The List

“You’re not going back to your house,” Edward said. “You can’t manage on your own anymore. Even if you had home health aides coming in to help you, it wouldn’t be enough. I’m moving you into an assisted living place, Village Palms. It’s very nice, and I’m sure you’ll like it.” His forced smile didn’t convince his mother, who had reached a stubborn age—ninety-two—and recognized that her son was caught up in his typical quest for efficiency. He’s a CPA, and a good one, but there is so much he doesn’t understand, she thought.

Grace took a moment to run her gaze over the light-blue walls, sun-splashed window, and spare furnishings of her private hospital room, but she was picturing her home of forty-five years in her mind. She conjured up the beloved furniture that she and her husband David had picked out together and treasured since their honeymoon. The antique oak desk. The matching chests of drawers and nightstands. The canopied bed they’d shared until his death eight years ago. Now her throat caught, as she shuffled mental photos of the overstuffed recliner and the houseplants she’d nurtured from seedlings into abundant foliage. Oh, the garden! She couldn’t leave her flowers and the bird feeders. And the little art studio in the guest bedroom, and all her paintings adorning the walls. The way sunrays bounced off the suncatchers in the windows, scattering rainbow hues through the air. Her walk-in closet packed with a lifetime of clothing for all seasons. Would she lose it all? Leaving all that behind was like ripping out part of her heart.

I remember when Dave and I repainted the guest bedroom after Edward went to college. I wanted to use cerulean, but he bought teal by mistake. We ended up mixing it with so much white and royal blue that we had surplus paint. We did Edward’s room and the bathroom and the dining room in a light greenish blue just to use it up. My arms ached, and I was sick of clambering up and down the ladder, so I started a paint fight. What a mess! But every time I walked into those rooms, I thought of my husband, even long after he was gone.

         She came back to the present with a frown. “Edward, this isn’t like posting funds from one account to another. That house means so much to me.” She tried to pull herself up on the pillows to underscore her protest with a stronger posture, but a flash of pain in the new hip joint stopped her.

“The room is furnished, so all we need to do is pack two suitcases with what’s most important to you. Once the doctors give the okay, we’ll get everything sorted.” Her son had been fiddling with his phone but now looked up to see quiet tears in his mom’s eyes. He flinched, but he held firm to his plan.

“Two suitcases, Edward?” Grace gestured with the arm attached to the IV tube. “My entire life crammed into some Travelmaster luggage? What about—"

Edward broke in, “Seems crazy, right? But the room is well… cozy. It’s for the best, Mom. We can’t afford home help twenty-four hours a day, and you can’t manage alone anymore, not since your stroke and the fall. I know you want to stay at home, but there’s no choice. Sarah and I have looked at all the options.”

Grace turned her head away and spoke in a low voice, “No choice.” She let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Edward said, handing over a yellow legal pad and two pens. “Mom, you need to make a list of what you want to take with you. Take your time, okay? I’ll be back later this afternoon.” He kissed her creased cheek and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Everything will work out. See you soon.”

She pressed the button to raise the head of the bed and stared at the lined pad with a crushing weight in her chest. My paintings, she thought. There will only be room for one or two of my paintings on the wall. And he won’t let me take my paints or canvases. What will I do without my artwork? She had visited friends exiled to Village Palms and was so familiar with the layout that she could visualize a bleak, sterile cell with an attached bathroom. A hospital bed. A simple pine dresser. Two wooden chairs and a tiny round table. A small closet. Is there room for my recliner? Will they let me have some houseplants? How can I reduce my clothing by two-thirds? It’s impossible! Damn this broken hip. I was doing fine on my own until I fell. This is the beginning of the end; I’ve seen it so many times—the fall, the move to AL, the downward spiral, death. Edward doesn’t get it. I’m not just moving into a care unit; I’m starting the inevitable downhill ski run to my end.

Grace began writing her list with a reluctant hand, the words forming on the page with slow deliberation. Edward would argue about some of the items, she was sure, but he’d told her to choose, and these were her most precious possessions. The quilt, a cheerful Double Wedding Ring pattern, headed the list, followed by her two favorite paintings—the Valley Green Inn surrounded by lush fall trees and a stalwart bull elephant in purples and yellows, beloved for its strength of spirit. There would be just room enough for a watercolor set, brushes, and two pads of paper, but all the other art supplies must be abandoned. Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she thought of the shelves of acrylic paints and virgin canvases. In a rush of defiance, she added “my red recliner.”

When she stretched her hand toward the glass of water on the bedside table, she nearly knocked her rosary to the floor. I’ll need my crucifix and my rosary, she thought. My Bible. Books, oh, which books? And where will I put them in the new room? She limited herself to a few current favorites: a Van Gogh coffee-table book, The Left Hand of Darkness, a Dorothy Sayers compilation, Writing the Memoir, a biography of Churchill, and Alcoholics Anonymous. In a sudden realization, she scribbled: “My Kindle, my iPad and the chargers.” The seventeen-inch laptop would have to go. What about her printer? It was too clunky, and she would have to sacrifice it, even though she had a reputation as a tech-savvy grannie to uphold. That led to the next entry: “My phone and charger.” Picturing a cluttered table in her future room, she forced herself to list only a few framed photos: “My wedding picture and Edward’s graduation photo, and Edward, Sarah, and Gerard at Disneyworld.” The pain she was experiencing had nothing to do with the hip surgery; it felt like shredding her life into pieces.

What about my files, two drawers full of paper? She’d let Edward take it all and keep it in his neatly organized cabinets. Since he already took care of her taxes, she decided to dump all her medical bills and credit card payments into his capable hands. Serves him right. He wants to treat me like an invalid? Let him follow up with Medicare and the bank and all the rest. I’ll do my emails on the iPad. Hah!

Grace was staring at the list when a nurse in sunflower-yellow scrubs came in to check on her IV drip. “How’s the new hip today? You’ll have physical therapy tomorrow morning. We’ll get you walking in no time, you’ll see.”

“I can’t wait,” Grace said, a smirk emphasizing the sarcasm. She twirled the pen in her hand and underlined the last entry on the legal pad.

The nurse noticed the pad and tilted her head. “What are you writing?” she asked. “Seems like a long list.”

“My son Edward—you met him before—he’s going to move me into Village Palms. This is my list of everything I want to take there. It’s overwhelming, Britta. I have a houseful of stuff, and he wants me to whittle it down to two suitcases.”

Britta made a note on the chart and then perched on the visitor chair with a sympathetic smile. “It’s hard, letting go of home, isn’t it? But that’s a great place, Mrs. Miller. My aunt lived there for two years, and she loved it. You’ll be eating with other people, and they have all kinds of activities, so you can say goodbye to loneliness. My aunt called herself the Bingo Queen. And she said she didn’t have to worry about falling and nobody coming to help. She told me it gave her a kind of freedom.”

“That’s nice,” Grace said. “I’m happy for her. I just don’t know if it’s my kind of place. And I will have to give up so much.”

“I guess it feels like you’re losing a lot,” Britta said softly. “But you are keeping the things that matter the most. You’re gaining something, too—a community of people who care about you. You won’t have to go it alone anymore. And you’ll be safe.” She stood up to leave and grasped Grace’s hand. “I know it hurts, but try to make some gentle movements so the hip joint doesn’t get stiff. The more you move, the quicker you’ll recover. Okay?”

The nurse padded out and Grace returned to her task. As her list grew, Grace’s perspective gradually shifted. It’s a lot of work, that house. Even with Anna coming in every other week to clean and Walmart delivering groceries, I’ve had a lot of responsibilities. Edward got me to my doctor appointments, and my neighbors checked in on me, but I was on my own much of the time. And I was always afraid of falling on the stairs. It could be that this hip replacement is a blessing in disguise. What if Village Palms isn’t as bad as I imagined? She started crossing off a few items with decisive Xs: the purple slacks, the fringed wool throw, the straw tote bag. Maybe she didn’t need to carry so much baggage with her anymore—literally or figuratively.

The list-making produced an unexpected lightness of being as unnecessary possessions fell away, as if a hurricane had ripped away most of the objects that weighed her down and left her with the essentials. God was offering her a fresh start, a clear-the-deck moment, and she began to make her choices in a liberated mood. “Two sweaters—the gray and the red.” I always hated the pink one Edward’s wife gave me. And it’s a good thing I’m in Florida, so I won’t need my Pennsylvania winter coat. She added “My black raincoat” for the cold, wet winter days in case she had to go to doctor appointments. Then: “Five knit tops and five blouses—I don’t care which. Pick the newest ones. Make sure one top and one blouse are white.” I can always order more online. I should have given away the older ones long ago. “Five slacks in dark gray and black. One skirt—the long blue-and-green print.” What about my shawls? “One shawl—the blue acrylic. And I need all my bras, underpants, and socks. Forget the stockings except for two pairs of knee-highs.”

As she visualized two suitcases bulging so full that Edward couldn’t zip them shut, the red recliner sticking out of one like a hernia, she grinned. Oh, well. That’s his problem. “Shoes: the slippers, the penny loafers, the white sneakers, the black leather flats.” Add in toiletries, hairbrush, and we’re done, assuming they provide towels and bed linens. She completed the list with a satisfied sigh; even if Edward pared it down, the essentials were there. Any regrets could wait for later. This was the best she could do on pain meds after major surgery. Besides, it was time for lunch.

Grace was attempting cautious leg movements when Edward arrived at 3:30, hustling into the room in his usual preoccupied manner. “Hi, Mom.” His kiss almost missed her cheek. “How are you doing? Is your list ready?”

When she handed over the pad and pens, she smiled. “Hey. I feel like I’m packing for a six-month cruise, you know?”

He chuckled. “I’m glad you see it that way, Mom. I understand it isn’t easy.”

She shifted a little in the bed and winced at the jolt of pain. “That’s an understatement, Edward.” Frowning, she turned to him in apology. “Sorry about that. It hurts when I move.”

“I’ll talk to the nurse on my way out and see what they can do about the pain. The doctors say you should be leaving here in two or three days. That gives me time to make the arrangements for moving your things to the AL. It will all be ready for you.”

His mother nodded her appreciation and brought up the topic that bothered her the most. “Edward, what about all the art supplies and paintings? You can’t just throw them out.”

“Sarah and I will take your paintings to our house, and you can see them there when you visit. We would never throw them away, Mom. And I’ll contact the local senior center and the high school about your art supplies. Don’t worry. If necessary, we’ll sell them on E-Bay to someone who really wants them.” He flipped through the list, frowning. “Your recliner?”

She set her jaw and used her most assertive tone. “Absolutely yes. Anything else hurts my back. The recliner goes with me.”

Edward shrugged, saying, “Okay. We’ll fit it in somehow. I’m not sure we can jam all this stuff into two suitcases, though.”

“You have to, that’s all. Just roll everything up, Sarah can show you how. You two go on enough trips.” Grace caught the edge to her voice, but she’d envied Edward and Sarah their well-funded lifestyle. She’d had little opportunity to travel in her life, and now, with the extra expenses of an assisted living contract and her limited physical capabilities, there would be none.

Ignoring his mother’s barb, Edward prepared himself to end the visit. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

“No, honey. You did notice that I’m giving you all my important paperwork, right? You’ll be handling the medical insurance stuff and the payments to the AL place and all that from now on, since you already do my taxes.”

He came to the bed and took her hand. “It’s okay, Mom. I always predicted this day would come. I’m ready.”

Grace gave him her best smile. “I’m ready too, Edward.” More than you know, Edward. I’m getting ready for the end. You don’t want to talk about it, but there is a door ahead of me with a sliver of light around the edges.

As he touched her cheek with his lips, she closed her eyes. Writing the list had taken more of her strength than she’d realized, and she needed to rest. She had important work to do, inside work, the kind of housecleaning that required a priest for confession. There was one more list to write. She wanted to enter her new life with a light heart.