The One Resolution

My hand trembled as my fingers curled around the cold doorknob and I paused, taking a deep apprehensive breath. This had been at the top of last year’s list of resolutions, but I put it off to the last possible minute.

“She won’t remember you.” The dark circles under my mother’s eyes told a story of all the days and nights she’d gone without sleep. She took a sip of her coffee and forced a smile. “Don’t take it personally. She doesn’t recognize any of us anymore. But she’ll still be really happy to see you.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded before entering the room. I didn’t recognize the small figure lying in the bed. Her once thick silver curls had become sparse thin wisps that reminded me of spider web, and the freckles on her naked scalp were clearly visible even in the dimly lit room. I sat down in the pink armchair next to the bed and shifted my weight to one side and then the other. The quilt draped over her tiny fragile bones rose and fell with each shallow breath. I reached out to run my fingers over the edge of the quilt; some of those swatches of fabric were from my favorite childhood shirts… the ones I used to get into trouble for digging out of the trash when they got too small.

We made this quilt together and I remembered it was always the best for making tents over the back of her wicker patio chair. She had been old all my life. Hell, she was pushing 70 when I was born, and doctors had been telling her that she had less than a year to live ever since I could remember. Now here she was, over a hundred and all thanks to years and years of good home cooking and a positive attitude.

It had been a long time since I’d been home. My parents and I had barely spoken since I turned eighteen. I remember leaving, slamming the door behind me like an asshole and swearing I’d never come back. That’s why I knew when I got the call that this really would be the last time I’d ever get to see her. My eyes drifted to the clock as it ticked conspicuously in the otherwise silent room, judging me for how long I’d been away.

It was only a few minutes to midnight now. Maddie and Lauren were probably at our favorite night-club clamoring to find some handsome stranger to kiss at midnight. But I was exactly where I needed to be, wrapping up this one thing I promised myself I would do. Her lashless eyes fluttered open, showing their once brilliant blue had faded to a pale gray. Her dry lips parted.

“Do I know you?” The gentleness in her voice brought tears to my eyes as I reached out and covered her hand with mine.

“It’s Anna, Grandma.” I leaned over her and smiled.

“Who?” Her brow furrowed.

“Anna…” I spoke a little louder. “Suzie’s youngest daughter?”

“Anna?” She blinked and lifted her head. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”

She doesn’t remember me. I thought. Of course, she doesn’t.

“Did you want me to make you a peach pie for the road?” She squeezed my hand and a lump clenched in my throat.

I had come to see her every couple of months for that first year. She was the only family member that still talked to me after I stopped going to church. She’d always make me these skillet-peach-pies that I could freeze and heat up in the microwave in my crummy studio apartment.

“You remembered.” I blinked the tears away before they could fall. “I’ve missed you, Grandma.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” She smiled showing that she was missing several teeth that had been there last time I’d seen her.

“You are so beautiful.” I kissed her cheek and remembered her long braided hair.

“Aw well thank you, baby.” The lines around her eyes deepened as she smiled, patting me on the shoulder. “You really need to come home more often. Your mama sure misses you.”

“I know, Grandma.” My cheeks flushed as I looked away.

“Don’t you be sad for me now, you hear.” Her eyebrows drew together. “I’m going to be younger than you next time I see you. Then we can go dancing.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked back at her as she reached out to touch my cheek. Arthritis had shriveled her hand, but her fingernails were clean and trimmed. As a hospice nurse, I marveled at how well cared for she was. Most people receiving in-home care from family members weren’t so lucky. My mom was a great mother; it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she took excellent care of her.

“Grandma, I cannot wait to go out dancing with you.” The tears that had been pooling in the corner of my eyes finally rolled down to my chin. I knew she was talking about an afterlife that I didn’t believe in. I knew that once she took her last breath, she’d be gone forever and the only thing I’d have was this memory. My mother’s shadow passed by the doorway and the floorboards creaked as she paced back to the kitchen.

“Did you ever become a writer, Anna?” Grandma’s brow furrowed.

“No.” I sniffed. “It turns out writing isn’t my calling.”

“That’s real good then.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “God gave you such a wonderful imagination.”

I chuckled realizing that she didn’t process my response.

“I’m going to let you get some sleep now.” I kissed her forehead. “But I wanted to come to see you. I wanted to let you know that I’m doing well, and I love you with all my heart.”

“Oh good, honey.” She took a deep breath and started to snore. “That’s real good.”

When the clock struck twelve, I stood up and tiptoed down the hallway and into the living room where my Mom had dozed off holding a cup of coffee in her lap. I picked it up and sat it on the end table so it wouldn’t spill. My eyes stung as more tears flowed down and I hurried quietly to the front door. Looking over my shoulder at my mother, soon to be all alone in that old house, I felt a great swell of regret; for every time I’d missed her and not called, for every apology I owed her but never made, for all the beautiful things she wanted for me that my logical mind could no longer believe in.

“Bye, mama,” I whispered slipping out into the night. Getting into the driver’s seat, my heart wrenched in my chest and all the years of loneliness came crashing over me like a tidal wave. I sobbed into my hands like a child, but only for a few seconds, then took a deep calming breath to compose myself. The clock on the radio said 12:01 and I breathed a sigh of relief. I had accomplished the one resolution from last year that mattered.

I finally said goodbye.