Triple G

Jesse shoved his hand into his cargo-pants pocket before he approached her. It was still there, small and comforting, her birthday gift to him. One year ago, today, Jesse and his great-great-great grandmother surprised each other with identical, small, black notebooks for their shared birthday. He’d been 17. She was still feisty at 97.

“Oh, Triple G,” he said. “What will I do when you leave?” He looked down at her, then took off his letterman jacket and hung it on the back of a nearby chair. “You always loved to see me wear this, didn’t you?” Jesse pulled the little black book from his pocket. Using the squarish pen clipped to the notebook, Jesse recorded the date on the last page and stared at Helen, as she lay in her bed, unresponsive, yet breathing easily.

With a stuttering breath, Jesse flipped to the first page of his book, took a deep, steadying breath and began to read aloud. “TRIPLE G, for as long as I remember, you always made me open my birthday gift first. I remember you said that Mama gave you the best gift in the world, when I was born on your birthday.” He stopped reading and spoke to her. “You warned me to be concise. Told me to write in my book every day and make it last a full year. I wonder. Were you planning to give me another one this year? I’ll never stop recording my days, but I can’t promise to limit them to one or two lines.”

Pausing only when Miranda, the hospice caregiver, came in to check on Helen, Jesse read memories he’d made with Helen since their last birthday. He recalled taking her for drives to small towns, searching for something unique in each one. Some dates were accompanied by one word, such as coffeeshop, while others consumed whole pages. When Jesse flipped to the last page, he closed the notebook, securing it with the elastic band, as he stood up. “It’s too early to write today’s memory.”

He walked over to Helen’s bed and sat near her frail body, lifting her hand. He leaned over for the bottle of lotion and softly massaged some into her hand, in silence. Jesse repeated this for her other hand, and with a feather-light touch, he applied the lavender-scented lubricant onto her face, before he brought the light blanket up over her head. He smiled as he quickly brought it down below her chin.

“I remember when you used to play peek-a-boo with me like this, when I was a kid. Can’t remember a day of my life without you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Wish you could stay. I know Mom, Dad, Grandma, and G-ma will be happy to see you, but I don’t want you to leave me. Not today.”

“Hey, Jesse,” Miranda said, as she walked into the room. “I want to give her a sponge bath, before Cara’s shift. Would you check the mail on your way out? I haven’t done that, yet.”

“Sure.” Jesse grabbed his jacket and closed the bedroom door as he left. At the mailbox, he found only a brown envelope, addressed to him, with no return address. He took the envelope to the car and opened it to find nothing inside but a notebook like his, but less worn. Inside, next to the book’s, “In case of loss,” he saw Helen’s calligraphy stating that the black notebook should be returned to Jesse. “What’s this?” Jesse decided to take a short walk, instead of a long drive. He sat on a bench in the flower garden that he and Helen had called the perfect thinking place. He opened the book and began reading. Occasionally, he stopped to watch the bees and butterflies competing for space on the sunflowers and zinnias, then he’d resume reading.

Like Jesse’s book, every blank space in Helen’s had been filled with memories of the past year. Some pages told stories with doodles and sketches while others used words and some, near the back, cradled receipts, flowers, leaflets, and ticket stubs. Jesse knew the meanings behind these unspoken memories. He also knew that on the days Helen didn’t write or draw, she had not felt strong enough to hold her pen. Yet she found a way to commemorate each day. He didn’t need to look at the dates to understand how her notebook told the story of her last year of life.

When he checked the time, he’d only been away thirty minutes. Jesse stood and looked toward the house, slipping Helen’s journal into his unoccupied pocket. He pulled a few weeds from the rosemary and broke off a sprig. He went to the garden shed for the shears and cut some flowers, then he cut some more. By the time he’d finished, his arms were filled with a rainbow of colors, so he returned the shears and went inside to the kitchen, where he arranged two vases, overflowing with flowers.

Since the door to Helen’s room was open, Jesse walked in with both vases. He set one on Helen’s dresser as Miranda stood from where she’d been resting in the chair. Jesse handed the other vase to Miranda. “These are for you. How’s she doing?”

Miranda smiled. “Well, you know how she is. Always bragging about her birthday boy. She gave me something for you, a couple days before she slipped into dreamland.” Miranda pulled a folded piece of paper from her scrubs’ pocket. “Here. She said I should hold it until your birthday. You know. In case she couldn’t.”

“Thanks.” Jesse took the paper and rubbed his fingers on either side of it. He looked at Miranda.

“I didn’t read it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Miranda shook her head. “Almost washed it a few times, but I never read it.”

“It’s not that,” Jesse said. “It’s just that—” He rubbed his fingers over the paper’s edge and unfolded it. “It’s the last of her detachable pages. She always gave me important advice on these and once told me she wished they came with more than just eight.” Jesse walked over to Helen’s side and whispered, “I’ll be in the garden,” then kissed her forehead and set the rosemary on her pillow.

Back on the bench, Jesse read the note his great-great-great grandmother had written. Her handwriting was shaky, but artful.

“My precious birthday boy, it took eighty years for you to come into my life, and I’ve loved every moment, starting before your mother placed you in my arms, eighteen years ago. You and I have experienced much happiness and deep grief together. A drunk driver took away my only daughter, my granddaughter, my great-granddaughter, and your father in one horrible moment. I’ve never known such loss, such agony. But you, my darling boy, so very young and so brave, you lost them, too. I’m so grateful you were safe, with your team. Thank you for being strong enough and smart enough to keep us both going. I needed you more than you needed me. Without you, I might have simply grieved myself into an early grave. Speaking of graves, I know mine calls, but I couldn’t go without celebrating one last birthday with you. My last, and your first as an adult. Miranda and Cara helped me create my final scavenger hunt for you. You’ll find hints in the book you will have received by now. Be discerning. I will always believe in you. Love, Triple G.”

Jesse stood up to pull the notebook out of his pocket and paced as he searched for hints. He ran back to the house and rushed to Helen’s room. He held the book out to Miranda. “A little help?”

“Sorry. She said you needed to find them yourself,” Miranda said.

Jesse sighed. “Not fair!” He looked back at Helen. “You never went easy on me, did you?” He smiled and blew her a kiss. “I guess I have some work to do.”

“Cara might be here when you return.”

“You mean it’s not here in the house?”

Miranda said, “Oops! I guess I let out one little hint. Sorry.”

Jesse smiled and found a comfortable place to search Helen’s journal for clues and when he saw a receipt tucked in the book, he drove to the coffeeshop where he and Helen often went. He sipped his coffee as he read and re-read Helen’s memories. He compared them to entries in his own diary and by the time he’d finished his cup, he noticed one entry where he and Helen had written the same word: Anniversary. It had been written on the day his entire family, except for Helen, died in a fiery crash as they had all driven to Jesse’s game, five years earlier. Helen had remained home due to the weather. Jesse returned his cup and drove to where his family’s cremains rested.

He sat on a granite bench, and looked around. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. Nobody answered, but Jesse shivered as he watched a man replace flowers on a grave. After the man left, Jesse went to the columbarium and touched the faceplates on his family’s niches. “You know,” he said, “Triple G won’t be here much longer and then, I’ll be truly alone. Couldn’t one of you have survived?”

Jesse stepped in front of his father’s niche and touched the letters of his name. As he started to step over to touch his mother’s faceplate, he hesitated. He pulled the flowers out of the vase attached to his father’s niche. “Nothing.” He returned the flowers and glanced around before he emptied two more vases, again, finding them empty. “G-ma, maybe you have something for me.” Jesse put his palm on his great-great grandmother’s niche. “Please, tell me you have Triple G’s hint.” He pulled the flowers out of the vase and looked inside. “Empty, too?” When he started to return the flowers, he saw one had a small white paper wrapped around it, secured with a rubber band. “Bingo!” His voice echoed. He quickly replaced the flowers and when he took the paper from its stem, he noticed something inside.

Jesse hurried outside and looked back. “Thank you!” He unfolded the paper to discover it was an envelope with a key and a note guiding him to an address. He arrived just before they closed. As he completed the errand according to Helen’s directions, his phone rang. “Cara? Is she okay?”

Cara said, “Not much has changed, but I think you’ll want to come home. I’m certain she’s waiting for you. It could be hours, or just a few minutes.”

Jesse fought tears as he walked into Helen’s room. “Triple G, I got your gift. But I’d rather have you. Please, don’t go. I have so much to say.”

“Keep talking,” Cara said. “She can hear you.”

“Triple G, it’s our birthday. You gave me this house and $20,000? Why?”

Helen’s eyes fluttered. She whispered, “I will always love you.” Then her eyes gently closed for the final time.

Jesse fell to his knees, unable to contain the flood of tears he had been holding all day.

Cara stepped over and placed a stethoscope on Helen’s chest. She looked at Jesse, placed her hand on his shoulder, and said softly, “She’s gone.”

With a deep breath, Jesse whispered. “Not really. I can still feel her presence here.”

Cara nodded, as she walked toward the door. “Of course, Jesse. Her memories will keep you strong.”

Jesse looked up from Helen and saw the colors of the sunset flickering on the ceiling. He walked over, opened the curtains to find the night had settled in and the sun was long past setting. He glanced up and watched the colorful lights dancing until they rested near the flowers Jesse had picked earlier. He sat on the floor near Helen’s bed, opened his journal and started writing.