Love, hope, and reality are woven and wrapped together.
BY NANCY FRANCESE
“GRANDPA, WHAT DO YOU LIKE to do most?” asked Molly, our blue-eyed, blond-haired six-year-old granddaughter. Meanwhile her four-year-old brother, Miles, piled a blue block, on top of a red block, on top of a yellow block; each one set carefully so as not to upset the fragile balance. Just one block a tad off-center would send the entire castle crashing into ruins. Her query came days before her Grandpa Carl’s 75th birthday.
“Sleep,” he said without hesitation this Saturday afternoon as he sat on the beige couch surrounded by American history books and the New York Times; each of which he read from front to back every day. The television displayed the PGA tournament from Pebble Beach, which we had been fortunate enough to play twice. This would seem like a normal, relaxing Saturday; except it wasn’t.
Carl’s once broad shoulders were now just thinner versions. Stress lines criss crossed his face like a road map, and the sparkle had left his sapphire eyes. Six months of having poison injected into his veins had ravaged his body, yet he fought on with courage and hope that the leukemia that held him pinned in a life-threatening grip would be eradicated. We had a ritual that gave each of us a reprieve from the somber reality that had become our life. For 30 minutes, we were magically removed from the orbit of doctors and hospitals and went into a sanctuary before the darkness returned. Every time we went to the hematologist, we would stop afterward at Joe Leone’s in Sea Girt, get a tuna sandwich on whole wheat, a bag of Charles chips, two Sprites, and a chocolate chip cookie to go, and head to the boardwalk. I parked the car in the same spot each time, cracked the windows, and cut the engine.
Then, carefully unwrapping the sandwich, I gave Carl his half, opened the chips and the drinks, and sat and watched the ocean. Sometimes, there were surfers; small slivers of humanity navigating the power and majesty of Mother Nature. Other days, the sea was empty, limitless, mysterious, and always treacherous. I put my hand in his and we watched the seagulls seemingly glide through the air on invisible currents; while gazelle-like joggers in brightly-colored spandex sprinting along the boardwalk left their exhaled breath streaming behind. There were no sounds other than the ocean or the occasional screech of a seagull protecting a discarded orange rind from an intruding competitor. These brief moments of normalcy became the focal point; a way to deny the reality of the coming storm.
As usual, I picked Molly up from first grade the next day. I could see right away from her serious expression and determined gait up the front walk that she had something on her mind. Once inside, she disappeared first into the basement and then returned to the kitchen with yesterday’s New York Times. She ran up the stairs to her room and then to the bathroom, where I could hear the medicine cabinet door squeak as she opened and closed it before heading to the kitchen again.
“Whatcha doing sweetie?” I asked. “Do you need help?”
“Nope,” she said, “I’m wrapping Grandpa’s birthday present. Don’t peek,” I continued to unload the dishwasher, trying not to look. I was curious, but she was the master of this mysterious project. Molly tried with an unrelenting tenacity to wrap the present using yesterday’s newspaper. I could hear her groans of frustration as she struggled to make the noncompliant corners of the paper stay folded. A previously folded corner would pop open as soon as she got a new corner to stay where she wanted it.
Her pigtails, tied with red and yellow ribbons, bounced as she used her hands, elbows, and knees attempting to claim victory over defeat. Finally, her solution was to put the bundle on the wooden kitchen table, climb up, and sit on the recalcitrant package while taping it together with handfuls of blue, pink, and yellow princess bandaids. Each one depicted a tiny image of Princesses Ariel, Ana, or Elsa dressed in long, flowing Cinderella-like gowns holding magic wands that hinted at the promise of fulfilled wishes.
“There,” she said, “It’s all wrapped.” By now, her pigtails were askew, one white knee sock up, one down, and her white blouse untucked; completely disheveled.
“It looks beautiful, honey; I know Grandpa will love it,” I said. I didn’t know what was enclosed, but it didn’t matter. “You can give it to him tomorrow when you, Mommy, Daddy, and Miles come for Grandpa’s birthday party.”
I prayed day and night for Carl’s recovery, finally appealing to the princesses and asking them to work together to grant my wish not to let our fairytale end yet. As I watched Molly put her total concentration into wrapping this gift, I couldn’t fight the conflicting emotions swirling around my heart of the juxtaposition of young and old. Our years together were happy ones, with our plans for retirement just months away; yet life for us would never again be the same. Although Molly knew her Grandpa wasn’t feeling well, she didn’t know about the chemo that was supposed to eradicate the bad cells so new healthy ones could multiply but instead was destroying his organs one by one. She didn’t know his kidneys were failing, that he needed blood transfusions weekly just to keep him alive, or his fatigue was so extreme that merely breathing exhausted him. She didn’t know the slightest scratch from a toothbrush bristle had sent us to the emergency room with uncontrollable bleeding from low platelets. Molly’s world was of birthdays, playdates, tickling, and ice cream; just as it should be. I wanted her to inhabit that world of innocence for as long as possible, and to not experience the pain that life inevitably brings to everyone’s door; not yet anyway.
The next day, our three grown sons and our five grandchildren gathered to try to put aside our ever-growing worries for just a little while and celebrate the blessings of life and family. As promised, we had ice cream and angel food cake with candles and sang Happy Birthday on what I feared would be his last birthday. We sat in the living room with a fire crackling, and the warmth of the afternoon winter sun filling the room with a measure of hope.
Molly offered her present with outstretched arms. “This is for you, Grandpa,” she said.
“What could it be?” he asked, gently shaking the object. “Is it a picture of you?”
“Noooo,” she said.
“Is it a picture of me?” he asked. For just a moment, we all saw the sparkle return to his eyes.
“No, silly Grandpa. Open it, open it, open it,” she declared. As he gingerly removed the newspaper without disturbing the princesses, the contents revealed what none of us would have guessed. What spilled out of the package into Carl’s lap was Molly’s favorite baby blanket; pink and white, monogrammed with her name and birth date.
“It will help you sleep, Grandpa,” she said, “and it will make you feel better.”
His voice was barely a whisper, and his tears blurred the newsprint. “Thank you, Molly, it’s the best present ever. I love you.” Her capacity to find the perfect gift that just might harness all the love in the universe to heal her Grandpa was both astounding and heartbreaking.
The princesses tried valiantly to hold the fairytale together. But alas, in two weeks time, we would gather again; this time for a funeral.
Nancy Francese is a retired high school and college educator. She holds a BS in Education from Kent State University and a Master’s degree in Reading from Monmouth University. She has written for multiple newspapers and has had memoir pieces published in Bright Flash Literary Review and Sad Girls Diaries. Nancy is currently writing a memoir about her experiences living on a farm and her teaching career. Home is central New Jersey where she can be found playing golf and spending time with her grandchildren.
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