Chapter 17
Grace
“It’s been four days and I’m still ticked at Monica,” I said, then gently but firmly pulled Jamie’s left arm out from under his chin, pried open his clenched fist, and started to massage his hand.
Severe muscle tightness is one of the many problems patients in a persistent vegetative state suffer from. During my visits, I did what I could to stretch Jamie’s limbs and massage his muscles, and to change his position in bed. The staff at Landsdowne was very diligent about doing the same, and I credited their devotion for having helped Jamie avoid painful and potentially dangerous bedsores.
Helping with the exercises made me feel I was doing something tangible to keep Jamie comfortable and as healthy as possible. Also, it helped pass the time during our visits, gave me something to focus on when my conversation was met by silence and Jamie’s disconnected stare.
I uncurled his fingers, one by one, then made a fist and used my knuckles to massage his palm, imagining his response to my comments regarding Monica. He was always so measured in his reactions, so ready to forgive.
“I know, I know. She meant well. You’re right. I should forget about it and move on. But I’ve never been as good about that as you are, Jamie. Do you know that sometimes, I used to get mad because you never did?” I smiled, anticipating his answer. “Stupid, right? I know.
“You’re right. I’ll phone Monica later. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t called me before now—four days without hearing from her is practically a record. It’s been kind of a relief, though. No, not because we haven’t talked, but because I’ve been too busy to talk. Or do anything. Even visit you.
“That’s what really has me so upset,” I said, working my fingers over his, massaging each digit. “All I want is to take care of you, but the only way to do that is to work so hard that I don’t even have time to see you. How messed up is that?
“I’m so glad Gavin is leaving for his conference tomorrow. He’ll be out of the office for four whole days. Who knows what my schedule will be like when he comes back, but I’ll come visit you every day from now through Thursday, honey. Promise.”
I lifted his hand and pressed my lips to his palm, feeling a surge of love that brought tears to my eyes.
I know it’s hard for other people to understand why and how my love for Jamie endures undiminished. Sometimes I don’t understand it myself. But we’ve been through so much together, climbed so many mountains. Unless you’ve been through it yourself, you can’t understand the bond that surviving that kind of adversity builds between people.
In books and the movies, it’s the sweet times that fan the flame of love—a lazy picnic by the riverbank, the breathless run to the shelter of an ancient oak when the skies roil with unexpected thunder, the passionate kiss in the pouring rain. Jamie and I had our share of romantic moments too. I’m grateful for them. But it’s the battles you fight together that make two people one—the hardships, and failures, and occasional triumphs that cement your vows and teach you the meaning and practice of loving someone fully.
I pressed Jamie’s palm to my cheek. It was so warm.
Alicia knocked on the door. “Hey, Grace. I just wanted to check Jamie’s vitals. Is now an okay time?”
“Sure,” I said, and put down his hand. “We’re going to watch The Blues Brothers—it’s one of Jamie’s favorites—but it isn’t on for another fifteen minutes.”
Alicia wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Jamie’s arm. “My husband loves that one too. What is it about you guys?” she said, addressing the question to Jamie. “You can watch the same stuff over and over again. I can’t get through thirty minutes of a movie without falling asleep. Oh, and I wanted to tell you, Carrie just loves the doll clothes you made for her Barbie. That was so sweet of you. I don’t know how you find the time with all you’ve got on your plate.”
“Since I got this new job, I don’t. But you know me,” I said, tilting my head toward the half-sewn quilt block sitting on the nightstand by Jamie’s bed, a Wedding Bouquet block to commemorate our marriage, “if I wasn’t doing something with my hands I’d lose my mind. Anyway, it was fun. I haven’t made doll clothes for a long time. Gave me a chance to live out my fashion designer fantasy,” I said with a laugh.
“Well, Carrie was super excited. She drew a picture for me to give to you. It’s back in my office. I’ll bring it down later.”
I watched quietly while Alicia pumped the black bulb on the pressure cuff, let out the air, then tapped the result into a tablet. Next she took his pulse. When she put a new plastic guard onto the ear thermometer to take Jamie’s temperature, I said, “How is he?”
“Fine. His pulse is a tiny bit fast, but it’s not a big deal. I bet you’re just excited because Grace is here, right, Jamie? You missed her this week.”
The thermometer beeped. Alicia pulled it from Jamie’s ear, looked at the screen, and frowned.
“What?” I asked, feeling my own pulse quicken.
“He has a tiny temperature, that’s all. Ninety-nine degrees. Really, Grace. I’m sure it’s nothing. We’ll keep on top of it. He might be getting a cold, but this could also be because he’s excited that you’re here. I see that sometimes, especially in patients who don’t get a lot of visitors.
“Listen,” she said, seeing the concern in my eyes, “there are worse things than having your husband’s heart beat faster when you come into the room, right? The only thing Roger does when I come home is snore. Either that or turn the volume up on the TV. If you think about it, this is actually a good sign. It means he knows you’re here.”
Alicia said good night and told us to enjoy the movie. After she left I continued the massage, stretching out Jamie’s left arm and rubbing the muscles from wrist to shoulders. I worked in silence for a time, my eyes tearing up as I thought about what Alicia said.
Had Jamie felt my absence this week? Did he feel my presence now? The possibility made me feel guilty and elated at the same time—guilty because he might have thought I’d abandoned him and elated because, if what Alicia said was true, it meant that he was still in there somewhere.
Beyond food, water, warmth, and freedom from pain, the first and strongest desire we have is to be important to someone else, to be noticed. If you don’t believe me, go to a park or a playground. Watch the children, from three on up, showing off for one another and for their parents, shouting, “Look at me! Look at me!” From the very first, back when no one else could see me or hear me, Jamie did.
I moved to the other side of the bed and stretched out Jamie’s right arm.
“Jamie, do you remember Mrs. Babcock? Our civics teacher? She always wore that glittery peacock-blue eye shadow, all the way up to her brows. You remember. Did I ever tell you about what she said to me, just a couple months before graduation?”
I paused for a moment, as I always do, giving him space to respond.
“Well, she stopped me when I was coming out of the library and asked what I was going to do after graduation. I said, ‘Get a job,’ which seemed obvious to me. When that answer didn’t seem to satisfy her, I told her I was saving up for a car too.
“And then she said, ‘Grace, listen to me. Instead of working to buy a car, invest in yourself. Use the money to take some classes at the community college. It’s much less expensive than a university and later, if you decide to get a four-year degree, the credits will transfer. But even a two-year associate’s degree could make a big difference in your life and future.’
“I told her I’d think about it, and she said she hoped I would, that I was a bright girl. Then she squeezed my shoulder and said, ‘By the way, I don’t know what you’re doing, but whatever it is, keep on doing it. You look wonderful!’ ”
I paused again, not to leave space for Jamie to respond, but because, even now, after all this time, the memory stung.
“In the moment, I was happy. And, of course, I said thank you. Mrs. Babcock was a nice person, a good teacher. But later that night, I started thinking—if I was so bright, why hadn’t she said anything before? Why did I have to lose fifty pounds before she took the time to encourage me?
“And it wasn’t just Mrs. Babcock. Before I lost the weight, everybody looked right through me, which was a pretty good trick considering how big I was. How ironic was it that, the littler I got, the more people could see me?
“Except you. You were different, Jamie. And I loved you for it. I still do. I always will.” I closed my eyes and kissed the top of his head, burying my lips in his thick brown hair, the one part of him that seemed undiminished since the fall.
“I see you,” I whispered, lifting my head and looking into his vacant eyes. “Can you see me?
“Because I miss that, Jamie. More than anything else, I miss being visible.”