The Legacy

Greta walked toward the guest room and hesitated at its door. The door was closed and had remained so for well over a month now. Hesitantly, but deliberately, she opened the wooden door slowly to reveal nothing inside the room but the clean line of several pieces of furniture. There was no warmth in lovely draperies and coverings, tossed pillows, or hung pictures to add an allure to the vacant room. Gingerly, she took a small step and lingered on the threshold.

It had been a month since Catherine’s passing. Nothing in her fifty-four years had prepared Greta for such a tragic event, and never had she expected to see her dearest and closest friend suffer in the way that she had. Still, she was thankful she’d been there to care for her when Catherine needed it most. They had been closest friends, after all, since the fifth grade, and there was no one else to whom Catherine could turn once she’d received her diagnosis; her family members were few, nearly nonexistent.

Initially, Catherine had hidden the results of her genetic testing from Greta, but there were tale-tale signs that led to questions and the eventuality of unexpected, detailed answers. Catherine had never married and never had children because her father had suffered and died from Huntington’s Disease; she, too, had been fearful of perpetuating the curse of the disease. Having lived out of the country while Catherine’s father was so ill, Greta had never realized until much later how devastating and devouring the disease actually was. Seeing Catherine’s early onset of the wretched symptoms, and then much later, the final phases of the horrible disease, Greta had been appalled that anyone should have to suffer in such a way. Huntington’s took every last shred of dignity from a person, leaving them a bedridden, vacant version of their former self. The degenerative brain disease was more than a curse – it was a war on and the annihilation of a human body.

Slowly, Greta walked to the window and opened the blinds, looking out the window to watch the neighborhood children as they played. It was summertime and the allure of the late afternoon was undeniable. The sound of their laughter was a welcome distraction. Greta had two grown children of her own, and Catherine had been like an aunt to them; it was the closest she’d ever come to understanding the bond between a mother and her child. Catherine had loved listening to and sometimes watching the children play outside her window while she stayed in Greta’s guest room. It had been little pleasures like these that had kept her occupied for many months.

Greta left the blinds open and walked over to delicately touch the bare mattress. As she did so, a tear of grief rolled down her cheek and fell on the crisp, white mattress. Sitting down on the mattress, she softly wiped another tear from her face, aware that no number of tears shed would bring Catherine back or honor her memory. As she lingered, sitting on the side of the empty bed, she recalled one of the last times she’d gotten a response from Catherine while talking with her.

It had been a late afternoon, and Greta had just finished feeding Catherine her mid-afternoon snack. It took everything to get as much food into Catherine as possible to keep her from shedding massive amounts of weight while also being careful about preventing her from choking while eating. Puddings, soups, shakes, yogurt, and other such soft foods were all she could manage for several months before the end. As Greta had lovingly wiped her friend’s face, she had looked at Catherine and smiled. Catherine had not said a word beyond a grunt in long months, but Greta knew she was deep inside that fragile body and understood more than anyone knew.

“Catherine,” she had softly whispered to her. “Do you remember when we were silly, stupid, young girls in college? We were such a mess, but oh my goodness, we had so much fun, didn’t we?” Greta had lovingly touched Catherine’s forearm as she spoke of their times together during college years.

Of a sudden, Catherine had looked up and smiled the largest and most beautiful smile Great had seen on her face in months, her big, brown eyes seeming to glow in recognition. Catherine had struggled to do so, but she had smiled that smile and then had nodded her head very slowly and from her lips, she had uttered one simple word, “Yes.” Others might debate that it was the word ‘yes’, but Greta knew her friend, and she knew that it was indeed a confirmation of what had been said. She also knew the bright light of laughter that registered in her friend’s eyes at the evoking of such memories. It had brought tears to Greta eyes, as it did now to remember the moment, and she had leaned over and hugged her dear friend with all her might.

It was only three months later that Catherine’s condition had worsened, preventing Greta from being able to care for her any further. At that point, although heartbreaking, Greta had allowed Catherine to be moved to a unit that cared for and specialized in the treatment of Huntington’s patients. It was a hard thing to relinquish her care to others, but Greta had known that she had no choice in the matter at that point in time. Catherine had not lingered much beyond that point, even though Greta had visited her at least once a day at the new facility. The disease was too rampant in Catherine’s small, weakened body, and she had died, easing her pain and freeing herself, only two weeks after entering the new place.

The loss of Catherine had been an immense one, although theoretically, she had been gone long before her body gave out. The two friends had shared many times together through the years, and Catherine had been one of the sweetest and most kindhearted people Greta had ever had the privilege to know, less alone call her dearest friend. Greta could not recall a time when she’d ever heard Catherine say anything unkind or ugly about another person, even someone she did not necessarily like. Catherine’s heart was always in the right place, and she loved being generous with gifts and doing things for others. Indeed, even in her death, Catherine was giving; she had left her body to science so that they could study the dreadful disease she’d had, and hopefully, help others and prevent them from suffering as she had in her final days.

When Catherine had been well, she had been an artist and she’d left all the paintings she had not sold to Greta. Greta intended to line the walls of the guest room with some of the beautiful paintings Catherine had painted of flowers and birds. It would add a cheerfulness to the room, and in some small capacity, the room would always be Catherine’s. Greta even toyed with the idea of making it “Catherine the Great’s Guest Room” for future honorees. It would very much be an honor for anyone to stay in this room once she’d finished redoing it, much to Catherine’s taste and liking.

Along with the lovely paintings, Greta intended to decorate the room in Catherine’s favorite colors: deep periwinkle blue and yellow. These colors were vivid and distinct colors in such beautiful portraits by Van Gogh and flowers like irises; they would come together nicely in the room, along with the assortment of Catherine’s paintings reflecting many of the same color variations. Greta had already begun an afghan of the same color hues, the deepest purple blue and the lightest yellow. When she finished it, it would lay beautifully on the end of the bed atop the colorful quilt she’d bought to cover the bed.

It would take some time to get over the loss of Catherine, and nothing would ever make Greta not miss her dear friend, but she was thankful that Catherine was no longer suffering as she had for so many years prior to her death. She knew she could best honor her memory by fixing up this vacant bedroom, making it as beautiful and as cheerful as possible, and then inviting those whom she could help recover from an existing illness to stay with her in the room. This was the most honorable way to keep Catherine’s memory alive, and it would enable Greta to be a much better person, too, perhaps by making a small difference in someone’s life. Only time would tell what differences she’d be able to make with her endeavors.



Catherine rose from the bed and walked to the door, but this time she did not close it. Tomorrow she would begin with painting the walls with fresh paint and hanging the new drapes. Smiling to herself, Catherine headed to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, which she would drink as she reminisced a bit more about all the wonderful times she and Catherine had shared throughout the years. Yes, tomorrow would be a splendid day to begin with the creation of a living legacy for Catherine, and one that she very much deserved. “Catherine the Great” had a very nice ring to it, and her kind spirit would prove to be immortalized.

*This Story, though fictionalized, is dedicated to my dear friend, Catherine and all others who suffer from this curse of a disease, Huntington's. Catherine left this life in 2009 at only 51 years of age after suffering for too many long years.*