2004-"Nanny"

On a balmy July night in 1982, her left knee gave out. She fell, more from shock than from anything else. She rose, unharmed to her knowledge.Now generally speaking, the knee is not the most vital of all body parts. A lung going out, for example, would cause pandemonium of sorts. But a knee? Simply a doctor's visit, an "Apple a Day" speech, and a $10 bill to the smiling receptionist named Sue. After all, a knee's just a knee.
*****
Her eyes began having problems focusing. She had a cataract in her left eye and her perfect 20/20 vision was suddenly not so. For the first time in 82 years, she would have to rest blue plastic-rimmed frames on the tip of her nose.
She didn't mind. They went perfectly with her short white hair, favorite blue pantsuit and pearls.
*****
Born in Germany in the early 1900's, Esther moved to California when she was six, accompanied by mother, father, brother and sister. Upon arriving in America and facing financial struggle, her mother turned to sewing for a living and her minister father turned to alcohol. He died several years later, they would joke, of severe alcoholism and weak liver.
She went to school and excelled, fascinated but limited. She met her future husband Benjamin Prather there, became a registered nurse in Des Moines, and gave birth to three children, Robert, Dee and Kay. As their lives progressed, Esther learned a little something extra about her husband. He, like her father, was a raging alcoholic. She filed for divorce, something almost unheard of at the time, and neither she nor her three children ever spoke to Benjamin again. He was rumored to have died from cirrhosis of the liver two years later.
*****
After all three of her children moved to California, Esther decided it was for the best if she made the move out west too. She settled into a house on Peach Street, where, unbeknownst to her at the time, she would spend the rest of her life. Friends, family and nurses would come and go from that little house, but she would never live in a retirement or nursing home. Before her death, she would joke that this was simply for the fact that she couldn't drive herself there. She had never learned how.
*****
The best description of Esther was vivacious until the end. She would talk about current events and politics till the sun rose. She would feed her great-grandchildren gummy bears when their parents weren't looking, and dress-up Barbies and set up obstacles for G.I Joes. She would joke with the adults about her age and about the day that she would need a wheelchair to roll through airport terminals.
*****
At first it had just been her left knee. Then the pain spread up and down her left leg like tar, slowly and slickly maneuvering itself so that her leg would never feel quite the same. It moved on to her right leg. It wasn't easy to get out of bed anymore. What used to be a day -to-day routine had suddenly become a day-to-day struggle. Where it might have taken five minutes to stretch and reach for her glasses, it was now taking forty-five.
*****
Once the doctors diagnosed her with a failing circulatory system, she understood why, ever since that fateful July day, her legs had been bothering her. Blood simply wasn't being distributed where it needed to be. The doctors warned her this would be a hurdle she could never completely overcome. A major blood vessel in her leg would need to be replaced, and even then walking would never be the same. She would never want to shop again. She would have a hard time strolling the block for exercise. She would need a wheelchair to roll through terminals.
*****
The replaced blood vessel didn't help much. She hired a nurse who came by twice a week to monitor her, grocery shop for her, and make sure she had everything she needed.
Kay spoke with the nurse one afternoon while Esther was napping. The nurse informed her that she had found Esther in the bathroom on this particular morning, sitting on the toilet seat. She had gone to the restroom two hours earlier, and had never been able to get up following. She was stunned Kay didn't know just how bad Esther had been feeling.
Kay hired the nurse full-time to stay with her mother. She and her husband Bob paid for the expensive nurse, partly because they would have anyways, and partly because of those Reader's Digest assholes.
*****
She loved Reader's Digest. With every donation she made to them, she asked that they write her back to tell her where her money was being applied. For fifteen years she wrote once a month and everytime she sent a five-dollar donation. The checks were cashed. No reply letter was ever sent.
After she died, Kay found copies of her letters and donations under Esther's bed, like a little girl keeps old copies of love-letters. She called the Reader's Digest National Office and informed them that her completely broke, elderly mother had continued to send them money and letters for fifteen years with no reply. They said they were sorry and sent her a year's subscription.
Reader's Digest doesn't seem to be on the stands much these days. Hopefully they filed for bankruptcy and then went to hell.
*****
No one was sure whether or not she knew she was dying. She would wake up from time to time, feebly gaze around, and offer a weak smile. "My goodness!" she would say. "You're all here! What a surprise!"
They all played along. Proud as she was, knowing or otherwise, they knew she would never want to see them acknowledge the ending of her life or feel an ounce of pity for her.
After several days of holding onto a last shred of life, she took a deep, shaky breath. It would be her last. The nurse came in. Everyone already knew. Esther Prather was pronounced dead at 4 p.m. on June 22nd, 1997. The beginning of a new season, the end of an old life.
*****
Shortly after the funeral, my great-grandmother's belongings were divided amongst the family. Grammy wanted only the sentimental things. So did Uncle Buzz. My mom took her beautiful old-fashioned German birth certificate and framed it above our mantle. The rest of the grandchildren took what they remembered her best for, and Aunt Dee wanted everything else. She was always a bitch.
And I myself have been fortunate enough to take away the memory of her smell, her touch, herself. Never having seen death firsthand, I have still learned this from my great-grandmother's: No one loves the shell of a body. You love traits, like "vivacious." You love memories of blue glasses and pearls and gummy bears. But above all, you love a soul. Hopefully you pick up pieces of that soul along the way, and adopt them as your own. And this somewhat cancels the concept of death-because it is through this that people live eternally.