggressive tumor in her large intestine. Lucky, considering her age, she qualified for surgery. On Monday, January 15th, 2024, the day before her 84th birthday, my grandma had her large intestine and uterus removed. Her small intestine was reconfigured so that she can still use the bathroom. She gets on alright, but there are certain foods she was supposed to say goodbye to. Among the list are apple skins, raw fruits and veggies, nuts, seeds, and oils. She takes another bite before she pushes herself up from the chair and says, “Oh, I can fix this.”

I watch with admiration as she mixes oil and balsamic vinegar in a salad shaker. She pours a liberal amount onto the open face of her bread and sits back down, satisfied with herself.

After finishing her sub, she picks at her side of almonds. “I’ll pay the price for these things later…but some things are worth it.” I nod my head. Thank god for my young, functioning, cancer-free colon. Grandma gets up slowly from the table with a groan.

 “Oomph…My body doesn’t work too good anymore..My ears don’t work. My eyes don't work…but that's okay.”

“But that’s okay.” I lovingly mock her.

 I bag up the other half of my sandwich and stick it in the fridge. Grandma collects the dishes and leaves them to soak in the sink. Sammy perks up, and I attach the leash back onto his collar. We walk through the house to the back porch. Grandma hands me a pair of dirty gray work gloves. “In case we have to move some sticks…You can have the nicer ones.” I put them on and wiggle my fingers. I lift the wooden jam in the porch door, and we head out. We pass the vegetable garden, the crab tree orchard, the rusted-out van that doesn’t drive anymore but stores firewood, tools, and a couple of plastic tarps. We pass piles of old metal junk and garage sale finds rusted from years of rain, sleet, and snow. All are tucked away in weed thickets. I see a desk, a lawn mower, and a car rim. You could play a mighty game of Eye Spy back here. Grandma sees me looking and says, “I think there's an old cash register somewhere…yes, right there! You see it?... We picked up all this stuff when it was worth something, but with no place to keep it it was all thrown out here. It's a shame, really… all this stuff turned to junk. Oh well, what can you do? That's okay.”

 “That's okay,” I repeat it back.

We walk back to a clearing in the woods. Grandma's new project. “Danny and I have been cleaning out the weeds. Every day, I come back here and clear a little more.” Danny is her nephew, my mom’s cousin. He’s a nice guy, helps out my grandma around the yard, and keeps an eye on her. She lets him use the land to hunt deer. He’s a good shot.

 “Good to have something to keep you busy,” I say. 

“Keeps me busy. Good to have something to do.” Grandma can’t hear very well.

“Yep.” I look at the bare branches and trees around me, ripe with the promise of spring, small 

bulbs here and there waiting for the green light, the go-ahead to burst. The sun comes in brief waves than ducks back behind clouds. We soak up what we can, but in cloudy moments, remain warm in each other’s company.

“It really is beautiful,” I remark.

“You’ll have to come back a little later this year when the trilliums are in bloom.”

 “Trilliums?”

“Beautiful flowers. They come up in all different colors.” 

“They sound lovely.”

Grandma leads Sammy and me to a fallen tree on the path.

 “Come sit with me on this log.”

We sit down. Sammy sniffs the ground, hops up on the log, back to the ground, does a few impatient circles, and eventually lies down. The sun comes out again, transforming his matted black fur into a shimmery peppered gray.  

“Ask for sunlight and you shall receive. God is good!” Grandma says. She continues.

“He is always listening. I come out here all the time and thank him. He likes it when you thank him…needs to hear it. He hears a lot of negative stuff all day.” I trace the lines on the exposed wood, the work of a very hungry, very invasive emerald ash borer.

I chime in, “I have been feeling very grateful as of late. Doing lots of mindfulness, living in the moment, trying to appreciate-”

 “Yes, you have to thank God. It's very important.”

“I do.”  Maybe nature can be my god.

“He needs to hear it.” 

I nod my head. We sit for a while. Grandma says, “Life is hard…and it only gets harder as you get older.” 

“You paused there for a second, and I thought you were going to say something insightful, hopeful even.”

 She laughs, “Nope!” 

“My neighbor, an old farmer down the road, walked by the other day, said the same thing about aging, it only gets harder...Danny doesn't like him much, thinks he’s flirting with me.”

  “Would you ever  consider dating again after grandpa?”

She shakes her head.

 “No, no, that's not what I'm looking for at this point.” 

“It might be nice to have some company.”

 “No. no..” 

“I don't think Grandpa would mind-”

 “No. I don’t think so either. I just have no interest in that anymore…I’ve lived a good life.” 

“Any regrets?” 

“None that I can think of.” So casual. It’s like I asked about her allergens. 

“Is there anything you wish you had said to Grandpa before he died?”

 “Nope. I had a whole year to tell him how I felt…and I always made sure to tell him I loved him.”

“I just hope he knows how much I cared about him. I worry I didn’t tell him enough.” 

“He knew. You guys were his whole world. I mean it.” 

“I feel bad not getting to know him as much as I wanted to. I tried, you know, asked him questions about his childhood and all. But he never gave me in-depth answers.” 

“Yeah…That’s just how he was. He was a hard guy to get to know. Those old Irish guys can’t open up…You know, I always asked him if he loved me…I think that’s the last thing I said to him in the nursing home ‘Do you love me?’ and he said yes, and I said, “I'll see you tomorrow.” 

“And he said, no, you won’t!” Bad joke, Annie. 

 She shook her head. “I don’t remember what he said.” 

Grandma sighs.“I don't have many friends anymore. They are all gone. And Judy…she just moved, so I won’t see much of her.”

“Oh no. Where  did she move to?”

“St John’s…on Elmwood”

I stifle a laugh. “That's not so far. 15 minute drive”

 “Oh, that's far for me. I’m not driving out there.”

I shake my head, pat my leg to get Sammy to come closer. I turn back to Grandma.

 “You’re very afraid of the world. I don’t know how you live like that.”

 “Yes, I’m a bit of an a-fraidy cat.” 

She doesn’t see the serious side eye that I give her.

“Grandma…it’s scaredy cat. Nobody says a-fraidy cat.” 

“I say it”

I can’t help but laugh this time. “ I like it… Hey, maybe you can make some friends at the Y-” 

“Oh, I don't know-” 

“A-fraidy cat…maybe if you didn't shove people…” I nudge her with my shoulder.

“Hey! I tapped her.”

  We chat for a little while longer. She runs through the usual topics: her old boyfriend Julien, who left her for the priesthood, the couple of years she spent in the convent, her brief stint in flight attendant school, meeting Grandpa at a singles club at her church, buying this house, starting a farm, taking care of the animals…I’ve heard the stories before, but I try to listen like it's the first time. We go on like this until Grandma’s body grows weary.

“We'd better go back to the house now. My back can’t take it sitting like this anymore.”

 “You ready to head inside, Sammy?” I ask. He jumps up fast, leads us out of the woods, pulling me along on the leash.

“Can we make one more stop before we go in?” Grandma walks us over to a pond on the far right side of their property. “Jim wanted to build a house right here… that’s where we will spread his ashes, in the pond… I don’t want to put them anywhere that might get developed.”

 “Are his ashes still above the desk?” 

“Yep! Right on top of the desk, looking down on me. I talk to him all the time, you know, and I keep a picture of him on my nightstand that I say goodnight to…every night.”

 “Does he say goodnight back?”

 “I think he does. I can feel it.” 

“I can feel it too.”   

She sighs and looks out at the water.“I think he will be happy here.” 

“I think so, too.” 

Grandma stands still. I can’t help but look on in awe. Imagine loving someone for sixty years, growing old together, and then setting them afloat on your pond, watching them sink to the bottom. Fresh sediment on the land you tended together, the land you raised two kids on. They made a lovely little life here. I’ll be lucky if I ever know that sort of love. I shake my head. Sammy tugs on the leash. We leave the pond and head back to the house.

At the kitchen table, I eat the other half of my sandwich. Grandma wipes cookie crumbs from her lip and asks

  “Before you leave, is it okay if we do one more thing?” 

 “Of course.” I straighten my back. I hope I don’t have to lift a chest or move some firewood to the porch.

“I want to show you an old photo album. I’ve never really shown anyone these. Just one, I swear.” 

I settle back into my seat. “I’d love to see your photos.”

 She goes upstairs and returns with a big leather album. Its edges are ripped and discolored from decades spent tucked away on a shelf. It’s filled with old pictures, all black and white. Grandma sits next to me and starts to flip through. We pause on a page with a class photo, middle school, maybe. Around half of the students have Sharpied x’s over their heads.

 “What do the x’s mean?”

 “Dead. All dead… there's probably more now.” 

“Grandma!” 

“What?” She keeps flipping.

  “These are my parents, they were always playing cards at the table…and there's my brother Eddy…Eddy again, there's me all dressed up for the convent.” One page shows comments from classmates. Another shows a report card, “Oh, don't look at that. I was never a great student.”

One picture depicts a gruesome statue of Jesus on the cross, blood and gore made eerier in monochrome.
“I remember this statue from the convent. It had quite the impact on me.” She taps on the photo. I look away.

  “Creepy…Hey, where are the photos from when you were younger?”

“Bah. We don’t need those.  I want you to see me at your age. So you can learn from my mistakes.” We flip through the rest of the pictures. They depict extended family, pets, and old friends. Grandma points to a blurry picture of a young woman. “She and I still write letters, you know.”I nod at the appropriate times, look closer when prompted. We reach the end. She closes the album.       

“We will go through the next one next time you’re here.” 

“Sounds good to me. Thank you for sharing. I really mean it.” I do.

She takes the album back upstairs. I put Sammy’s leash back on and collect my things. Grandma wraps her arms around me and says, “Thank you for coming for a walk with me. We have to go again when the trilliums are out.” 

“I’ll be here.”

Sammy and I leave through the front porch. I open up the backseat of the car. He hops up on the seat, tired from the day’s exertion. I start the engine, roll the windows down. It's a little chilly out, but that's okay. I smile, shake my head, and put the car in reverse.