27. Playing Games Isn’t Always Fun
Since the diagnosis I’ve been fixated on having my last Christmas, my 64th birthday, and seeing the beginning of the New Year. As each event came and went, I checked them off, mentally and verbally to anyone who was within hearing range. On New Year’s Day, I woke without a plan for the future.
I felt myself slipping into a funk — one I had to put on hold over and over and over again because friends and family blew up my cell phone with Happy New Year messages and congratulatory balloons and fireworks and popping champagne corks — all of which were appreciated, and all of which made it virtually impossible to slide headfirst into the doldrums. The real reason I never made it into the funk I really needed and wanted was because my favorite visitor arrived in her footed pajamas — the ones she’d stuffed into her winter boots for her trek next door. I squealed in excitement at her arrival. “Hadley’s here!”
Ever since I told my granddaughter the news, I’ve been waiting for her to broach the subject with me, and I’ve been asking Hannah if there have been any discussions at their house about the whole dying thing.
“The night you told her, she slept with me. She cried herself to sleep, woke up a few hours later and did the same thing, woke up a few hours later and said, ‘I don’t get it Mommy, she doesn’t even have white hair yet.’ That’s it. She hasn’t said anything else, but she’s been clingy and it takes a long time for her to fall asleep.”
I was beginning to worry that the little kid was pushing things too deep, so I asked Hannah if it’d be alright to broach the subject again, if the opportunity presented itself. She thought I should — so on New Year’s Day while Hadley was kicking my ass at a game of Snaps, I did some broaching. “Hey Hads.”
“Yeah.”
“Have you given any thought to what I told you?”
She looked up at me with immediate wet eyes and said, “That’s all I’ve been thinking about.”
A push of breath left me with my next words, “Oh, honey, are you really thinking about it all the time?”
“Mostly at night. I hear the words you said that night over and over and over again.”
Another push of breath and a question caught on a bit of emotion, “That must be upsetting.”
She nodded.
“What do you do, you know, to help soothe yourself?”
“Sometimes I call Mommy and crawl into her bed, but last night I hugged the monkey you gave me for Christmas, the one that has your voice saying our goodnight prayer. I pushed the button over and over and over again,” she said with big, plopping tears escaping from her beautiful blue eyes.
“Did that make you feel better?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Can we get back to the game, now?”
“Absolutely.”
“Looks like I’m gonna win again.”
“Undoubtedly.”
She won three games in a row.
And. Then. This. Happened.
“MammyGrams. Can you tell me about the life cycle?”
“Uh ……. Sure ……. I guess ……. Sure.”
A bit of silence.
An immediate sweat formed on my brow, and my hands showed a shake so I pushed them under my thighs. “So, you know how in spring trees bud, and flowers bud, and the grass starts to grow?”
“Not Gee’s grass,” she laughed.
I heard a chuckle from the kitchen where Jessica found herself held captive by ‘The Talk’ taking place in the living room. I ignored the chuckle and continued on. “Nope, Gee’s never been good in the grass-growing department.”
“I’ll say.”
Another chuckle from the kitchen.
“And he sings, all the time,” the little one said with the roll of her eyes.
A full-out guffaw came from the kitchen.
I sent a shut up cough Jessica’s way, then pulled the train back onto the tracks before Mr. Wonderful arrived at the station and heard his ‘Mini-Mammy’ flapping her jaws about his perpetual horticultural failure and his songbird tendencies — both of which he swears I purposefully told his grandchild so she’d occasionally toss the bombs his way. To which I reply that the child has ears and eyes, is as sharp as a tack, and needs no help from me.
I digress, as usual.
“So, back to the life cycle. The newness of springtime is like the newness of a person’s life. Leaves and flowers grow and new baby animals and birds are born, and just like human babies and toddlers they grow and learn things, so they’re ready for summer — the really fun season. During summer, tree buds turn to big leaves that fill the trees, and the flowers get really big and spread all along the stonewall.”
“And in my fairy garden.”
“Yes. You have such a lovely garden with all those new bulbs you and Mommy planted last year.”
“The purple Daylilies.”
“Mmm, they were so pretty. And they grew nice and tall, like you have from when you were a little girl.”
“Like Evie.”
“Yes, like Evie.”
We were interrupted by a phone call from Hannah suggesting Hadley return home for lunch. The grateful grandmother verbally shuffled her along.
The obedient child got to the door and said, “I’ll be back MammyGrams. Hold your thought.”
Jessica came from the kitchen, repeating Hadley’s words with a tone of amazement, “Hold your thought? She’s something else.”
A little background: Jessica is an ESL teacher currently working with elementary school-age children. I asked her what she thought about the way the conversation was going, so far.
“The seasonal life cycle is working, but when she gets back, don’t bring it up again. Let her decide if she wants to move away from the subject.”
“Gotcha.”
Hadley came back in a matter of minutes which is surprising because the kid is a v.e.r.y. s.l.o.w. e.a.t.e.r. She was no sooner in the door when she asked about fall.
Jessica was at the top of the stairs eavesdropping. She decided pretty quickly that she was done, and very quietly closed the door leaving me to handle this drama by myself.
I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat, then pushed in. “Oh, fall is a really wonderful season and it can be a really long season. I love the fall, it’s my most favorite time of year. In New England, it’s the most colorful season with big orange pumpkins, and really tall Sunflowers, and trees full of red apples, and the oak, elm, and maple tree branches burst with yellow, orange, and red leaves.”
“Is fall a good part of the life cycle for people?”
“Oh, I think so. In people’s lives it’s when they kind of have everything they want in life.”
“Like grandkids?”
“Like grandkids.”
There was a bit of silence — for which I was very grateful. Then Hadley moved us along.
“Wanna play Buckets, MammyGrams?”
“Sure.”
She quickly divided the snaps into two groups by color, “I’m red and you’re green, okay?”
It’s been that way every time we’ve played Buckets or any other game. If there’s a red thing to move, toss, or flip, it is Hadley’s.
“And the youngest goes first, okay?”
I smiled because she always goes first — and she always kicks my ass in most games — especially in Buckets. No matter what we are tossing, she always gets the most into the black bucket.
This time was no different.
Except. This. Happened.
“You’re near winter. And that’s when things die.”
I nodded.
She teared and walked toward me. I thought she was going to throw her arms around me as she’d been doing so often lately, but she sat on the floor near my legs and just leaned against them. A minute or so passed before she buried her head onto her knees.
I sat near and patted her head while she sobbed. I wanted to go back in time and not broach the subject, or encourage her to play another game of Buckets, but I knew she needed to break a little.
And now.
For the past few weeks, at unexpected times, a knock has come on the front door. Before I’d had the chance to say come in, my granddaughter was already in and had walked the room, wrapped her arms around my neck, and without a word she’d given me a hug and gone away.
I mentioned it to Hannah, “It’s like Hadley is stockpiling hugs.” Over Christmas break, she began coming in and extending her hand. The first time she did it I gave it a good old-fashioned handshake.”
“Nope. It’s a lever, push it down.”
I did as I was told.
She did a little twirl of her head and said, “Jackpot! Pick a number.”
I chose thirty.
She commenced a thirty hug session. If time allows, she comes in and extends her hand, and I choose a number — a really high number because I need to stockpile the hugs, too.
But back on that day.
After Hadley’s tearful little break, she lifted her head and said, “I really hate this.”
I nodded, “I really hate this, too.” I reached for her hands, and had her come stand near my chair. “There are certain things in life that can’t be changed, but there are thousands of things that can be changed.”
“Like what?”
“Like today. We’re both a little sad right now, but we don’t need to stay that way. We can go back to playing games and having fun.”
She nodded and headed to the front door.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
“To get, I Spy It. It’s a new game I got for Christmas, and I love it! And I’m gonna beat you at it.”
“I have no doubt!” I called after her.
Her reply was a delightful giggle. It made me cry a bit. And then she whooped my ass at her new game.