A Vow to Cherish (9 page)

O
n the morning of the two-year anniversary of Ellen’s diagnosis, the telephone rang while John and Ellen were sitting at breakfast. Ellen nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?” Her gaze darted wildly around the room. “What in the world…what
is
that?”

John saw genuine fear in her eyes. At first he didn’t know what she meant. When the phone rang again she pointed urgently into the air, vaguely in the direction of the ringing. “That! That! Did you hear it?”

“The phone, you mean?”

“What is that?”

“The phone? Ellen! The telephone…you know, you talk to people on it.” He was incredulous that she could not know something so basic. But when he realized the stunning truth—that she truly didn’t remember what a telephone was—he patiently took her to it and explained to her how it worked.

By this time, the caller had given up and the bell was silent. But John was so upset he couldn’t have spoken to anyone anyway.

Though Ellen couldn’t identify a common everyday object, she seemed to sense how disturbed John was. She wrung her hands and paced the floor, a habit that had become far too frequent.

John insisted they go to worship services each Sunday morning as they had for all of their married years. Though Ellen seemed as apathetic about church as she was about everything else, she usually didn’t argue when John reminded her that it was time to dress for church services. Their closest friends were there—Rob and Cathy McLaughlin, and Alexander. Even Sandra had started attending sometimes. John drew strength and comfort from the encouragement they offered. It was one of the few places he felt Ellen was accepted and treated as though she were still an adult…still human.

Often, after church, their friends would stop by the pew in the back row where the Brightons sat, offering their greetings and concern. Ellen rarely responded with more than a nod or a wan smile, and John suspected it was because these people had become strangers to her. He rarely saw recognition in her eyes anymore for anyone other than close family members.

Sandra was the exception. Ellen always knew her and was happy to see her. And while she was no more vocal with Sandra than with John, she seemed to feel comfortable in Sandra’s presence. Sandra tried to keep conversation a part of their relationship, but when Ellen clammed up, or when her speech made no sense, Sandra would turn on the TV while the three of them sat companionably together.

Sometimes John and Sandra would talk quietly over Ellen’s head. It helped him to have someone to talk to. He hadn’t realized how important it had been to have Ellen listen to him rehash his day at work, or think aloud through his problems. Not just listen, but offer feedback. Help him see things from a different perspective. Now Sandra began to take on that role in a small way.

John was touched by the sacrifices Sandra made for both of them, and from her he learned much about relating to this new, silent Ellen.

Strangely, the jumbled words that had been such a glaring warning early in Ellen’s illness manifested themselves less frequently now. John wondered if he had merely grown used to them, or if perhaps the mixed-up words abated simply because she was so silent now. Their fiery conversations and heated debates had virtually ended, and John missed them desperately. He made a conscious effort to describe his workdays to her in detail, to keep up his end of the conversation. But it was difficult when Ellen had become such a passive listener. And he feared that on the rare occasions when she was sane enough to understand him, it was too painful for her to hear news of the schools and teachers she’d once been so involved with. It seemed no matter how carefully he weighed his words, everything he said contained a blatant reminder of all Ellen had lost.

Her silence soon begot his.

J
ana and Mark came to Calypso nearly every weekend after they found out about Ellen’s illness. John was grateful for their company, and in the beginning Ellen seemed to enjoy having them there. But as she retreated further into silence, it became difficult for everyone. In one coherent moment, Ellen declared it was like a wake, only everyone was waiting for the corpse to die.

On the weekends John felt an obligation to entertain Mark and Jana, to cook for them and be the charming hostess that Ellen had once been. This did not come naturally to him, and he found himself becoming increasingly resentful—not of his daughter but, unreasonably, of his wife for failing him in this department.

He saw the strain it put on Mark and Jana’s marriage, as well. They both worked long hours and their weekends were precious. Mark was a generous, caring man, but John could see that it was beginning to frustrate him to have to share his wife weekend after weekend. John heard them arguing one Saturday night when they thought he had already gone up to bed. Their overheard words cut him to the quick; yet he understood.

“I just want one day alone with you, Jana. Is that too much to ask?”

“This isn’t fair and you know it, Mark. You’re asking me to choose between you and my mother. I love you, but Mom needs me right now.”

“I need you, too, Jana! Your mom doesn’t even know you’re here half the time.” Mark’s voice rose in anger.

John heard Jana start to cry. “That was cruel, Mark! How can you be so heartless?” She spat out her words in choking sobs.

John heard the back door slam and then Jana’s muffled cries as she ran upstairs to the guest room.

The next morning John talked to Jana over coffee. “There’s no reason for you guys to come next weekend,” he said gruffly.

“But Dad, what will—”

“I need some time alone. And you guys probably do, too.”

“Dad, really…we don’t mind.”

“I appreciate it, Jana, but I’m serious. You can come the weekend after that if you want to.” He twirled a spoon in his coffee cup before meeting her eyes. “I think you need to spend some time with your husband.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she furrowed her brow. “Did Mark say something to you?”

John shook his head. “No. I’m just putting myself in his place. And I heard you arguing,” he admitted

“I’m sorry, Dad. Mark just doesn’t understand. He—”

“Jana, I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand. You’re asking a lot of your husband right now.”

She arched a brow. “How can you say that, when Mom is so sick. She needs me.
You
need me.”

He chucked her under the chin. “I appreciate your efforts, baby girl, but you know your mom. She would be madder than a wet hen if she thought you were neglecting your marriage for her sake.”

Jana gave a sheepish grin. “Okay. But we’ll stay close to home in case you need us. Just give us a call. We can be here in an hour.”

“No. You guys go do something. Get away together. Get out of the house at least.”

Jana argued halfheartedly, but John hushed her and closed the topic to discussion.

When Friday arrived and their car didn’t pull into the driveway, John was surprised to find how much he missed them. The house was so quiet these days, and they’d filled it with pleasant noise again. But soon his loneliness was filled with a good book, an hour spent puttering in the garage and a leisurely walk through the neighborhood with Ellen.

Jana called John after supper, and though the topic was left unmentioned, the warmth in her voice let him know that everything was all right between them.

Ellen had not attempted to drive since the day she “lost” her car at the mall. It wasn’t something they had discussed, but there was an unspoken agreement that she would not drive again. Like every little task, this too required a time of evaluation, a decision about what was safe, what was best for Ellen.

This loss of Ellen’s independence was difficult for both of them. John knew Ellen felt she was burdening him, always having to be driven wherever she went. And yet neither of them was willing to risk the danger Ellen might be behind the wheel.

As long as they’d lived in this house, she’d walked to school when the weather permitted, relishing the exercise. She had continued to do so until she was forced to quit working. By then she had become withdrawn and antisocial, rarely going outside their home anyway, so John tried not to resent the times when he had to play chauffeur.

Late one spring afternoon when he was driving Ellen home from a dentist’s appointment, she suddenly reached out and touched his arm. They were approaching the entrance to the Calypso Park, where they’d spent many an evening when the children were young.

“Oh, honey. Stop!” Ellen gestured animatedly. “Stop here. Let’s stop here…at the…the…”

“The park?”

“Yes! The park. The park.” She rolled the word around her tongue as though she were learning it for the first time.

John slowed the car and looked at Ellen. “You want to go to the park? Why?”

“I don’t know. It just…it just…it sounds…fun. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, honey? Or have we…have we…?” He knew she was unsure of even her memories now.

He was tired and had work to do at home, but she looked so hopeful he couldn’t deny her. The park was inviting, with the trees wearing their new spring greens. He turned into the last entrance and parked the car near the playground. Without a word she got out of the car and walked toward the swings.

He followed, hurrying to catch up with her. By the time he reached the sandy area where the swings were, Ellen had seated herself in the farthest swing and was pumping her legs, trying to get the swing in motion. John went around behind her and gave her a gentle shove.

“Hang on!” He pushed her again.

She squealed like a gleeful little girl. “Higher! Higher!”

How long had it been since they had laughed together like this? John’s heart was full as he pushed her higher, faster. A gentle breeze rustled the giant maples shading the park, and the waning sunlight cast bright, flickering shadows through the leaves.

Finally he let the swing die down. Tenderly he brushed the windblown curls from Ellen’s face. He leaned over and took her head in his hands, planting an upside-down kiss on her lips. She pulled his head down again and again to her own, kissing him hungrily.

He wanted to stay here forever.

They lingered in the park—sitting side by side on the swings with fingers intertwined, swaying gently back and forth—until dark shadows fell across the grass, and the air grew cool.

Reluctantly John took her hand and they strolled back to the car. He’d been refreshed by the gift of this sweet interlude, and yet a cloak of gloom settled over him.

Though their love for each other never faltered, nothing was really the same anymore.

T
he seasons passed and together John and Ellen learned to live with the daily inconveniences. There were rare days when he could almost pretend everything was back to normal.

But when the boys came home for the Thanksgiving break, John realized just how much had changed. Brant and Kyle had been home that summer, but it was obvious by their stunned faces that they were shocked at how much their mother had deteriorated in just three months.

After Ellen had gone to bed that first night, Kyle stormed into the den where John was paying bills at his desk.

“Dad, why didn’t you tell us it was this bad?”

“What do you mean, Kyle?” John was truly puzzled.

“Dad! She’s a total zombie!” His face contorted and a sob escaped his throat.

John realized then that the changes which had come more subtly for him, seeing Ellen every day, must have seemed monumental from Kyle’s perspective. Also, John had tried to shield the boys from the truth. Whenever they called home, he made light of Ellen’s problems and left out especially painful details. He knew now that he’d been wrong to do so.

“Oh, Kyle.” He got up and came from behind his desk to embrace his son. He held Kyle while he poured his grief out in tears that stained John’s shoulder and stabbed a knife in his heart.

“Kyle, I’m sorry. I…I didn’t realize that you weren’t seeing how bad it’s gotten day by day. In some ways, it’s happened so gradually. But I know the last time you guys were home it didn’t seem like Mom was all that confused.”

“Dad, is she…is she always like this?” His voice cracked the way it had when he’d hit puberty. “Does she ever have good days anymore?”

“Not really, Kyle. For a while she did, but it’s been a long time…a long time.”

John heard footsteps in the hallway and Brant appeared in the doorway of the den. He took one look at Kyle’s ruddy face, and he broke down, too. It was all John could do not to join them. But tonight they needed him to be strong.

“How can you stand this, Dad?” Brant swiped at his damp cheeks with a balled-up fist.

John reached over and quietly shut the door. Even if Ellen didn’t understand what was going on, it would upset her to see her boys like this.

“Can’t the doctors do something?” Brant shouted. “This is like a nightmare. She’s so…she’s just not even my mom anymore.”

John put an arm across his broad shoulders. “I know, Brant. I know. All we can do is love her. Mom can’t help this. It’s not her fault. We have to keep remembering that. We have to remember her the way she was.”

Father and sons stood in a three-way embrace, drawing strength and solace from one another before they went up to their separate rooms to wrestle with their own private agonies.

The newest development in Ellen’s decline was a small thing, but it bothered John immensely.

Ellen had always taken pride in her appearance. In many ways, John thought she was more beautiful in her forties than she had been when he met her. The beauty of her youth had mellowed into an elegance he found utterly attractive.

But Ellen had worked at it. She put on makeup and fussed with her hair and clothes every morning—even if it was Saturday and they had nothing more planned than to putter around the house or work in the yard.

She had loved to shop, and though she never spent a great deal of money on her wardrobe, she had impeccable taste and had managed to look stylishly chic even back when they were living on schoolteachers’ salaries. He had always felt proud to have Ellen at his side.

Now, unless he reminded her, she forgot to even comb her hair in the morning. Fortunately, the last few years she’d been wearing her naturally curly hair in a tousled style, so a quick comb through was usually all it took to make her hair look presentable.

But her makeup, if she remembered to apply it at all, was harsh and sloppy, her lipstick uneven and sometimes staining her teeth.

She had taken to wearing sweatpants and mismatched shirts, pulling on whatever was handy and, John suspected, whatever had the fewest buttons or zippers to wrestle with. He had started laying out an outfit for her each day, and she was usually cooperative, dressing herself. But by the end of the day, her clothes would be rumpled and stained from her carelessness. John felt guilty letting this relatively minor thing disturb him so intensely. It was just that so much about his wife had changed that this sloppiness added embarrassment to his deepening pain.

Once again, Sandra came to the rescue. She picked Ellen up one afternoon early in December and took her shopping. They came home with several colorful, casual outfits that were easy to get in and out of. Sandra had also taken Ellen to the cosmetic counter and helped her choose new, paler shades of makeup that were more forgiving of Ellen’s unsteady hand.

It was an improvement, but it still wasn’t the Ellen that John was used to. But then nothing about her was the same anymore.

Though Ellen accepted his affection, she rarely initiated it. He made an effort to embrace her, to greet her with a kiss each morning as he always had, and to hold her hand when they walked together in the evenings.

The latter had become a necessity, to keep her from tripping on the uneven sidewalks. They walked almost every evening, just as they had for most of their marriage. It had been a time to catch up on the day’s news and to connect with each other at the end of a busy day. It had also been a romantic time for them, walking hand in hand, sharing their love. But it was becoming wearisome for him to give and give, and receive so little in return.

He felt his love for her slipping away, and it terrified him.

He was becoming increasingly concerned about Ellen’s safety around the house. He had no choice but to leave her alone while he went to work each day. He came home over the lunch hour and fixed her a sandwich or a salad. If Ellen was having a difficult day, or John was caught in a meeting, Sandra could sometimes get away from work to check on her.

Mrs. Dobbs, the cleaning lady, had been persuaded to come for two half days rather than one full day, so there was rarely a time when Ellen was alone for more than three or four hours. But so much could happen in those few short hours, and John knew the time was coming when he would have to get someone to stay with Ellen every day while he was at work.

The time came sooner than he’d anticipated. A staff meeting ran long one morning, and it was almost twelve-thirty when he finally got home for lunch. He parked in front of the house and ran inside, calling Ellen’s name, worried that she would be hungry and fretting about his lateness. Usually she was sitting in front of the TV in the living room when he came home. And usually, in answer to his voice, she rose silently and came into the kitchen.

But today she did not appear. John searched the house, climbing the stairs to the second floor, then to the attic, calling for her with rising panic.

He ran out into the yard, screaming her name, not caring what the neighbors might think. He couldn’t see her in the yard or the wooded area behind the house.

He ran back into the house through the garage, not sure where to turn next. Then he stopped short. In the dim light that filtered through the single window, he saw Ellen’s profile behind the wheel of the car that had been hers.

He yanked open the car door, and with misplaced anger he pulled her roughly out of the seat.

“Ellen, what in the world are you doing?” he shouted.

She looked at him, perplexed. Then he saw the keys in her hand.

John grabbed the keys from her, then struggling for control and realizing it was himself he was angry with, he pulled her into his embrace. She started to cry. Over and over she wailed, “I thought I’d go…go…go…I thought I’d go…and go…”

He gently put his hand over her mouth to quiet her. “Ellen, you mustn’t ever, ever get into the car when I’m not with you.” He forced her to look at him. “Do you understand me? Never!” He scolded her like he had Jana when she was a toddler. And yet he knew that, unlike little Jana, Ellen would never learn another lesson. Her mistakes would never again be teachers.

John led Ellen into the house and fixed her a sandwich. He spent the rest of his lunch hour fixing the door to the garage so it could be locked from the outside.

The next morning he made arrangements with the school board to take a two-week leave of absence and after that, a schedule of shortened hours at the office for “as long as he needed it.”

He also arranged for a woman from their church to come in to stay with Ellen during the mornings. It was far from ideal, and it wouldn’t work indefinitely, but for now, it was all John knew to do.

Just after Christmas, on a beautiful, crisp evening, John bundled Ellen up, and they walked several blocks around the neighborhood. He’d been feeling cooped up and in need of fresh air, and it felt good to get out in the brisk night air. It had been weeks since the weather was warm enough for them to take a walk.

Tonight, the sky was clear and full of stars, and Ellen seemed nostalgic. In fragmented sentences she recounted aloud their first days living on Oaklawn. While she couldn’t remember the current day of the week, sometimes she could recall events of their past—often in surprising detail. This was ground on which John could meet her. He was feeling cheerful and optimistic with reminiscence.

They came back to the house, and standing by the closet in the front hall, John began to help her out of her coat and gloves and scarf. Her face was flushed from the cold, and she looked like the Ellen of old. She flashed a winsome smile, and suddenly, he was overcome with desire for her. He dropped her coat to the floor and took her in his arms and kissed her hungrily. She didn’t resist him, but looked at him questioningly. He took her hand and started up the steps to their bedroom.

Suddenly, Ellen sighed heavily, contentedly. Then in a clear but childish voice she crooned, “Oh, Daddy. So fun…fun. Can we go again? Walking? Maybe Mommy can come, too…walk on the farm.”

John stopped in his tracks. He turned, sick at heart, and looked down the steps at Ellen. Her eyes were gazing far away into the past. Her expression, her voice, were those of the child she had been forty years before. And in a moment of horrible realization, he knew that in Ellen’s mind he had become her father. How could he take her into their marriage bed?

He turned slowly and guided her back down the steps. In the kitchen, he fixed her a cup of warm milk, and while she sat at the table sipping contentedly, John went to make up the twin beds in the bedroom on the ground floor.

The room had most recently been Jana’s. The wallpaper was a pale peach to match the ruffled comforters. The furniture was French provincial—a young girl’s dream room. He brought down a few of Ellen’s things from the bathroom and carried their alarm clocks down and plugged them in. Then he went to the kitchen and led Ellen to her new bed. He tucked her in and gave her a chaste kiss.

She seemed unaware that anything was amiss. With a sigh, she burrowed under the blankets and closed her eyes.

John turned out the light, and with leaden feet, he climbed to the attic. There he unplugged their lamps and gathered the contents of his night table drawers. He took their toothbrushes and toiletries from the bathroom and moved these things down to the bathroom across the hall from Jana’s room.

He went back to the attic and gathered the clothes from Ellen’s closet and drawers. Burying his face in the soft fabrics, he breathed in the faint scent of her perfume that lingered there. He arranged her things in the downstairs room and returned once more to the attic stairway and climbed it slowly.

At the top of the stairs, he stood in the doorway and looked around the room, now lacking their personal items. Through misted eyes, he saw the history of their love in this room. Sweet, intimate scenes floated like ghosts before him in the emptiness—a young couple sharing tender, romantic moments. Was that him? And Ellen? And now it had come to this?

His throat was so full with emotion he felt a physical pain. John pulled the door shut, and with finality he put the timeworn key in the lock and turned it.

The next morning John awoke slowly. With half-closed eyes he looked groggily around the room, trying to remember why he was here on a narrow bed in Jana’s old room. He turned over, squinting to block out the blinding sun that streamed in the east window. In a halo of sunlight, he saw Ellen’s auburn curls spread on the pillow in the bed next to his, and it all came back to him with terrible clarity.

He had said goodbye to his lover last night. Never again would he know the intimate touch of her hands on his body. Never again would they share the oneness that had healed so many differences…the communion that had been such a joy to them for a quarter of a century.

Today he awoke to a new role. No longer friend and equal. No longer lover and confidant. Today he would begin to learn to be Ellen’s protector…her keeper…her defender. Today she had become his child.

The weight of the task before him was oppressive. He felt small and unworthy. And worse, he wasn’t sure he wanted the awesome responsibility—however precious his charge.

He threw back the covers and rose to face the morning. He would live one day at a time. It was an old cliché, but never had he understood its meaning so clearly.