A Visit from Grandpa

“Grandpa came for a visit today,” I heard a familiar voice behind me say. I was bending down to pick up the clothes basket of soiled sheets and nightgowns in my grandma’s room. I had thought she was sleeping and was trying to be quiet.

“You gave me a start, grandma,” I said as I stood and faced her with my biggest smile.

“Sorry, Charlie,” grandma said. She was at least in good spirits it seemed. My name is Jack and “sorry, Charlie” is something grandma was fond of saying when she wasn’t completely sorry.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Who was here to visit?” I wasn’t sure I heard right.

“Grandpa,” she said. My heart sank a little. I was hoping she was more herself today. Lung cancer took gramps from us nearly 4 years prior. Grandma did OK the first year, but the depression set in and soon after came the diagnosis… Alzheimer’s. Some days were good, but the bad days were more and more frequent.

“Oh?” I said. I never wanted to push reality on her. My mom would try to gently remind her that gramps had passed or that she wasn’t in her retirement home in Billings anymore.

We moved grandma to the ranch not long after grandpa had passed. Mom wanted her to be closer so we could make sure she wasn’t alone and she hired a nurse to come during the week to help with with medications as well as monitor grandma’s health. Knowing how stubborn my mom could be, grandma didn’t put up much of a fuss. I also think she wanted to come stay with us more than she let on. My aunt Rene, on the other hand, put up a fuss. She and mom had a few heated encounters over what was best for grandma. Rene lived in Lewiston. In her mind, grandma would have been better in assisted living so as not to be too much for any of us to handle and to make sure she had adequate access to emergency services. Of course, the facility she was suggesting was just a few blocks from her house. Mom had said Rene was more concerned about getting what she thought she deserved than taking care of grandma. I was inclined to believe her since Rene had always fought with grandma. The family feud was settled when grandma told Rene she was able to make up her own mind and she was going to stay with Wanda, my mom. She still had all her faculties so that was that.

We had plenty of room. The house was 5 bedrooms and three and half baths. One of the bedrooms was what mom called an in-law suite. It had its own bathroom and a little kitchen. The ranch was only 100 acres and just over 50 miles from Harlowton, Mt. where there was a hospital. It wasn’t like we were so far from civilization that we couldn’t get help in a reasonable amount of time. The ranch had been bigger when Grandpa Chase had still been around. Dad didn’t work the ranch after a riding accident left him with a permanent limp and the need for a cane to walk. He sold a good chunk of the ranch and hired a man name Gary Trimble to manage what was left. We still had a decent sized herd. I was grateful for Gary. I had no plans to be a rancher. I wanted to be writer.

“Where did you see grandpa?” I asked.

Grandma lifted a frail arm and pointed out the window. “Just there,” she said, “perched on that fence post.”

I looked out the window at the wood fence that surrounded the house except at the driveway. It was for looks more than keeping anything in or out. We didn’t have a gate, the fence just ended on either side of the drive. It was something mom had wanted. Dad’s family were the ranchers and Mom’s family were merchants. According stories my gramps used to tell, there was a Hitchens running the mercantile in Billings since the town started. I tried to trace the family tree, but I couldn’t confirm this was true. I chose to believe him anyway. Grandma said that her family had moved out west from Ohio when she was a little girl. She was too young to remember the trip.

“Perched?” I said.

“Yes, big old barn owl just sitting there staring at me,” she said. “I know it was Ike. He wants me to go to him.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Grandma looked at me. Her eyes were pale grey, fogged over with cataracts. “I’m not senile, Jack,” she said.

“I didn’t say that, Grandma,” I said.

“I know Ike passed away a long time ago,” she said. “You think I don’t, but I do. I’m tired, little one, and I’m ready.”

“Grandma, you’re going to be around a good while longer,” I said. In my heart I wasn’t so sure, but I was trying to be upbeat.

“Don’t you worry about it, Jack,” She said. “I’ll be fine. Ike will come back in that owl and guide me home. Go on do what your mama asked ya and leave me to rest.”

I picked up the laundry basket and left grandma staring out the window.

I loaded the washer and made my way to the kitchen, where I could smell lunch was cooking. I sat down at the small table in the center of the kitchen and pulled out my smartphone to check emails. I was waiting on confirmation from my agent that my newest book had been picked up. Mom was at the stove frying potatoes. The smells brought fond memories of me and my brother doing homework at the table while mom made dinner. Dad cooked, too. Mom was one of the best real estate agents in the county so she was often out showing properties. It was memories of her cooking, though, that were playing in my mind like home movies. I started to hear the film flipping, as if it had reached the end of the real, just like when gramps would play his old movies. It grew louder and I realized it was mom snapping her fingers at me.

I looked up and said, “Yeah?”

“Yeah?” Mom repeated. “You can’t hear me talking to you?”

“Sorry, mom,’ I said, “I’m waiting on Larry Hudgens to get back to me about my new book. What did you say?”

“Did she mention grandpa to you?” Mom asked, nodding her head towards the hall leading to the in-law suite.

“Yeah, big barn owl on a fence,” I said. “I think she’s getting worse.”

“I dunno,” mom said, “could have been him. Dad loved barn owls. They were his favorite bird.”

“That’s probably why she associated it with him, mom,” I said. “Certainly you don’t think it was really grandpa out there.”

“Why not?” mom said.

“Because it was just an owl,” I said.

“Could’ve been his spirit,” mom said. “You know they believe that sort of stuff. People visit as spirit animals.”

“I know she did,” I said. “I don’t think gramps did. Besides… you know that isn’t real. People don’t come back as ghosts, much less as spirit animals.”

“I don’t know how you write those books about ghosts and vampires and scary things, but don’t believe in anything spiritual,” she said.

“Supernatural,” I said, “and I don’t believe in them, sure, but I like to imagine a world where they do exist.”

“If you say so,” mom said. She turned back to her taters.

“You doing kielbasa, too?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm,” she said. I could tell she was annoyed with me. I should have humored her, but she probably would have seen through it and would have been more angry than annoyed.

“Where is Evelyn?” I asked.

“Sunday, Jack,” mom said, “she’s off today.”

“Oh, right,” I said.

I want back to my emails. The owl and grandma’s believing it was grandpa was stored away in my brain to be forgotten later. I sat with mom and dad and ate lunch before heading into Judith Gap to see some high school friends. It was late by the time I returned and I was bushed. I went straight to bed. When I woke up the next morning, mom was in the family room sobbing. Dad had his arm around her and Evelyn, the nurse, took my hand and pulled me onto the porch.

“Your grandma, passed, Jack,” she said. It hurts just as much when you know it is coming. It was especially hard because I was sure it was going to be a few years before she moved on. I walked back inside and sat with mom while dad called my brother and Aunt Rene with the news.

We were told grandma died in her sleep of “natural causes”. The truth was she was 92 years old and in poor health so no autopsy was performed. The brief examination done by the family doctor led him to believe it had been a stroke. Later, mom would say that grandma wanted to be with grandpa. I like to think that is true.

The funeral was held at the ranch. We had a family cemetery on the property and Pastor Vaughn came to say a few words. My aunt and her husband were there. My cousins couldn’t make it in from Orlando. My brother, Mike made the drive from Helena with his wife, Claire, and their daughter Jacqueline. It was a cold February day, but we had sun and no snow. Neighbors, friends, and family from around the state came and helped put on a big spread at the house. Condolences were spoken, hugs given, and tears shed. I had been close to grandma. She would tell me stories of growing up in a wilder Montana than the one I knew. Gramps did, too. Mike never wanted to have much to do with them. It wasn’t that he didn’t love them, but he was more into his friends and football. I stood just inside the doorway to the covered back porch watching loved ones console each other and eat food and tell funny stories about grandma. I was low. I hadn’t thought her loss would have had such an impact on me, but as I watched everyone talking, eating, laughing, crying, and seeming to cope, I had to get some space. I needed to be alone.

I walked down the hall to where I last spoke to my grandmother. Her things were already moved out and all the medical stuff was packed and sitting in corner. There would be someone coming to pick it up later. I walked around the bed and sat down. It was then I noticed something. There were two white apple-shaped faces staring at me through the window. I smiled at the two large barn owls perched on the fence outside. The both seemed to nod their heads at me before taking to the air. I watched them until they disappeared into the cold Montana sky.