Losing My Place in the Book of My Life

One Wednesday night in 2009, I had just finished washing my face in the bathroom sink. I was drying my face in the towel hanging from the shower curtain bar when I heard a voice say, very clearly, "Your mother is going to email you and tell you that your grandmother has died."

My face was totally buried in the towel when whoever it was announced this. I knew I was alone in the house, but still, I stepped back and looked all around the small bathroom. Who said that? It was a male voice, and a bland one. Not deep, or scratchy, or anything, and no particular inflection. Just a very neutral statement from a very neutral voice that definitely wasn't my own.

I walked into my room and sat down on the bed. Looked at the clock. It said 9:55 pm. I thought things over. My grandmother was in her 80s, and lived 200 miles away, in the same city as my mom and stepfather. She'd recently moved to a retirement home, where she'd promptly started a residents' committee and been elected its first president.

She was in fabulous health, was sharp as a tack, and was absolutely living her best life now that she was free from having to host and cater to her husband and adult kids and grandchildren. This was finally her time, and she was making the most of it. Once a month, I'd drive home and visit everybody. I had seen her just 3 weeks ago. We had watched a nature documentary on her brand-new high-definition TV. She just could not get over how clear and sharp the picture was. She was doing great, making friends, and having fun.

I decided that the voice had been some kind of mental blister that had popped inside my head. Not only was it factually incorrect about my vibrant grandmother being near death, it also was clueless about how things work. No one's mother is going to *email* them about their grandmother's death, for crying out loud. My brain had just come up with some random weirdness, as brains often do.

The next afternoon, I was at work when my cellphone rang. It was my stepfather calling to tell me that he'd dropped my mom and grandmother at the emergency room that morning because my grandmother reported feeling a little dizzy when the 2 of them stopped by.

He told me that they'd admitted grandmom to the hospital to run some tests on her just in case, because she's old. All the tests had come back totally clear, grandmom was in great health, and he was leaving to pick them both up soon, because mom had let him know that they were about to be discharged. She would have told me this herself, he said, but her cell reception at the hospital was spotty. And the only reason he was telling me about any of this in the first place was because that's the kind of family we are. He just wanted me to know.

I thanked him for updating me and reassured him that based on his report, I wasn't too concerned. Then, I laughed. "That is SO weird," I said. I described what had happened the night before, finishing the story with a joke about my "psychic abilities" being wonky. 

"The voice said my mom would email me about death," I told him, "but it should have said my stepfather would call me about hospital. The only thing it got right was the grandmother part."

He laughed, too, and said that I should call my mom that evening if I needed more info, or just wanted to talk. I told him that I was fine, and I'd probably just wait until tomorrow because they'd had a busy day. I thanked him again, told him I loved him, and hung up.

About 20 minutes later, I called the hospital and asked to be transferred to my grandmother's room phone. I almost didn't do this, and the reason I did had nothing at all to do with worry, or the weird voice from the night before. If my overly cautious mother was not concerned, then everything was fine. 

The reason I did it was because this was a super-easy way to score big brownie points with mom, and to begin to make up for when I was a teen. She'd be so impressed by what a sweet and thoughtful daughter I'd managed to become, and it would also make my grandmother proud of her daughter for doing such a good job raising me. And, all cunning and mostly joking manipulation aside, I felt bad for them. A surprise visit to the hospital sucks. I knew that a call would cheer them both up.

And it sure did. After explaining to my mom that my stepfather had updated me and warned me about her spotty cell service (which was why I called the hospital phone), and after listening to mom reassure me about grandmom and gush about what a good daughter I am, she told me she'd let me get back to work. She knew I was busy, and my stepfather had just arrived. They were about to be discharged. 

"Your grandmother says hello and that she loves you. She's sitting in the chair right next to me, waving at the phone. She says she can't wait to watch more nature documentaries when you show up here next week."

"If she's sitting right there, how about you pass the phone to her so I can tell her I love her," I said.

"OK, but please be quick. It's been a long day, and we want to get out of here."

I intended to be quick, but then, thinking about the night before (which only my stepfather knew about), and figuring better safe than sorry, I told grandmom some things that I'd never told her before. 

"Hey, grandmom, I know you're fine, and I'm not worried about you. But something like this makes you realize that you never do know, right? And so, I want to make sure you know how much I love you, and how important to me you've always been. You really helped me grow up, both by caring so much for me, and by giving me such a great mom. I'm so thankful for you, and you are the best grandmother ever. If you ever wonder if anyone really loves you, and if your life makes a difference, I do, and it does."

This was an uncharacteristic outburst for me, and my grandmother took it to mean that I was really scared for her. "Oh honey," she said, sounding exactly like herself, "That is so sweet to hear, and I love you, too. But you don't need to worry about me one bit. I am just fine. You should see all the holes they poked in me with all those tests! They said I am healthy as a horse. You go on back to work, and you don't forget that I love you. And you are a great granddaughter, too, but you know that."

"Thanks, grandmom. I'll see you next week, and we'll watch some more frog shows, or something. I love you."

"I love you too, honey," she said. "Always will."

An hour later, I was at my desk when my cell phone rang once and then went quiet. The screen said it was my mom. "Another butt dial," I thought. These were comically frequent occurrences with mom, and were the source of much "OK Boomer" teasing.

But then, a new message popped up on the work email client on the screen right in front of me. 

"Robin," mom said, "I am so sorry to email you at work. I tried to call but can't get a signal, and I need you to know in case you're looking for me later. 

"We were walking to the car in the hospital parking lot when grandmom had a massive stroke, and she has died. She went really fast, Robin, and did not suffer at all. I'm so sorry, but I'm so glad you got to talk to her. You're a good girl, honey. 

"We're going to be at the hospital for a while yet. I'll call you first thing tomorrow if it's too late when we get back tonight. Your stepdad's with me and I'm all right. Hopefully you get this. I hate to tell you this by email. I just didn't want you to worry if you couldn't reach us. 

"I love you honey, and so did grandmom. Mom."

-

I had an ex who used to say that sometimes, the "spirit windows" get left open a crack, and the breeze they let in rifles the pages in the book of your life. When you sit back down to read, you find yourself a few pages ahead or behind, and you have to flip around a bit to get back to where you left off.

This ex was an asshole, which explains why he's an ex. But analogies like this one explain why I dated him in the first place, and why I stayed much longer than my grandmother would have wanted me to. I think this is a perfect description of what I and so many others experience from time to time.

The sensible among us know that time is a linear thing, with a beginning, a middle, and an end. "Just like a novel!" they'd say. But even the most rational people know that sometimes, when we pick up that book we're right in the middle of, it takes just a minute to find our place in the story.