Sign Me Up by Dulcie Dameron
Jamie
I’m feeling all the mixed-up emotions. Which isn’t ideal considering it’s the one day a week I set aside to visit with Pops at the care center. Not that I don’t want to come and see him more throughout the week, it’s just that when I do see him more than once, it seems to agitate him.
The nurses in his unit kindly explained to me that with patients like Pops, routine is everything. On the days I randomly showed up because I had time in my schedule, he would usually end up telling me to leave or asking me to take him home. It breaks my heart to see him in that state, so I dutifully follow the routine the care center set in place, limiting my visits to Sundays.
Dementia is a tough illness. One day, Pops will be completely lucid, excited to see me and prattle on about the comings and goings at the nursing home, while other days, he’ll talk to me as if I’m his sister or mother, not understanding that they’ve both gone on to Heaven.
He never mistakes me for Nonie, though. And whenever he mentions her, it tugs on my heartstrings like nothing else could. I so desperately wish he had her to hold on to during this time in his life.
The patterned wallpaper in the care center’s hallways peels along some of the edges and the carpet is worn thin in places. The staff is friendly as they pass by me in the hall with their tired smiles. It must take a lot out of them with so many patients like Pops to care for. I wish I could afford to put him in a facility that allows for more personal care, but this place was the one he’d chosen.
Just thinking of the day Pops pulled me aside and told me he wanted to go into assisted living brings tears to my eyes. James Gang, I want you to have the house, he’d said as he scratched the white scruff lining his jaw. It’s all paid for, and all the legal work has been taken care of. My lawyer’s coming over today, and we’ll sign everything over in your name. Loretta’s dying wish was to leave everything to you.
Nonie told me as much when she was alive, but it pained me too much to hear it. I didn’t want their things, the house, or Pop’s extensive tool collection. I just wanted, and still want, them.
Only them.
As I step into Pops’s room, he’s seated in a chair by the window, his gaze set on something outside. I take a tentative step into the room and wait. He doesn’t take his eyes off whatever is holding his attention, so I slowly move closer and sit in the chair across from him.
Gradually, his gaze strays from the window until it finally lands on me. He smiles a warm, welcoming smile, the kind that wraps around me like a hug. “Hey, Janessa. They told me you were coming to see me today.”
Janessa. My mom.
It’s not uncommon for Pops to mistake me for Mom, but it hasn’t happened in quite a while. Unfortunately, she’s no longer earth-side, either. She died when I was six from lupus. My mom and dad never married, and I’ve only seen him three times in my entire life, the last time being my high school graduation. The only two constants in my life since childhood have been Nonie and Pops.
“Hi, Pops,” I say, hoping that the sound of my voice will remind him who I am. “How are you today?”
His smile falters a little as he turns back to the window. “I’m okay. Just lonely.”
My chest tightens. “I’m sorry, Pops.”
As if he knows exactly who I am, he faces me and leans forward in his chair. “I miss Loretta.”
Reaching for his hand, I clasp it between both of mine. “I miss her too, Pops.” My eyes mist over, and I blink quickly to ward off the threatening tears. Pops must sense my rising emotions because he places his wrinkled hand over our joined ones and gives me a reassuring pat.
“It’s okay, honey. She’ll be back soon. She just went to the store an hour ago.”
I smile at the way his words completely contradict what he just told me a minute ago. “I know, Pops. I know.”
For the next hour, we converse as much as he’s able, and I make sure to tell him that I took care of the bill for the care center. I don’t know why I always feel the need to tell him that, but it makes me feel better knowing I’m carrying out his wishes. It’s his money, after all, and I want him to know, as much as he can, that I’m being a good steward of his things.
When it’s time for me to leave the nursing home, Pops waves goodbye like he sees me every day. My heart breaks a little knowing that things will never be the same for either of us. We both have to live and carry on without Nonie and Mom.
As I pull out of the care center parking lot, a wave of emptiness crashes over me, threatening to take me down in one fell swoop. Tears prick the backs of my eyes as I turn onto the main road headed back toward Treemont. In a matter of minutes, tears wet my face and it’s a struggle to take deep breaths. I try to slow my breathing by sucking air in through my nose and letting it out slowly through my mouth, but it doesn’t seem to be working. I feel as if I could crawl out of my skin and all I want to do in this moment is run away.
As my panic rises, I decide I need to pull over. I find a shoulder along the road and put my car in park. Unbuckling, I jump out of my seat, ready for my feet to hit pavement. I walk with my hands clasped behind my head as I continue to do the deep breathing exercises Dr. Weeks taught me. I try another tactic and shift my focus from the intense feeling of loss overwhelming me to all the positives in my life.
I get to live in the house that Nonie and Pops shared for the last twenty years. I have a steady job that pays the bills. All of Pop’s care is taken care of—at least for now—due to the fund he had set up for it. I have some amazing friends. Daria, Briar, and Parker.
Parker.
I stop walking and close my eyes, focusing on the way Parker’s smile makes me feel. It’s warm and bright, exuding light and laughter. Then I think of his brilliant green eyes that always seem to see the best in me. He’s not blind to my flaws but accepts them as a part of who I am. I think of his tan hands and how capable they are at expressing his thoughts through Sign Language. I smile as I consider how patient he is with me, even when I frustrate myself.
And just like when he shushed and soothed me at work the day of the tour, a sense of calm washes over me. I open my eyes and realize that the sun has begun to set. The warm glow it casts over the golden corn fields is gorgeous. I take a deep, cleansing breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, wrapping my arms around myself.
I’m amazed at how just focusing on Parker and the qualities that make him special brought me back to a state of calm. At least enough so that I’m able to climb back in my car and make it home without having another panic attack.
“Have you ever thought about going back to that therapist for your…episodes?”
Daria’s question hovers in the air around me like an annoying fly I want to swat at.
“No,” I say with more force than necessary. “Okay, maybe I have, but…I didn’t jive with her personality. She was pushy and…I don’t know.” I shrug. “I felt like she was defining me by the grief I was experiencing and like I would never be normal unless I took the medication she prescribed.”
I walk to the fridge in our small kitchen and grab a can of pop. I try to limit myself to one can a week in the name of health, but when I feel stressed, I find myself reaching for it more often. I pop the tab and take a big gulp of the fizzy liquid, relishing the burn as it goes down.
“I understand. But maybe it just wasn’t the right time. Maybe if you went back things would be different,” Daria says, in a casual tone. “Or, better yet, maybe you need to find a different therapist who’s more gentle and understanding.” She takes a sip of her tea, assessing me. She knows I hate it when she brings up the short-lived relationship with my ex-therapist. But after seeing me so torn up after my visit with Pops, I think she just wants to help.
Well, maybe we can help each other. “How about this…I’ll go back to a therapist about my anxiety when you also agree to go for your issues with attachment.” I take another swig of pop, watching her carefully.
“Touché, my friend,” she says as she rises from her stool at the counter, effectively putting a period on this conversation. “All right, I’ve got to get going. My knitting class starts in fifteen minutes.”
I smile while thinking of Daria sitting around in a circle with a bunch of older ladies, knitting. “Oh, please make me a scarf for Christmas,” I plead with her. “My current favorite colors are—”
“Whoa, Nelly. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she says, interrupting my request with a raised hand. “I’m barely able to knit a three-inch-by-three-inch square. But if I’m good enough by then, I promise to make you something special for Christmas. Maybe a mitten or something.”
“Wait, don’t you mean mittens? Plural?”
“No,” she deadpans. “I meant mitten, as in one, singular mitten. There’s no way I’ll have enough time to knit you two in just two months.”
I laugh as Daria grabs her purse and heads for the door. “All right, I’ll settle for that. See you later.”
She tells me goodbye and then I’m left alone with only my thoughts for company. I’ve already decided to plant myself on the couch and write a blog post about the friends-to-lovers romance I finished last weekend for my book blog. Then maybe I’ll curl up with another book and relax. I want to do all I can to settle my mind and refocus on the week ahead.
I’ve got a cross country meet to cover tomorrow, as well as a wrestling match on Wednesday and a girls’ volleyball game Thursday. And, as if my week wasn’t busy enough, I know there will be a co-worker camaraderie event smashed in there somewhere too.
At least I’ve got Parker to entertain me while at work and Daria to keep me company when I come home—most nights, anyway. When she’s not sewing or dating or having a social life outside of her lonely roommate.
I blow out a breath as I reach for my laptop and the romance novel I’m reviewing before sitting down on the couch. I still have Parker’s yummy smelling blanket, so I unfold it and spread it over my legs as I stretch out. I try to engross myself in typing the story’s highlights into a post, but Parker’s familiar smell keeps my thoughts circling back to him and our time together Friday night.
I’ve done my very best not to read into the kiss he placed on my temple while we were snuggled together on this very couch, but my heart refuses to let it go. It’s like my subconscious self desires for Parker to see me as more than a friend and my heart is begging for that to be true.
But even if it is true, the thought of ruining my friendship with Parker to take a chance on romance scares me. What if we share a kiss and there are no sparks? Or worse, what if we both fall in love, break up, then subsequently hate each other just like me and Tyson?
I could never forgive myself if I lost Parker as a friend. His steady presence is what’s keeping me sane right now. And to me, that’s worth more than a few fluttery feelings in my midsection.
Pushing my curiosity for Parker aside, I go back to focusing on my blog post. The friends-to-lovers thing is best left to fiction, anyway.