The phone rang at 5:42 on Sunday morning.<\/p>\n
I knew the time because I had been watching the clock.<\/p>\n
I'd slept perhaps two hours.<\/p>\n
Every sound in the apartment had pulled me awake.<\/p>\n
A car passing outside.<\/p>\n
The heating turning on.<\/p>\n
The neighbor walking across the floor above me.<\/p>\n
Each time, I reached for my phone.<\/p>\n
When it finally rang, I answered before the second vibration.<\/p>\n
"Hello?"<\/p>\n
"Everett, it's Trish."<\/p>\n
I sat up.<\/p>\n
"Is Grandma all right?"<\/p>\n
There was a brief silence.<\/p>\n
"She's had another change in her breathing. She's resting comfortably, but I think you should come."<\/p>\n
I swung my feet onto the floor.<\/p>\n
"I'm coming now."<\/p>\n
"Drive safely."<\/p>\n
I ended the call.<\/p>\n
I didn't turn on the bedroom light.<\/p>\n
I knew where my clothes were.<\/p>\n
The blue sweater lay across the chair.<\/p>\n
I pulled it over my head and reached for yesterday's trousers.<\/p>\n
Then I stopped.<\/p>\n
My hands were trembling so badly I couldn't fasten the button.<\/p>\n
I stood there, looking at the wall.<\/p>\n
I had known this morning might come.<\/p>\n
For weeks, every doctor and nurse had been telling us that Grandma's condition was worsening.<\/p>\n
I'd watched her lose strength.<\/p>\n
I'd watched her become exhausted by conversations she once could have continued for hours.<\/p>\n
Still, I wanted another day.<\/p>\n
Just one ordinary day.<\/p>\n
One afternoon when she'd complain about the weather and ask whether my students were practicing.<\/p>\n
I wanted to bring her tea.<\/p>\n
I wanted to hear her correct my timing.<\/p>\n
I wanted something that didn't involve a hospital bed.<\/p>\n
I finally fastened my trousers.<\/p>\n
Then I grabbed my coat.<\/p>\n
On the kitchen counter sat a small paper bag.<\/p>\n
There were still two lemon cookies inside.<\/p>\n
I'd bought them for Grandma.<\/p>\n
She had eaten only part of one.<\/p>\n
I looked at the bag for several seconds.<\/p>\n
Then I took it with me.<\/p>\n
I knew it was foolish.<\/p>\n
She probably wouldn't want a cookie.<\/p>\n
But leaving it behind felt worse.<\/p>\n
The roads were nearly empty.<\/p>\n
A light snow had begun falling.<\/p>\n
I drove carefully, gripping the steering wheel.<\/p>\n
At one red light, I remembered being a boy in Grandma's car.<\/p>\n
She used to drive a dark green sedan.<\/p>\n
It had a heater that took forever to warm up.<\/p>\n
In winter, she'd keep an old blanket on the back seat for me.<\/p>\n
I remembered complaining that my fingers were cold.<\/p>\n
She'd tell me to put them inside my coat until we reached the house.<\/p>\n
Then she'd make tea.<\/p>\n
I could hear her voice.<\/p>\n
Plain.<\/p>\n
Practical.<\/p>\n
Certain that most problems could be made smaller with patience.<\/p>\n
The light changed.<\/p>\n
I drove on.<\/p>\n
At the hospice entrance, I parked crookedly.<\/p>\n
I didn't care.<\/p>\n
I went inside and hurried down the hallway.<\/p>\n
Trish was standing near Grandma's room.<\/p>\n
She looked tired.<\/p>\n
When she saw me, she stepped forward.<\/p>\n
"She's still with us."<\/p>\n
I felt my knees weaken.<\/p>\n
"Can I see her?"<\/p>\n
"Yes."<\/p>\n
Trish touched my arm.<\/p>\n
"She's been sleeping most of the time. She may not be able to answer you."<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
"Okay."<\/p>\n
"But you can still talk to her."<\/p>\n
I swallowed.<\/p>\n
"Thank you."<\/p>\n
Then I entered.<\/p>\n
Grandma was lying against her pillows.<\/p>\n
Her breathing sounded different.<\/p>\n
There were longer pauses.<\/p>\n
Her mouth was slightly open.<\/p>\n
One hand rested on the blanket.<\/p>\n
Grandpa's photograph stood beside the bed.<\/p>\n
The picture of me at seven was next to it.<\/p>\n
The lavender sachets were still by the window.<\/p>\n
I placed the lemon cookies on the table.<\/p>\n
Then I sat beside her.<\/p>\n
"Hi, Grandma."<\/p>\n
Her eyes remained closed.<\/p>\n
I took her hand.<\/p>\n
"It's Everett."<\/p>\n
For a while, I said nothing.<\/p>\n
I listened to her breathing.<\/p>\n
I watched the early morning light move slowly across the wall.<\/p>\n
Then I began telling her about my drive.<\/p>\n
The snow.<\/p>\n
The quiet roads.<\/p>\n
The cold.<\/p>\n
It felt ridiculous.<\/p>\n
But ordinary things were easier to say than what I was afraid of.<\/p>\n
"I brought the lemon cookies."<\/p>\n
My voice shook.<\/p>\n
"I know you're probably not hungry."<\/p>\n
I looked at the paper bag.<\/p>\n
"But I didn't want to forget them."<\/p>\n
I almost laughed.<\/p>\n
Then tears came instead.<\/p>\n
I wiped my face with my sleeve.<\/p>\n
I didn't want Grandma to hear me crying.<\/p>\n
But I couldn't stop.<\/p>\n
I held her hand between both of mine.<\/p>\n
"Grandma, I'm here."<\/p>\n
Her fingers moved slightly.<\/p>\n
I looked up.<\/p>\n
Her eyes opened just enough to find my face.<\/p>\n
"Everett."<\/p>\n
The word was barely audible.<\/p>\n
I leaned closer.<\/p>\n
"Yes. I'm here."<\/p>\n
She looked at me for several seconds.<\/p>\n
Then she whispered, "Good."<\/p>\n
I felt something break inside my chest.<\/p>\n
Not because she was frightened.<\/p>\n
Because she sounded relieved.<\/p>\n
As though my arriving had settled one last worry.<\/p>\n
I moved the chair closer.<\/p>\n
"You don't have to talk."<\/p>\n
She nodded faintly.<\/p>\n
I sat quietly.<\/p>\n
A little later, Trish came in.<\/p>\n
She checked Grandma's comfort and adjusted her pillows.<\/p>\n
Grandma seemed more relaxed afterward.<\/p>\n
Trish spoke softly to her.<\/p>\n
Then she looked toward me.<\/p>\n
"You're doing fine."<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
I didn't feel fine.<\/p>\n
But I understood what she meant.<\/p>\n
I was there.<\/p>\n
I was holding Grandma's hand.<\/p>\n
That was what I could do.<\/p>\n
After Trish left, I opened my phone.<\/p>\n
I found the recording Grandma had made years earlier.<\/p>\n
The one I'd played for her on Saturday.<\/p>\n
I turned the volume down.<\/p>\n
Then I let the music begin.<\/p>\n
The first notes filled the room softly.<\/p>\n
I knew the recording so well now.<\/p>\n
There was a faint sound before the melody.<\/p>\n
The bench creaking.<\/p>\n
Perhaps Grandma adjusting her position.<\/p>\n
Then the piano.<\/p>\n
Full.<\/p>\n
Warm.<\/p>\n
Familiar.<\/p>\n
I watched her face.<\/p>\n
Her eyes remained closed.<\/p>\n
But her fingers moved once against mine.<\/p>\n
I smiled through tears.<\/p>\n
"That's you."<\/p>\n
I leaned closer.<\/p>\n
"You're playing."<\/p>\n
I wanted to believe she heard it.<\/p>\n
Perhaps she did.<\/p>\n
I couldn't know.<\/p>\n
But I let the recording continue.<\/p>\n
When it ended, I played it again.<\/p>\n
Then I put the phone aside.<\/p>\n
Grandma opened her eyes briefly.<\/p>\n
She looked toward the photographs.<\/p>\n
I followed her gaze.<\/p>\n
"Grandpa's right there."<\/p>\n
I lifted the picture so she could see it.<\/p>\n
"Remember when he brought the piano home?"<\/p>\n
Her lips moved.<\/p>\n
I leaned closer.<\/p>\n
"Surprise."<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
"Yes. It was a surprise."<\/p>\n
She closed her eyes.<\/p>\n
I placed the photograph back on the table.<\/p>\n
I thought about Robert standing in that old driveway.<\/p>\n
His nervous smile.<\/p>\n
His handwritten words on the back of the photograph.<\/p>\n
Worth every saved dollar.<\/p>\n
He had loved Grandma so much.<\/p>\n
I hoped she had felt that love every day they were together.<\/p>\n
I knew she'd felt it when she played.<\/p>\n
Around nine, Aunt Joan arrived.<\/p>\n
Trish had contacted her after speaking with Grandma's care team.<\/p>\n
Joan entered quietly.<\/p>\n
She took off her coat and approached the bed.<\/p>\n
"Loretta."<\/p>\n
Grandma opened her eyes.<\/p>\n
Joan leaned down and kissed her cheek.<\/p>\n
"I'm here."<\/p>\n
Then she looked at me.<\/p>\n
Her eyes were red.<\/p>\n
I stood to hug her.<\/p>\n
She held me tightly.<\/p>\n
Neither of us said anything for a moment.<\/p>\n
Then she whispered, "You've been here all morning?"<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
"Since before six."<\/p>\n
She touched my shoulder.<\/p>\n
"Good."<\/p>\n
We sat on opposite sides of the bed.<\/p>\n
Joan began talking about their childhood.<\/p>\n
I learned things I'd never heard before.<\/p>\n
How Grandma once climbed a tree to retrieve a neighbor's cat.<\/p>\n
How she'd fallen into a pond during a summer picnic.<\/p>\n
How she hated being told she couldn't do something.<\/p>\n
I smiled.<\/p>\n
That sounded like her.<\/p>\n
Joan told a story about Grandma refusing to leave a recital after the lights failed.<\/p>\n
Apparently, she'd continued playing while someone found candles.<\/p>\n
I looked toward Grandma.<\/p>\n
"Is that true?"<\/p>\n
Her eyes were closed.<\/p>\n
But the corner of her mouth moved.<\/p>\n
Joan laughed softly.<\/p>\n
"She knows it is."<\/p>\n
For a little while, the room felt less frightening.<\/p>\n
We weren't discussing legal documents.<\/p>\n
We weren't talking about Calvin.<\/p>\n
We weren't wondering whether the piano could be recovered.<\/p>\n
We were remembering Loretta.<\/p>\n
The woman who'd lived an entire life before becoming my grandmother.<\/p>\n
The sister Joan knew.<\/p>\n
The wife Robert loved.<\/p>\n
The musician who had spent decades working at her craft.<\/p>\n
The person who'd believed in me.<\/p>\n
Near noon, Miles arrived.<\/p>\n
He entered quietly and spoke with Trish first.<\/p>\n
Then he came inside.<\/p>\n
He looked toward Grandma.<\/p>\n
His face changed.<\/p>\n
He removed his glasses for a moment.<\/p>\n
Then he approached her bed.<\/p>\n
"Hello, Loretta."<\/p>\n
Grandma's eyes opened.<\/p>\n
She seemed to recognize him.<\/p>\n
He leaned closer.<\/p>\n
"Everything is in order."<\/p>\n
I looked down.<\/p>\n
I knew what he meant.<\/p>\n
The agreements.<\/p>\n
The trust.<\/p>\n
The records.<\/p>\n
The instructions she'd spent so much time protecting.<\/p>\n
Grandma gave the smallest nod.<\/p>\n
Miles rested his hand over hers.<\/p>\n
"You don't need to worry about those matters today."<\/p>\n
I felt tears sting my eyes.<\/p>\n
For weeks, Grandma had been trying to make sure nobody could change her wishes after she was gone.<\/p>\n
Now the paperwork was secure.<\/p>\n
And Miles was telling her she could rest.<\/p>\n
He stayed beside her for several minutes.<\/p>\n
Then he stepped into the hallway with Joan.<\/p>\n
I remained in the chair.<\/p>\n
Grandma opened her eyes again.<\/p>\n
She looked directly at me.<\/p>\n
"Everett."<\/p>\n
I leaned forward.<\/p>\n
"I'm here."<\/p>\n
She swallowed.<\/p>\n
Her voice was barely a whisper.<\/p>\n
"Music."<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
"Do you want me to play?"<\/p>\n
She moved her fingers.<\/p>\n
I picked up my phone.<\/p>\n
Then she gave a tiny shake of her head.<\/p>\n
I stopped.<\/p>\n
For a moment, I didn't understand.<\/p>\n
Then she looked at my hands.<\/p>\n
I followed her gaze.<\/p>\n
"Me?"<\/p>\n
She blinked slowly.<\/p>\n
I felt my throat tighten.<\/p>\n
There was no piano in the room.<\/p>\n
Only my phone.<\/p>\n
The tiny speaker couldn't reproduce the feeling of a real instrument.<\/p>\n
But I knew what she wanted.<\/p>\n
She wanted to hear me play.<\/p>\n
I reached for my phone and opened the small keyboard application I sometimes used to demonstrate notes to younger students.<\/p>\n
The sound was thin.<\/p>\n
Nothing like Grandma's antique.<\/p>\n
But it would allow me to play a simple melody.<\/p>\n
I moved the chair closer.<\/p>\n
I held the phone where she could see it.<\/p>\n
Then I played the first exercise she'd taught me.<\/p>\n
Slowly.<\/p>\n
One note at a time.<\/p>\n
I made a mistake near the middle.<\/p>\n
My finger touched the wrong place on the screen.<\/p>\n
I almost stopped.<\/p>\n
Then I looked at Grandma.<\/p>\n
Her eyes were open.<\/p>\n
She was watching me.<\/p>\n
I smiled through tears.<\/p>\n
"I know. Too fast."<\/p>\n
Her mouth moved.<\/p>\n
A faint smile appeared.<\/p>\n
I started again.<\/p>\n
This time, I played more slowly.<\/p>\n
The little electronic notes filled the room.<\/p>\n
They sounded almost childish.<\/p>\n
But Grandma seemed to recognize them.<\/p>\n
When I finished, I looked at her.<\/p>\n
"Was that better?"<\/p>\n
Her lips moved.<\/p>\n
I leaned closer.<\/p>\n
"Yes."<\/p>\n
I laughed softly.<\/p>\n
For one brief moment, she was my teacher again.<\/p>\n
And I was the boy sitting beside her at the piano.<\/p>\n
I rested the phone on the bed.<\/p>\n
Then I took her hand.<\/p>\n
"Thank you for teaching me."<\/p>\n
Her eyes stayed on mine.<\/p>\n
I swallowed.<\/p>\n
"Not just music."<\/p>\n
I paused.<\/p>\n
"Everything."<\/p>\n
She moved her fingers against my palm.<\/p>\n
Then she whispered, "Good boy."<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
I had heard those words from her when I was seven.<\/p>\n
When I was twelve.<\/p>\n
When I finished my first school performance.<\/p>\n
When I graduated.<\/p>\n
When I told her I'd accepted my teaching job.<\/p>\n
She'd said them so often.<\/p>\n
But that afternoon, they felt different.<\/p>\n
I didn't want to hear them for the last time.<\/p>\n
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead.<\/p>\n
"I love you, Grandma."<\/p>\n
Her lips moved.<\/p>\n
I heard only part of the answer.<\/p>\n
But I knew what she said.<\/p>\n
I sat beside her for the rest of the afternoon.<\/p>\n
Joan returned with coffee.<\/p>\n
Miles stayed for a while.<\/p>\n
Trish checked Grandma regularly.<\/p>\n
There were long periods when nobody spoke.<\/p>\n
The room grew darker as the winter day passed.<\/p>\n
At one point, I asked Trish whether I should go home.<\/p>\n
She looked at Grandma.<\/p>\n
Then at me.<\/p>\n
"You can stay."<\/p>\n
So I did.<\/p>\n
Joan pulled another chair beside the bed.<\/p>\n
We sat together.<\/p>\n
Sometimes she held Grandma's other hand.<\/p>\n
Sometimes she rested her head against the chair.<\/p>\n
I didn't know what time it was when Grandma's breathing changed again.<\/p>\n
Trish came quickly when I called.<\/p>\n
She checked her.<\/p>\n
Then she spoke to us quietly.<\/p>\n
We moved closer.<\/p>\n
I took Grandma's hand.<\/p>\n
Joan rested her palm against her sister's shoulder.<\/p>\n
"You're not alone, Loretta."<\/p>\n
I leaned forward.<\/p>\n
"I'm here."<\/p>\n
The room was very quiet.<\/p>\n
Grandma's breathing became softer.<\/p>\n
I watched her face.<\/p>\n
I wanted her to open her eyes.<\/p>\n
I wanted one more correction.<\/p>\n
One more smile.<\/p>\n
One more ordinary sentence about tea or music.<\/p>\n
But she was tired.<\/p>\n
And there was nothing I could do to keep her with us.<\/p>\n
I held her hand until her breathing stopped.<\/p>\n
For several seconds, I didn't understand what had happened.<\/p>\n
Then Trish checked her gently.<\/p>\n
She looked at Joan.<\/p>\n
Then at me.<\/p>\n
"I'm sorry."<\/p>\n
I stared at Grandma.<\/p>\n
Her face looked peaceful.<\/p>\n
I had imagined death would be loud.<\/p>\n
A crisis.<\/p>\n
A sudden change that everybody would immediately recognize.<\/p>\n
But the room remained quiet.<\/p>\n
The lavender was still beside the window.<\/p>\n
The books were still on the table.<\/p>\n
The photographs hadn't moved.<\/p>\n
Only Grandma was gone.<\/p>\n
I leaned forward.<\/p>\n
I kissed her forehead.<\/p>\n
Her skin was still warm.<\/p>\n
I whispered, "I love you."<\/p>\n
Then I rested my head beside her hand and cried.<\/p>\n
Joan placed her arm around my shoulders.<\/p>\n
We stayed that way for a long time.<\/p>\n
Nobody hurried us.<\/p>\n
Eventually, I sat up.<\/p>\n
I looked at Grandpa's photograph.<\/p>\n
Then at the picture of seven-year-old me.<\/p>\n
I remembered Grandma telling me that music was something I could carry inside me.<\/p>\n
I hadn't understood then.<\/p>\n
Now I did.<\/p>\n
The piano was gone.<\/p>\n
Grandma was gone.<\/p>\n
But the things she'd taught me were still there.<\/p>\n
I could still hear her voice.<\/p>\n
I could still remember her hands.<\/p>\n
I could still play.<\/p>\n
I didn't know how I was going to live without her.<\/p>\n
Not yet.<\/p>\n
I only knew I would have to.<\/p>\n
And when I finally left the hospice room that evening, I took the photographs with me.<\/p>\n
I left the lavender sachets for the nurses to distribute as Grandma had requested.<\/p>\n
I thanked Trish.<\/p>\n
She hugged me.<\/p>\n
Then I walked out into the cold Minnesota night.<\/p>\n
I sat in my car for a long time.<\/p>\n
I didn't start the engine.<\/p>\n
I held the photograph of Grandma and Grandpa.<\/p>\n
Then I turned it over.<\/p>\n
"For Loretta. Worth every saved dollar."<\/p>\n
I traced Grandpa's handwriting.<\/p>\n
He had given her a piano because he wanted her to spend her life making music.<\/p>\n
She had given me a love for that music because she wanted me to have a life of my own.<\/p>\n
I cried until I had no strength left.<\/p>\n
Then I put the photograph safely in my bag.<\/p>\n
I started the car.<\/p>\n
And I drove home to an apartment that suddenly felt much too quiet.<\/p>\n
Source: us45.longbientruck.com<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n The phone rang at 5:42 on Sunday morning. I knew the time because I had been watching the clock. I'd slept perhaps two hours. Every sound in the apartment had … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":10467,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10485","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-drama-sory"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10485","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=10485"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10485\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10505,"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10485\/revisions\/10505"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/10467"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=10485"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=10485"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lastestdrama.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=10485"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nClick here to continue reading: PART 19: At Grandma\u2019s Memorial, My Father Tried to Rewrite Her Last Wishes, but the Letters She Left Behind Told a Different Story<\/a><\/strong><\/h2>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"