Hope, Inherited.

The luxurious blue bathrobe hung on its hook next to the shower. The tag the nursing home had placed on it to label it as her grandmother’s still stuck beneath the brand label, one Eliza didn’t recognize. She didn’t inherit much from Daphne Brown, as the name tag indicated, but her parents had offered her this robe when they moved her from her own room in the nursing home to one with a roommate. As she stepped out of the shower, dried, and hustled into the warmth of the robe, Eliza’s thoughts floated to her Gram, as they often did.

What must it be like to be 85 years old and to be assigned a roommate; to dedicate your life to the care and service of your family, and to end up living with a total stranger? Eliza felt guilty for how little she visited Gram, and it was only compounded when Covid prohibited visitors. Gram had tested positive at the beginning, and seemed to be one of the ‘lucky’ ones. Her fatigue never really went away, though, and a few months later she was gone. Now, wrapped head to toe in a color she wouldn’t have chosen for herself, regret washed over Eliza. The cards, the pictures, the phone calls that went unanswered…none of it could make up for her grandmother dying alone, without any family. Grief feels even heavier when it is accompanied by guilt.

A few days after Gram died, Eliza’s dad brought over a small notebook. She recognized the smooth black cover of the book, often seeing it, or its identical predecessors on the table next to Gram’s couch. The pages weren’t yet filled, and Dad thought it might be fun for Eliza’s 3-year-old, Penny, to color in. Pen had taken to playing “restaurant” with it, scribbling down orders only to tell her “customers” that they’d run out of whatever food they’d ordered. After the last several months, a restaurant was the most exciting place a 3-year-old could imagine.

“Pen, it’s time to clean up, hand mommy your order book” (a funny habit of parents of young kids is adopting whatever obvious name they give their play-things). Penny offered up her book and pen to Eliza. As she was rifling through she noticed something. This looks like my handwriting. It was a phone number, and after staring for a few minutes, she concluded, this is my handwriting. Gram asked me to take it down for her…years ago. Has she really not filled a notebook since then? Gram had suffered from dementia, but the scope of it was only beginning to become clear. Curious, Eliza typed the number into her phone. She didn’t recognize it, but figured it was an aunt or an uncle, and that it would come up under the number once she placed it in her phone. However, nothing came up.

A quick google search showed the number belonged to someone named Phil Cameron. It rang a bell, but Eliza couldn’t place it. She’d ask her dad the next time they talked.

......

“Phil Cameron – yes! He was your Gram’s neighbor for about ten years. After we kids were all gone and your grandfather passed away, Phil and Nancy moved in…they had horses…you remember seeing those? You were little when they decided to move to Florida full-time.”

Eliza’s Dad spoke on the phone in a surprisingly unemotional way just a few days after stopping by her house. He had had tears in his eyes, which were already red to suggest earlier crying. Still, this information was enlightening.

“Can you think of any reason Gram would have been in contact with him in recent years?” Why she would have asked me to write down his phone number?”

Eliza’s memory was being jogged…her dad didn’t have any ideas, but as she marinated on their conversation later, she began to remember that day with Gram. Her black book had been a fresh one, and she’d been eager to fill it. Something Eliza and Gram had shared was a love for writing, especially in a fresh paper-and-leather-scented notebook. But why didn’t she fill it? Fuzzy details were taking shape. Eliza was still in high school at the time, staying at Gram’s house with her parents for Christmas. Gram had walked in from the kitchen holding the cordless phone to her ear. Still talking to whoever was on the other end, she began to gush, “oh my goodness…such kindness…but you know I don’t need that. Perhaps I could defer it to someone else? Yes…I have someone in mind. Okay, okay, just a second…is this the best number to reach you?” He must have said no, because Gram had handed Eliza her notebook and asked her to write down a different number. She looked at her granddaughter and said, “it’s for Phil Cameron,” as though Eliza should remember the name.

......

Wearing the blue bathrobe for comfort and courage, Eliza dialed the number written in the book.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice answered immediately.

“Hi, I’m calling to speak to Phil Cameron…?”

“This is his wife, Nancy.”

“Hi, yes…my name is Eliza Costello. I am Daphne Brown’s granddaughter.”

“Eliza, oh my goodness, yes! I remember seeing you across the way when you were a little girl! You were always quite afraid of our horses. How is your grandmother?”

“I’m sorry to say that she passed away recently…I was actually calling because I found your husband’s name and phone number written down in one of her notebooks, and I think she may have wanted me to call him?”

Nancy explained that Phil wasn’t in at that moment, but that she had remembered Eliza’s name coming up in a conversation he’d had with her grandmother. She took down Eliza’s number and said she’d have Phil call back as soon as he was in.

......

Eliza didn’t take the bathrobe off the entire afternoon, even as she was sweating playing with her children, waiting for Phil’s call. At 4:05 p.m., her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Eliza? This is Phil Cameron…listen thank you for calling me…I’m so sorry to hear about Daphne.”

“Thank you…it is a weird time to lose someone. The funeral was so small, and no one hugged anyone else. Am I crazy for calling you, was there a reason she had me write down your name and number in her notebook?”

“Yes, that must have been tough, I’m so sorry. You are not crazy. I believe your Gram did intend for us to be in touch someday. She wanted me to give you $20,000.”

Eliza was silent on the other end of the line.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes, just a little confused.”

“Let me explain. That day, when I was on the phone with your Gram, I had offered her $20,000. You probably don’t know this, but she had generously purchased one of our horses and paid for some of its care when my wife was going through an extreme bout of depression. I’m not sure why she decided to do it, other than that she was an extremely generous woman and knew that my wife could use a bright spot in her life after our daughter was killed in a car accident. A few years later, we were in a much better financial and emotional spot, and wanted to pay her back. She had refused to accept the payment, but suggested that it be given to you after you turned 21. I didn’t think to take down your info or age at the time, and I never heard from Daphne how or when to give you the money, so I just continued to wait. I tried calling the number I had for her, but it had been disconnected.”

“Gram suffered from dementia, beginning when I was 20, and she was moved to a nursing home shortly after that. She probably forgot that she had talked to you at all. I’m 26 now.”

“I am so sorry to hear about the dementia. But I am so thankful that you found my number anyway. Now we can repay our debt to such a generous and thoughtful woman.”

......

A few days later when the bank transfer went through, Eliza sat in her blue bathrobe sipping coffee. She still couldn’t figure out why Gram had kept that black notebook, unfilled, in her room when she’d died. Eliza’s best and most hopeful guess was that she’d meant to share the news of her gift with Eliza on many occasions, always keeping hold of the notebook for the next time she’d visit. But on such an occasion, since they were rare, Gram would already have forgotten why she put the notebook out.

Maybe all of those cards and letters had made a difference after all. Maybe upon seeing Eliza’s name signed on a card, or looking at a picture drawn by her great-granddaughter, Penny, Daphne had thought to pull out the black notebook, gone to dial Eliza’s number, and forgotten why she’d picked up the phone. The most generous gift of all wasn’t the $20,000, although that would change things for Eliza. No, the most generous gift was that of hope…hope that her Gram had seen the cards, had known that Eliza and her family had been thinking of her, and had died in peace, knowing that she wasn’t alone.