Portrait of a Memory Part 3

When Jane walked through her front door, she dropped her bag and slumped into the couch. Her eyes stung from the tearful episode in her car.

“What the hell just happened?” Jane pondered. Her cat, Dilly, jumped up and demanded attention. His purrs were comforting as he rammed his brown tabby face into hers. “You know something’s up, huh?” she cooed. She scooped Dilly up and cuddled him like a teddy bear. She took a deep breath into his fur. Sometimes she swore she could still smell her grandmother’s apartment on him. Jane trudged to the kitchen to find more comfort in the form of something edible.

After consuming what could only be described as a ton of Cherry Garcia ice cream, Jane went to her room. The first thing she noticed was the golden locket on her dresser. She picked it up and explored it with her fingertips. Jane’s grandmother had given it to her for her 10th birthday. It was the exact one she saw in the catalog. For twenty years, she only took it off when swimming. Jane collapsed face first on her bed. Dilly took this opportunity to curl up on the small of her back. His favorite spot. Jane then welcomed the dark memories. The grief counselor had once reminded her that this was a healthy part of grieving. She had to play the movie in her head for it to go away.

Jane’s grandmother was her rock. Once that rock started to crumble, Jane wasn’t sure what to do. It started with fumbling over words. It progressed to losing balance. Eventually, Jane’s grandmother couldn’t recognize faces she had seen hundreds of times before. She never forgot Jane, though. This was reassuring during such a helpless time.

“As long as she remembers me, there’s still hope,” Jane tried convincing herself. “Scientists are making breakthroughs every day. We can stop this.” Jane’s grandmother broke off bit-by-bit for the course of about four years. It was then that her words were few and far between. Her grandmother was considered nonverbal, but that didn’t stop Jane from communicating with her. They would look at pictures and Jane would tell the same stories her grandmother used to tell her. The two would laugh together just like the normal days. Jane wasn’t allowed to stay the night at the hospice center, but the nurses let her stay long past visiting hours, and she was always back first thing in the morning.

However, one morning the nurses stopped Jane at the front desk. It was the moment she had been dreading. Her grandmother had had a rough night. She had been having trouble swallowing for a few days and had developed a nasty cough. Jane thought that maybe it was just a cold and she’d get over it soon, but she knew that wasn’t the truth. She walked into her grandmother’s room and sat next to the head of her bed.

“Grandma?” she whispered. “It’s me. It’s Jane. Can you hear me?” She grabbed her grandmother’s hand and squeezed tight. Her grandmother let out a short moan as if she were trying to say something. Her eyes, wild and panicked until they found Jane. And then she calmed. Jane choked on her own breath. She could not accept that this was it. This was the beginning of the actual end. She lay her head down next to her grandmother and wept. She remembered her. She remembered Jane until the very end.

The call from the doctor came early the next morning before Jane even had a chance to get out of bed. Her grandmother had passed away in the night. The entire phone conversation felt unreal. After she hung up the phone, she felt something fall into her lap. She looked down and saw that the chain of her locket had broken.

When Jane opened her eyes again, it was dark out. Dilly was stretched out across the backs of her legs. She rolled over and sat up. It took her a minute to remember where and when she was. She hated thinking about the past, but sometimes it was necessary. She knew Elenore was brought into her life for a reason. She just wasn’t mentally prepared for this day. Jane was determined to try again even though she knew she’d also lose Elenore eventually.

The next morning, Jane searched for a new chain to put her locket on. She settled for a delicate silver chain that had a tiny kitty charm on it. She decided the kitty was too cute to take off, so she slid the golden heart next to it. Her shaky fingers fumbled with the clasp for a few long seconds before she finally turned it around to the front side of her body. She had to look in the mirror to fasten the necklace, but she got it on. Jane couldn’t wait to visit her new friend, Elenore. She must have slept well because she was brimming with ideas for the painting.

When she arrived at the nursing home, she checked in at the front desk. Nurse Greg turned the corner and spotted her.

“There you are!” he said. “I’ve been expecting you!”

“Well, good morning to you, Greg!” Jane said cheerfully. “Expecting me? What’s up?”

“Well, I would’ve called, but you didn’t leave your phone number on the check-in list yesterday. Elenore has a doctor’s appointment today so she’s out and about with her caregiver.”

“Oh, darn. I was looking forward to our visit today.”

“I’m sorry about that. Sometimes the communication around here gets sloppy,” he eyed the receptionist. The receptionist avoided his glare by keeping his own eyes on the computer screen in front of him. “I would have informed you yesterday had I known myself. So, hey, what is your relation to Elenore? I’ve never seen you around here.”

“Oh, yesterday was our first time meeting. I answered an ad she put out in the newspaper for a portrait painting—”

“Of her husband, Albert?” Nurse Greg interrupted.

“Yeah! Did you help her with the ad?”

“No,” he said ruefully. “She’s done this before.”

“Really? Has no one answered?”

Greg motioned for her to follow him. They went into a large visitation style room with cozy chairs, a television, and an unfinished puzzle on a small coffee table.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“Some tea would be nice,” Jane replied as she casually sat down in a high-backed chair.

“Tea-time!” Nurse Greg sang as he poured hot water from an electric kettle.

“Did we need to talk about something?” Jane gingerly grasped the warm mug Greg handed to her.

“It’s nothing too serious, but with Elenore’s condition—”

“Alzheimer’s. I know,” Jane interjected.

“It’s sad. It’s so sad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It sucks! She just wants a portrait of her husband to keep her company, though. That’s not wrong, is it? Am I breaking any rules or anything?”

“No! Absolutely not, sweetheart!” he exclaimed and placed a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “Elenore can have anything she wants. Hell, I’d give her the world if I could! But, you see, many other people have answered her ad. We get a new person every couple of months or so, painting new renditions of Elenore’s Albert.” Jane wanted to be shocked, but she already understood the terrors of dementia.

“So, what have you done with the paintings? You kept them, right?”

“Oh, yes! Of course, honey!” Nurse Greg walked over to a closet and unlocked it with his card key. He gestured grandly as he swung the door open. Jane walked in and could not believe her eyes. It was a small gallery of Albert. There were paintings big and small, different styles, different poses. But in each one, Albert looked almost exactly the same.

“Wow! Did any of these artists overlap?”

“No! That’s the craziest part! Elenore describes him and each time Albert comes out looking almost the same as the last! Sometimes she can’t remember her own name, but she remembers Albert. It’s so romantic,” he sighed.

After a few moments of admiration of the artwork and exchanging smiles of disbelief, Jane asked, “Did any of these artists ever bring a dog?”

“Yeah,” he said with a smile and nod. “Yeah, I think so.”