Twilight

Finding beauty in the darkness.

I usually bring her a treat, chocolate, cookies, danish.  I asked my mom to pick up some red pepper and fennel when she went into the store. Crosby had fallen asleep on the drive there so I sat in the car and listened to music quietly. In the morning, before I left, I cut up the vegetables and arranged them carefully in a container with tiny squares of Parmesan cheese I'd sliced and wrapped in wax paper. This little rectangular container was meant to be a memory trigger snack for her. I had always known my grandmother to love all three of these things. I do not know that it worked to trigger any memories, but she did seem to genuinely enjoy it.

When our snack and our game of gin rummy (always gin rummy) was up, we made our way to the second floor where, according to the schedule, it was time for word games. When we got upstairs the nice young lady who runs activities informed us cheerfully that they'd be watching ice skating instead of word games. Two rows of wheel chairs, some with oxygen hanging off the back, mostly all holding women, sat and watched the pairs of young, healthy bodies float across the ice. They liked the strong, broad shouldered young men who effortlessly lifted the beautiful women with good teeth and bright red lips. My grandma remarked with each new pair, how good looking they were. Yes, I agreed, they are very attractive.

Sitting in the room on the second floor on a Sunday morning, I ignored the smells, the wrinkles, the chin hairs and bed head and food stains on their shirts. I closed my eyes and reminded myself where I was. This is their last chapter, all of them. They are not going home. And for that moment on a Sunday morning in February, I was sharing their twilight with them. And that is the beauty I could take with me and think of I as drove the forty minutes back to my mother's house that afternoon.