Fading Grace

From where Delia was sitting, the railing around her mother's hospital bed framed her sleeping mother's face perfectly. The picture was that of an old woman, with sparse white hair, shriveled and hollow cheeks, tubes coming out of her nose. There was still a faint color of bright pink lipstick on her pursed lips from when she had been awake a few hours before. Every so often, when she remembered it, she liked to put on makeup.

Delia really hated being there watching her mother fade into someone that she no longer recognized as the woman who raised her. Her mother was helpless and decrepit. It took a great deal of effort for Delia to hold back her anger. With every day, she realized more and more that whatever opportunity she had to make peace with this woman had long passed. She dare not say a word about all the things that her mother did that tormented her through the years. Her mother would not understand it anyway, as if she had ever understood.

In her current state, the lack of understanding was pardonable. What really made Delia seethe was that long before this day, when her mother was in full mental capacity, she did understand yet pretended not to. Hear and ignore seemed to be her mother's mantra. There were only a few days left of Delia's mothers' life and it was time for Delia to make peace, if not with her mother, at least with herself.

As she was lost in her thoughts, a tear drew a line down Delia's cheek. Her black hair fell softly around her face, her sad, sea-green eyes staring blankly at the frail old woman lying asleep in the hospital bed.

The old woman opened one eye and then another. She grimaced. "Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

"I am your daughter, Mom."

"I made my position perfectly clear that I did not want any visitors," the old woman said and then paused for a deliberation, as if to check and ensure that her face and words matched. Her eyebrows turned downwards and she frowned.

"I don't want any visitors!" she shouted.

"Shhhhhh! Mother, people can hear you!"

For a second, the old woman showed signs of recognition of her daughter and began to calm down. "Where's Gordon?" she asked.

"Gordon, the butler?" Delia replied.

"How do you know Gordon?"

Delia reached over and brushed back her mother's hair from her face and paused for a moment, just looking at her. "Mom, you know that Gordon passed away ten years ago."

"Nonsense!" came the angry response. "You are lying to me. I just saw him this morning. I d-d-d-on't know who you are, b-b-but, y-y-you, you, you, get out of here! Leave me alone!" the old woman shouted.

A nurse passing down the hallway popped her head in the door. "Grace, is everything alright here?"

Grace turned to Delia, "the police are here and you are in trouble, lady! You come in here stirring havoc and disturbing a poor old lady for no reason!"

Delia turned to the nurse, "give me a moment."

"Mom, mom!" Delia whispered. "You're in the hospital, everyone can hear you. I'm your daughter. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Daughters are wicked," Grace mumbled. "They only cause pain and grief."

"Shhhhhh! Relax. Let's talk for a while," Delia responded. As Grace calmed down, the nurse nodded and then left the room.

"Do you have a daughter?" Grace asked.

"Yes, her name is Angie. She is your grand daughter."

"I had a daughter once," Grace confessed.

"You did?" Delia asked with hopefulness.

"Yes. She died," Grace said very matter-of-factly.

Having never heard anything about another child, Delia was shocked. Not wanting to stop the flow of conversation, she held back from showing any signs of surprise. "How did she die?"

"Oh, it was years ago," Grace replied. "I don't know if I can remember the date."

Suddenly, Grace's face turned red and her expression turned to anger. She continued, "The baby would not stop crying, just would not stop crying, all that fuss, all that racket. I couldn't bear it. I smothered her in the crib."

Then, Grace began to cry, "I didn't mean to kill her. I just wanted her to be quiet."

Delia wasn't sure if this was senility or her mother's memory flash from an actual event that she had not heard about. "What did you do then?" she asked.

"We had a funeral, of course," Grace answered very matter-of-factly.

"Did you have another daughter?" Delia asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?" Delia probed.

Grace sat up with indignence. "Listen here young lady, you're a lot younger than me and I know a bit more about life than you do. I want you and your nonsense out of here. Who do you think you are to come in and ask me these..." Grace paused as if scanning the brain for the word she wanted. "these QUESTIONS? Leave immediately, or I will call the police. This is my house. MY house, not yours. Mine. I set the rules."

Frustrated with the dialogue, Delia stood up and headed for the door. Just as she stepped across the doorway, she turned around.

"Can I stay if I don't ask you any more questions?" she pleaded.

Delia's mother looked straight up at the ceiling. "Before you go," she pointed at the tubes. "Can you tell me, what are these things coming out of my nose?"

"They are tubes," Delia answered.

"I know they are tubes, for goodness sake!" Grace chastised, "what are they for? Why are they there, in my nose?"

Delia turned around and walked over beside the bed, and sat back down in the chair.

"They are a kind of food," she answered.

Grace smiled. "Do you think later on we could go get a salad at the Sizzler? I like their salad bar."

Delia felt relieved by the new direction of the conversation. "Maybe later," she answered and smiled.

"You know," Grace said, "I like you. I'm glad you're here with me. I wish my daughter could meet you. Are you married?"

"Yes," Delia answered restraining herself from saying that her mother knew she was married.

"What's your husband's name?" Grace asked.

"Alex."

"My husband is Jim. He is an airline pilot."

Delia's father's name was George. He and her mother were married for 43 years until he died two years before. "Did you ever know a man named George who was an architect?" Delia asked her mother.

"Not that I recall," Grace answered. "I met my husband in high school. He was such a devil, couldn't keep his hands off me. We got married just after we graduated."

"So, uh, where is Jim now?" asked Delia.

"He's at work, I suppose. I guess I should fix some supper for him. He'll be home soon."