Turning a Blind Eye

He looks so much smaller than I remember. He always seemed like a towering figure when I was growing up – a tall frame and fit build. The frown that always seemed to be on his face added to the ominous image.

But now, lying in the hospital bed in his den, he looks so fragile and soft.

I didn’t think he’d heard me come in, but I soon hear his deep voice ask, “Margaret? Is that you?”

“Hi, Dad. Yeah, it’s me,” I gently respond, moving close to his bed.

The disease started in his eyes, and slowly degenerated from there. Dad hasn’t been able to see for over a year now.

“How are you feeling today?” I ask.

He scoffs. “As great as a dying man can, I suppose.”

As if on cue, his at-home nurse walks in the room with a tray of pills. “Oh, Maggie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she quietly says.

“Well you already have, so do what you need to,” Dad barks.

The nurse gently guides Dad’s lips to the cup of water as he swallows half a dozen pills.

“Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Robinson? If not, I’ll be on my way,” she says. Dad waves her off.

“Goodbye, Maggie,” she says as she walks out of the room. I smile in her general direction and look back to Dad.

“Do you know when your sister is supposed to be coming? I feel like I haven’t seen her in weeks,” Dad says.

That’s because he hasn’t seen her in weeks. Violet had been “grief” vacationing, as she likes to call it. Last I heard she was in Jamaica on a beach.

“No, I don’t know when she’ll be back. It should be any day now, I’d imagine,” I respond.

He huffs. “Money has ruined that girl. At least you have a good head on your shoulders.”

I wasn’t about to argue. “Thanks, Dad.”

The kitchen door swings shut, signaling the nurse’s exit.

“Now, Margaret, there is something I wanted to discuss with you. I wanted to wait until your sister was here too, but it looks like that’s not going to happen.”

I stand up a little straighter. “Of course. What is it?”

He sighs, which triggers a violent cough. “Well, it’s about your mother.”

The knot in my stomach tightens. He never talks about her.

“This was a long time ago, mind you. A very long time ago. When it happened, I… I didn’t know how to tell you girls. So I did what I thought was best.”

I cut in, “I don’t think there’s an easy way to tell your kids that their mom died. I think you did just fine.”

My mind catapults me back to that moment. Violet was playing with her blocks, unaware of the meaning of words yet. I was 5, in my pink overalls. Dad had pulled me up on the couch. Very directly, he told me that our mother had died in a car accident. I don’t remember crying – just feeling like my chest was empty.

I still experience that empty feeling a lot.

“That’s what I mean. You were too young to fully comprehend the complexity of the situation. You didn’t know why she’d done it, and I didn’t want you left with that unresolved feeling. I’ve seen how that can ruin a person.”

I don’t understand where he’s going with this, but my jaw clenches tightly.

“You see… your mother didn’t pass away in a car accident. Actually, she didn’t pass away at all. She left us. She left you.”

My heart starts to beat out of my chest as I try to calm my rapid thoughts. She left us?

“Is she still alive then?” I quickly ask.

“Who knows. She had a drug problem, so I doubt it,” he matter-of-factly says.

“Have you ever tried to find her?”

He huffs again. “Why would I? She left us, Margaret. If she wanted to be found, she would have come back. It’s not my job to go searching for her.”

“Why… why didn’t you tell us sooner?” I question. I can feel anger building in my body – an emotion I don’t often experience.

“So you could waste your time trying to find her? I know you – you’d be going on all those websites and wasting your money on that woman. I’m only telling you now in case she comes out of the woodwork after I’m dead and wants my money. You’re to give her none, you understand me?”

I sit in disbelief for a moment. Money. This was all about money. If he wasn’t so worried about his precious money, he wouldn’t have even told me about my mother.

“I… need some time to think about this.” I stand up. “I’ll be by later this week.”

As I’m walking away, he calls after me, “Margaret! I might be dead before then!”

“No you won’t,” I shout back and slam the door behind me.

As I’m walking to my car, my emotions are changing so fast I can’t keep up with them. What if he does die before I see him? Can I really let that be our last interaction?

Who cares? Screw him! He’s lied about Mom for 32 years. I don’t care if I never speak to him again.

Where is Mom? Why’d she leave? Why hasn’t she ever tried to come back?

As I sit in my car letting these feelings wash over me, my more analytical side starts chiming in. If Mom is still alive, how did we have a funeral for her? Her parents and brothers came – do they know she’s alive?

I decide to find out. As I peel out of the driveway, I almost hit a black Jeep driving by me. I rub my eyes, reminding myself to focus on the road.

While I didn’t expect a road trip today, I drive the two hours north to my grandmother’s house. We didn’t see her much growing up, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her in person.

Taking a deep breath, I walk up to the front door and knock. There’s no sound from the other side, so I knock again.

Slowly, the door opens a little and a short woman with a cane answers.

“Can I help you?” she quietly asks.

“Grandma? It’s me, Maggie.”

You would have thought that I told her she’d won a million dollars. Her mouth erupts into a smile.

“Maggie! Oh my goodness, come in, come in!” She backs away from the door and ushers me into her home.

How do I not remember this place? It’s so charming. There are plants and antiques all around, but tastefully so. As we walk to the living room, I spot a photo of Violet and myself as children on the wall.

“Do you want anything to drink? Or eat? I’m sure I have some of that licorice you used to like so much…”

I smile to myself. I forgot about the licorice I always used to eat with her. I haven’t had licorice in at least a decade.

“Oh, I’m fine, but thank you.”

She doesn’t seem pleased with that, but sits down nonetheless. “It’s so wonderful to see you! You’ve grown so much! You’re even more beautiful than last time I saw you.”

“Violet always says I look like Mom, from the pictures we have of her,” I say.

Grandma looks down. I almost regret saying it after how sad she looks. “Yes, yes you do. She was beautiful too.”

“That’s actually why I’m here, Grandma. Dad told me something kind of strange today, and I wanted to see what you thought.”

“Ah yes, your father. How is he doing?” While it seems like an innocuous question, she almost grimaces asking it.

“He’s not doing very well. The doctors have only given him a few months,” I say in a low voice.

“Oh my. Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, but today… I don’t want to say anything to upset you, but he said…” I take a deep breath. “He said that Mom didn’t pass away in a car accident. That she left us, and he told us she died…”

Grandma starts shaking her head profusely and stops me. “Dear, I wonder if your father’s mind has started to go. Your mother did pass in an accident. Don’t you remember her service? It was a very difficult time for all of us,” she says, her voice starting to break.

“I know it sounds crazy, but his mind has been sound up ‘til now. Did anyone, sorry to be crass, but did anyone see her body?”

“Her body was so disfigured from the accident, Maggie… we couldn’t have an open casket. They had to identify her from her teeth,” she whispers, her face turning very pale.

“So you didn’t actually see her?” I clarify.

“Dear, I don’t think it’s good for you to stir up this old wound for yourself. You’re only going to draw back all that grief.”

“But he seemed so sure when he told me…” I continue.

“In the final stages of life, people process their life events in different ways. Maybe your father is regretting how he handled her death. Or how he handled the aftermath…” she mutters, a small amount of bitterness in her voice. “Whatever it is, it shouldn’t be something that you worry yourself with.”

I sigh, realizing my hope may have clouded my judgement. “Do you really think so?”

“I’ve seen a lot of friends go through this before they pass on. They re-imagine what they wish their life would have been. The only thing we can do is be there to support them through it.” She leans forward and gently rests her hand on my knee. “I know it’s hard, but it’s the natural process of things.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier though,” I admit, putting my hand on top of hers.

“Well, I’m here to talk about it as much as you need.”

I spend the entire afternoon talking with my grandmother. First about how I’ve been handling Dad’s disease, and then about the other, more positive things going on in my life. As I leave, I can’t imagine why I didn’t stay in touch with her more.

I promise myself to visit more, and pay her a warm goodbye. I start up my car and glance in my rear view. To my surprise, I see another black Jeep. Lot of Jeeps out today, I guess.

I drive back home and go straight to bed. I decide to get up early to go check on Dad. If his mind is starting to betray him, I need to investigate and tell his doctors.

By 7 AM, I pull up to the house. A black Jeep is parked on the other side of the street. I shake it off and walk to the back door.

“Dad? It’s Maggie!” I shout as I walk in.

I spot the nurse’s medical bag on the counter. Usually she doesn’t come until 8 AM, so that’s a little odd. I walk a little more quickly to check on Dad.

“Dad?”

The nurse is standing over Dad, and nearly jumps when she hears me.

“Maggie? What are you doing here so early?” she asks. She doesn’t wait for my answer. “He called to say he wasn’t feeling well, so I hurried over. But it was already too late. I’m so sorry.”

I reach for the bed to stabilize myself. This can’t be happening.

“Do you need to sit down, honey?” the nurse asks. She quickly pulls over a chair and helps me into it.

“But what… what happened? He was fine yesterday,” my voice starts to break.

“This disease is so unpredictable. We couldn’t have known.” She crouches down and takes my hand in hers.

Tears are starting to escape my eyes. “We had a fight yesterday. I, I didn’t even say sorry.” I look down at the nurse. “How am I supposed to live with myself?”

“Trust me, you don’t need to grieve over that. He probably wouldn’t have accepted it anyway.” The kind tone leaves the nurse’s voice for a moment. Instinctively, I pull my hand from hers. “I just mean… when someone is at that stage, they don’t fully comprehend what’s going on around them. Please, don’t guilt yourself about this.”

She’s tried to recover, but I can’t help but feel like something more is going on here.

“I’m going to go call my sister…” I pull my phone out of my pocket, but the nurse snatches it away.

"Wait!" She seems to second-guess herself. "Before you do, there’s something I need to tell you.”

The fear running up my spine causes my tears to dry. “Please – whatever happened here – please don’t hurt me,” I whisper.

She takes my hand in hers again, and I don’t resist.

“Oh, Maggie… this isn’t how I imagined this going,” the nurse says with a sigh.

I remain silent, paralyzed by fear.

“You see your father… he wasn’t a good man. I can tell you more, but right now I need you to believe me.”

“Believe what?” I ask, my voice trembling.

She reaches up and strokes my face. “It’s me, Maggie. It’s Mom.”

For the first time, I really look at the nurse. The curve of her nose, the big, brown eyes, her wavy hair… it can’t be.

“No…” I stammer.

“Maggie, my sweet girl,” her voice breaks, and I know.

My mother is alive.