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Small Daily Words

Lives we encounter

By Nancy QuinnPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
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Beth plopped down on the couch. She was tired. As much as she like being an RN, the 12hr shifts were just long. The sound of call lights and IV pump alarms echoed in her ears. It felt so good to put her aching feet up. She ran her finger through her short, black hair. At 42, this wasn’t getting any easier. After a moment and a few deep breaths, she grabbed her pen and her little black notebook. Time for her evening ritual. She enjoyed jotting down things she had noticed throughout the day, little things worth remembering. It was a habit she began in high school. Over the years, she had developed a collection of such books filled with everything from treasured personal moments; to nursing life anecdotes, usually involving her patients; to encounters at the coffee shop; or the way the leaves had fallen from the tree that morning. Once smartphones came along, she tried a couple of different apps, but it wasn’t the same. To her, there was just something about the visceral experience of pen and paper that made all the difference.

She began, “Henry’s last day...” Henry was her favorite housekeeper at work, a sweet old man who could no longer keep up the pace. Everyone had pitched in to buy him a cake. Beth sighed. She thought about what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t seem to focus. She looked over at the table, unable to stop herself from thinking about the letter. In the mail pile, lay a registered letter from an attorney’s office. It had been years since she struggled to pay her bills, but the former anxiety still reared its head like an old injury that never seemed to heal. “What on earth?” she wondered aloud. Putting her pen in the book, she took another deep sigh. She grabbed the letter and ripped it open. Inside was another small envelope that she set aside. Beth skimmed the letter and quickly zeroed in on the words, “...on behalf of my client… inform you…left you a personal possession.” She looked over the letter and envelope to see what kind of prank or stupid scam this might be. A quick Google search showed Edward G. Marsden, LLP was, in fact, a local law office. “Doesn’t make sense,” she muttered. She opened the small envelope. Unfolding the paper within, she found a typewritten note.

Dear Beth

Rare is the person we meet almost in passing whose impact lasts.

Misfortunes of mine twice placed me in your care.

For you, I have selected a few of my favorite things .

Small daily words of yours meant so much and gave me confidence.

Long have I wished to have seen you again.

The notes I know you wrote of me will help get this sorted correctly.

Do remember and don’t ever change.

Equally curious, excited, and more than a little stunned, Beth sat and reread everything several times. The letter was a straightforward attorney letter; the note was unique. It was all so mysterious, and she enjoyed a good mystery. She couldn’t believe someone left something for her in a will. “Who?” she contemplated. The person had obviously been her patient, twice. Also, she had seemingly told them about her black notebook. She wrote down the names of everyone she could recall who fit the narrow bill. She had a list of eight names. After brewing some coffee, Beth grabbed the box filled with her notebook collection, and began looking for a clue.

She started with last year’s book and read her notes about the wealthy man in his 90’s who recently died. “Jack, below knee amputation. Fabulous travel stories…. He loves people. Always has a twinkle in his eye.” Numerous pages later, “Jack is back in the hospital with other leg amputated. Went to see him upstairs. He just looked me at misty eyed and said, ‘So glad to see you again as he held my hand’ He gets transferred to me tomorrow.” She wept as she looked over the picture stuck in there. Jack in his wheelchair with Beth standing next to him, her arm around his shoulder. The mystery person wasn’t Jack, it simply wasn’t his style.

She kept looking through the books, reading, and getting lost in all the memories. Patients who were newly paralyzed; others with brain injuries who would never quite be the same; some with multiple injuries from car accidents; and on and on. There was the young mom who had brain cancer that went into remission. She came back years later after the cancer had returned with a vengeance. “So hard today. Michelle said to me calmly, ‘I won’t live to see my daughter graduate high school.’ What do you say to that? Sorry is not enough. I just looked at her and gave her a big hug.” Michelle’s name was crossed off the list.

Beth got up and walked around the living room. She worked with men and women in such vulnerable states. Human beings, often frightened ones at that, whose lives had been dramatically changed by one event or another. To Beth, it was so much more than just a job. No matter how hard it was at times, it was nothing compared to what many of her patients faced. She was glad she had written down so many bits and pieces of conversations. There were all reminders of so many wonderful people.

She poured another cup of coffee and glanced at the clock. It was nearing midnight. “I’ll never find anything at this rate.” Back on the couch, she pulled out the note again. “Think Beth, think.” Every line seemed so nondescript. It did seem odd that the note was written line by line rather than paragraph form, but nothing seemed to add up. Looking over her list of names, she thought more about each person. She paused at Irene. It had been years since she had taken care of her, and she always wondered how the woman was doing. Their first meeting was when Beth was still a CNA working her way through school. A few years later, she cared for her again after a stroke. Irene was a great conversationalist, but only if you were able to get past her crusty exterior.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” Beth pulled the book from her 2nd year of nursing school. She skimmed it until she found the right entry. “Irene – left hip. Retired HS English teacher. No one else likes her cause she’s picky. I told her she reminded of me of Mrs. Graydon. Then I quipped ‘You’re a tough cookie, but it’s okay - I like my cookies crunchy.’ Cracked her up and broke the ice.” Beth laughed at the memory, recalling how Irene changed after that. She began telling stories and they talked about all kinds of things including their love of Harry Potter books, and all things about “The Sound of Music”. She went onto to her next black book, “My dear Irene is back, stroke. Fairly mild, glad she’ll get to go home after rehab here. Still has her quirky sense of humor.” A couple pages later, she read another note. “Irene and I channeled our inner Julie Andrews today! I pulled up the Sound of Music soundtrack and we sang along – beginning with ‘Doe a deer, a female deer’. We laughed so hard, I told her this was going in my notebook tonight.”

Beth sat upright with a start. “That’s it!” she said aloud “It’s the song!” Taking another look at the typewritten note, she saw so many clues. She quickly scribbled the first letter of each line D R M F S L T D. “Do-Re-Me-Fa-So-La-Ti-Do,” she sang. “She remembered,” Beth whispered as she let her head drop into her hands. “I wish I could have seen you again, too”

The next morning, she was at law office before anyone else. Between the caffeine and the whirlwind of last night, Beth hadn’t really slept. Her mind was racing with all the events. She stood there now marveling at the effort Irene spent setting this up and wondering what she would have given her. Beth was lost in thought trying to remember Irene’s last name when a man was suddenly was right before her asking if her could help. “I’m here to see Edward Marsden.” “That would be me, please come in.”

Before he could get his coat off or get a word in, Beth thrust the letter before him. “My name is Beth Hartsell, and I received this letter from you.” Taking the letter, Marsden scanned it and said, “I see. Please have a seat. I’ll be right back.” He returned with a bankers’ box and a manila folder. He set the box on the desk and kept the folder. Beth’s heart was pounding. He gestured for her to open the box as he began taking off his coat. Beth took off the lid and peered inside. On the top, red string with a bow and a small card was wrapped around Irene’s beloved fountain pen. “This can be your favorite now. Love Irene”. Under the pen, the rest of the box was filled with books and papers. She thought she might have even glimpsed a little black notebook in there as well. Beth began to cry. She put the lid back on the box and stood to leave. She needed to be alone right now. “Is there anything I need to sign?” she asked with a quavering voice.

“No, there is nothing to sign. However, before you go, I have been instructed to ask, “Do you know the name of my client?” “Yes,” responded Beth, the tears now freely flowing. “Irene. Irene…...”. Then it came to her in flash as she recalled Irene signing her discharge paperwork, fountain pen in hand. Her signature was less elegant than before, but at least she could still write. “Irene Kennon,” she stated. Marsden gave a subtle smile, and then kindly said, “Please sit. There is one more item we need to discuss.” Beth sat back down. Marsden moved the box aside. He pulled a paper from the file and said, “My client was most specific.” He cleared his throat and begin reading, “Should she remember my name, I would like to give her a second bequest of $20,000.” Beth was speechless. Marsden went on, “There is one stipulation. She must spend part of the funds taking the trip we discussed. The rest is hers to use as she pleases. There is no need to confirm she spends the money as instructed. I know she will do it.” One final envelope from the file was given to Beth.

Beth was overwhelmed and remained dumbstruck. She barely remembered giving Marsden her bank information and was grateful she arrived home safely. She pulled out the last envelope. It contained a short, handwritten note from Irene. “My Chosen One, you will never know how much the memories of you were treasured by this old heart. When you get to the mountains, think of me. Much love, Irene.” Beth smiled deeply and phoned her sister. Reaching Cate’s voicemail, she left an excited message. “Have I got a story for you!! Pack your bags, we are going to the Alps!”

friendship
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