It was an unexpectedly emotional day. I had gone to my parent’s house in Kentucky to celebrate Christmas the exact same way I had done the previous 35 years of my life. I had encountered much of the same things I had grown to expect. The same catch up conversation with relatives, the same dead grassy lawns with mismatched lighting and the same trips to Wal-Mart for the sake of entertainment had all played their roles in this year’s Christmas pageant. But once again, it was time to leave.
Going there I had mixed emotions. I was overly sensitive due to a real estate investment gone wrong and a general hatred for my job at the time. The house payments were killing me financially and the job was simply too corporate, non-creative and not paying enough to justify my misery. With that said, I had been borderline suicidal for months and an albatross to all who came in contact with me. But I was desperate to not let any of that show during the holidays. Whoever said money doesn’t bring happiness obviously had so much of it they didn’t know the value of a dollar. Or a quarter, dime, nickel or penny for that matter. Let me be the first to admit that I’m one miserable son of a bitch when I live paycheck to paycheck.
My visit with my parents had been one of the best ones in years. We have a joke at my house that I can last about 48 hours before I loose control and say something to ruin the rest of the bonding experience for the entire visit. Not this time. This time was different. I was filled with my much-needed one-on-one time with each of them and I was leaving feeling as thought we had caught up on whatever we needed to while forming a bond all over again. I’m extremely close to my parents and although I only see them twice a year, I talk to them on the phone two or three times a week.
I had packed up my borrowed black Honda CRV and was headed back to Nashville, two hours away, for my flight out. That’s when it happened. I was saying goodbye and giving final hugs and kisses when my Mom started crying. I have always hated that. It’s like some sort of trigger for me to lose it. She was getting teary eyed and turned away. But I saw what was happening and it was too late. I got in my car so they wouldn’t see me getting all misty eyed myself and when I was down the long blacktop driveway lined with pine trees, I looked back at their house and started blubbering like a toddler. They were both still standing in the open garage door waving as I had to leave this safe place wrapped in white vinyl siding with red ribboned wreaths hanging from every window.
I now had to face the reality of having only $23.00 in my savings account with over $600,000 in debt. I was overcome with emotion with no plan for how it was all going to work out. But there was one more stop I had to make before I got on I-24 and I needed to pull it together before I got there.
My Grandma had been admitted to the nursing home, the only one in Calvert City, about five years earlier after having a series of mini-strokes that left her with uncontrollable blackouts when they occurred. One such instance took place as she was driving home from church, passed her house, drove through an intersection and nailed a house after plowing through the owner’s front yard.
Like my relationship with my parents, I have always been extremely close to my Grandma. Our birthdays are a day apart so growing up we would even have cakes that said happy birthday to both of us on them. I felt like the most prized grandson and still do. I needed to stop in to say goodbye to her for what I always fear will be the last time before I got on the road.
On the way to the nursing home, I was still sobbing after leaving my parent’s house and trying to pull it together before I walked thorough the metal doors. Call me crazy, but I never think it’s a good thing to walk in the door of an old folks home in tears. It only goes down hill from there. When I walked in, it was the same as usual. Some people were in a catatonic state while being supported by their silver wheel chair with plastic blue seating while others were approaching me begging to be taken home the same way a puppy would if it could speak during a visit to the SPCA. This was something that always took me a few minutes to prepare for and this time I hadn’t been able to get 100% there.
That overwhelming smell, a cross between Lysol and betadine leapt up my nostrils just before I noticed new homegrown signs hanging on the backs of all the closed doors. Strange. Unusually you can shoot a cannonball from one end of the hallway to the next in there. My first thought was that someone had died and they didn’t want the rest of the residents to know. But thankfully I was wrong. The signs were urging everyone “If you have the flu or have been exposed to the flu, please do not enter”. I glanced at the sign, thought I was good to go and strolled past the nurse’s station toward my 84 year old Grandma’s room.
I got to the end of the long hallway only to discover she had escaped.
