Forgotten Rose

It’s Thursday night, 6:00 p.m., and I just got off work. I’m famished. After having school all morning and working at a day care all afternoon, I have a reason for being tired. I have so much math homework to do, a critique for creative writing, an essay to start for English, and a poetry reading at Barnes and Nobel tonight. My first reading! It’s just too much! But, it’s Thursday night and I have to have dinner with my grandfather. I owe it to him. His wife, my grandmother went on vacation, she left, and after fifty-four years of marriage he is now alone. Every Friday I used to visit my grandmother who had been having aches and pains for fourteen years. She became bedridden, so I came to have lunch with her at the end of each week. Of course I would make small talk with my grandfather when I visited, but all my attention was focused on my grandmother. Now it’s my grandfather’s turn. To have my company, to talk, and tell him how I am doing in school. I have tried to dedicate every Thursday evening with him, but it’s hard when I have school full-time, work part-time, and homework the rest of the time.

So it’s Thursday night and I am driving to his retirement home. It’s a very nice place; it reminds me of a Country Club that was turned into a retirement home. It’s complete with a golf course, swimming pool, and dinning hall. It has three elevators, one which leads down to “The Town Square” which has its own bank, doctor’s office, antique store, grocery store, arts and crafts room, billiard room, and even a salon. I don’t think there is anything they don’t have! However, the only reason my grandfather decided to move here, was because there is a nursing facility on the third floor where my grandmother would have been, getting better. But she went away. I thought this would be good after my grandmother left, but he doesn’t really chat with any of the residents, or get involved in any of the activities they provide.

I’m so tired and frustrated from the kids I work with. I would like to take a nap before I have to go to the poetry reading tonight. I park and begin walking through the large entrance. I walk to the front desk and notice a large vase full of beautiful roses. I sign in at the desk, noting it’s 6:15, I place a visitor’s sticker on my shirt, and walk into the reception area. My grandfather is already waiting for me, I watch as his eyes light up and he greets me with a warm smile and hug. He is a very tall and lanky man with a bald head and ears that stick out.

I remember when I was a little girl; my family and I went to church every Sunday. Of course I had a short attention span, so I was rather bored. One time, while at church, I was sitting next to my grandfather and he started wiggling his ears. I would silence a giggle and continue trying to pay attention to the priest speaking of how to overcome temptation…..always love your family and God……spend the rest of eternity in heaven. Blah, blah, blah.

He leads me into the dinning room and I grab a plastic tray and wait in line to receive my choice of meatloaf or cod fish. The smell of bland food and old people begins to make me nauseous. Two old women in front of me start to chat about the dinner
selection. One of the ladies has hair that appears to be blue. They reek of too much perfume and moth malls. The scent makes me dizzy, and they still haven’t chosen what they want to eat.

What’s so hard about choosing? It’s either cod or meatloaf. What is so hard about that? Just choose one! Hurry, I’m hungry! I don’t have time to-

“How was work today?” My grandfather interrupts my thoughts.

“I’m tired. You’ve got to have a lot of patience for children.” My usual response every time I see him.

It’s like we have a script. Every time I see him we say the same things. ‘Work’s tiring, school is stressful, but I’m making out all right.’ We get our food and I find a seat for us in the middle of a crowded dinning hall. The hall is quite nice. Complete with chandeliers, a huge salad bar, and several tables. My eyes roam around for a moment as I place the dishes on the table and put my tray away. I watch as the elders scoot themselves to a table handling a walker, always assisted by one of the staff members at the facility. My grandfather is pretty healthy and has never had to be assisted.

“God bless us O’ Lord, for these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, through thy bounty through Christ our Lord. Dear God we pray that Margie is at rest. Amen.” My grandfather’s prayer before every meal.

“Amen.” I say softly as I begin pouring packets of sugar in the iced tea. I grab for the salt pouring it all over the plate to compensate for the meal which has no taste.

My grandfather smiles and politely raises a hand to a few people that say hello. If the man or woman stops, he always introduces me as, “This is my favorite granddaughter.”

“I’m your only granddaughter.” I would reply back to him. Another routine script that I had been using since I was a little girl.

I look at the plate of food; the only way I could tell the potatoes from the meatloaf was the color. So I stuff the food in my mouth blending the mashed potatoes with the loaf. It all tastes the same anyway. My eyes avert to the clock; it’s 6:30.
In mid fork, my grandfather begins to talk.

“How’s the car running?”

“It’s good.” I fork some more food in my mouth.

I received a red Buick Regal from my grandpa last Christmas, he makes the car payments, car insurance payments, and gave me a gas card which he pays for. It was my great uncle Arthur’s car, before he died. This car has a lot of sentimental meaning to me.

“Did your mom remember to tell you to check your oils?” A small pause before I could swallow, and he continued. “You need to remember to check your oils. Have your step father William teach you –“

You tell me this every Thursday I see you. I’m so tired; you haven’t even had a bite of your dinner. I better start talking to give you a chance to eat before your dinner gets cold.

“- you should check the oil level every two to three weeks. Your uh…..power steering oil level…..the water level too. Now, when you check your water level –“

It’s 6:40; the poetry reading starts at seven!

“I know, I know. When I check my water level, make sure the cap is cold. Use a rag anyway to screw the cap off.” I finished his sentence.

I allow him to eat his dinner as I discuss about the details of school. I stop talking and finish my meal. He excuses himself as he gets up to pour some coffee, which he will later eat with his cake. While he was preparing his coffee, six white packets of sugar and four creamers, he began talking again.

“I was reading the paper this morning and it had an article about scholarships. When I was young, the only thing I had to do was help on the farm. I went to school eventually and got my engineering degree, but never got my Masters-“

Speaking of college, I’m already late. UCF students are holding the poetry reading and I want to make a good impression. Most of the people have already left from the dinning hall, probably to bed. It is…7:05. Ugh! I’m late!

My thoughts drift away, wondering which poem I should read.

“- and that is why you should check into that website. It has a lot to offer.”

He finishes his coffee along with his chocolate cake. Whiping crumbs from his face, he stands.

“You ready to go up?” he asks. Meaning, up stairs to chat.

“Sure grandpa, but I can’t stay for long, I have a poetry reading tonight.”

“Alright, I’m not keeping you am I?”

Of course I’m not going to admit it grandpa, but you are. I’m already late.

“No, grandpa. Of course not. I always have time for you.” It wasn’t a lie. I love him with all my heart. I try to make time for him.

We walk to the elevator and I notice that there are roses on a desk in the reception hall. Just like on the front desk, these were beautiful. I stood admiring them as my grandfather checked his mail. He threw half of it away, junk mail he would exclaim.

“Beautiful roses.” I looked up at my grandfather as he stood beside me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Each one of those roses is supposed to represent a person who has died this week in the nursing facility.” He answered.

Kinda morbid, but they are very beautiful. I wonder if-

“I have your grandmother’s upstairs, I dried it out. You can have it if you want it.”

“Sure grandpa, that would be nice.”
I collect dry roses. I have one from off a casket at a funeral I went to.

I wonder what poem I should read. Was I supposed to tell the coordinators of the poetry reading in advance?

“So you have a poetry reading tonight? Where about?”

“It’s at the Barnes and Noble over on Colonial. My first, I’m so nervous!”

“Well, that’s pretty far away, are you sure you don’t have to leave?”

“I’m sure grandpa. It starts at seven, but lasts until nine thirty.”

“Don’t forget to remind me to give you that rose. I have it sitting on the shelf. I’m sure your grandma would want you to have it.”

“I won’t forget.”

We were already in the elevator. There were two old women with walkers discussing a movie that was going to be held at the retirement home on Saturday night. Finally, the eighteenth floor. We stood in silence for the ride up; he held the door waiting for me to step out and followed close behind. When we arrived to his apartment, he opened the door holding it open for me and I took my usual seat in front of the large window. Pausing a moment, I peered out the window.

I remember when my mother and I had picked this particular apartment for grandpa. In his previous home, he had lived on the fourteenth floor. He likes to be able to see what is going on down in the world. This apartment overlooks everything; you can even see where Disney is. My grandfather had retired from Disney, he helped build it. He used to tell me all kinds of stories of when he used to work there. How Disney used to be a swamp filled with water moccasins and how he was almost bit by one.

“What poem are you going to read?”

I had been trying to decide that all night.

“I’m not sure.” I answered as I cradled my folder of unorganized poems.

“Why don’t you do the one you read at your grandmother’s funeral?” The words kinda struck me off guard.

Grandma’s funeral? She’s on vacation; she’s not dead!

So it has been difficult to accept that my grandmother is actually…..

“I’m not sure I’m ready to say that poem out loud yet.” I responded.

It’s been over eight months. I couldn’t. I tried to at a funeral but I couldn’t finish it.
* * * * *

It was the Wednesday after Mother’s Day and I passed out copies of my poem to everyone that had showed up. Both my uncles, my mother, and myself were supposed to stand up and say something. I would recite my poem that I wrote about my grandmother. I stood up; my legs were shaking feeling like Jell-O. I looked at everyone dressed in black, many that had handkerchiefs held to their faces. I began my poem and started crying. It’s funny, when my grandmother was hospitalized and very near death, I couldn’t cry. Driving to the funeral home didn’t make me cry. But right then, in front of all those people, as I began to speak, I cried. Never having seen it before, my grandfather bravely stood up and finished the poem. I couldn’t accept that she was gone. No, she’s only on vacation.

“It’s ok, Sweetheart, there will come a time when you can accept her death. Everyone grieves in their own way.” My grandfather spoke, steadily rummaging through the day’s newspaper. He continued,

“Remember when you do recite whatever poem, you look at one person in the audience. That way you won’t be nervous. Keep your eyes moving around the room, looking at other individuals. But always return to that one person in the room.”

“I know grandpa, I took speech class.”

“Here’s the article I was telling you about. The one on scholarships. It has a webiste of over a thousand scholarships that you might qualify for. You just have to take your time with them and look at each –“

My grandfather is a great man. In addition to all of the car payments, he also pays for my college tuition.

“- that way you’ll have a lot of money for when you move to Gainesville.”

My eyes searched the room for a moment, landing on the clock.

Already 7:30! Ack!

He continued on, “I was watching the Discovery Channel last night. They had another episode on the whooping cranes. Did you hear about those cranes? They’re endangered.”

“Cranes?”

“Yes, they are whooping cranes and they are on the brink of becoming extinct! So this man…..uh…..I forget his name….I think he’s from Wisconsin….or Michigan, somewhere up North. He has dedicated his life –“

Oh yeah. The cranes, you told me this story two weeks ago, and the two weeks before that.

I feel like I’m going in and out of consciousness. My eyes roam and my thoughts wander. Ever since my grandmother left, my grandfather’s place is filled with pictures of her.

“- they’re using snow cranes to breed with the whooping cranes to increase the population. Then the guy…oh…what’s his name –“

My grandmother used to be a model. She was very beautiful when she was my age. One picture stays in my mind. She’s lying in the grass wearing long white shorts and a floral shirt. One of her legs is lying down while the other is bent facing the sky. Both hands are propping her chin up and she has a very dreamy look in her eyes. Looking off into the distance, almost like she was looking into the future.
“- ultra light planes in order for them to migrate down to Texas. It’s amazing!” He finished his speech about migrating endangered cranes.

Ever since I could remember, I had loved animals. I wanted to dedicate my life to helping them. My grandfather began watching all sorts of animal shows, Discovery Channel, Animal Planet, and he receives a monthly issue of National Geographic. You can never leave my grandfather’s house without bringing something home. Whether it is something he saw on sale from Publix, a T.V guide, newspaper article, or the issue of National Geographic.

My grandfather was a very smart man. I say was because he used to be an electrical engineer. A man who would think of useful inventions by the dozen. He was always using his brain. But now, since he has gotten older, his brain doesn’t work the way it used to. His mind is slipping fast and it’s very hard for him because he used to use his brain for everything. He was a whiz in math, science, English, and any other subject you spoke about. But now, he’s just not the same. Now all he does is eat a small breakfast, read the newspaper, watch the news, do his crossword puzzles, watch the animal shows, eat a small dinner, and maybe read his book before he falls asleep on the recliner. Occasionally, he’ll have a doctor’s appointment.

“You should take very good care of that car.” My grandfather says. “Your Great Uncle Arthur took great care of that car, and so should you. It’s a good idea to memorize the dials on your car. When you’re driving, every once in a while, make it a habit to glance down at them. You should do this because –“
Here he goes again. The speech I’ve hard a thousand times.

My eyes wander some more and I notice a picture of my grandmother in the middle of a top shelf. It was black and white but had soft tones of color added into it.

What a beautifully done job.

Something like I would have done in my high school’s photo class. Where you use special color pencils to color in the picture and then rub it in with a q-tip mixed in some kind of solution.

“- because then you can get a pinpoint hole in your hose. A thin stream will start to come out of the hose. If you don’t know about it, the hole can get bigger. That’s why it’s critical to –“

I saw a dried rose lying next to the picture. That must be the rose grandpa was talking about. It was wilted and had turned black over the weeks, but it was once a beautiful rose.

“- you should develop a practice of writing out the checks as soon as they come in the mail. Everytime I receive a bill in the mail, I write the check out to the company and take care of it before I do anything. I remember it had only been three years when Margie and I had been married and she –“


Oh no, it’s 8:10, I have to go! After this story, I’ll just stand up and tell him, regretfully, that I have to go. Maybe I should recite my sensual poem entitled Temptations? I want to make a good impression. They might enjoy that poem, I think it would really show my talent. Hush grandpa, I have to go!
“- four months later Margie didn’t want to handle the checking account any more.” He laughed as he finished his story.

Here’s my cue.

I hesitantly stood and stretched, laughing a bit along with him. It had obviously been a funny story. Even though I had heard it three times before.

“I have to go grandpa. I don’t want to, but I have a lot to do.”

“That’s ok honey, I understand, you’re a busy girl. I want you to know that I believe in you. I love you dear.” He sounded a bit depressed but he added a smile and wiggled his ears. I gave him a big hug and rushed out the door, remembering only to grab the scholarship article and of course, the notebook of poems I had been clutching all night. I paused at the doorway, I felt like I was forgetting something. No time! I walked as fast as my legs could carry me to the elevator door and pushed the down button. A feeling of release came over me, like I had just been let out of a cage and I was flying away. I rode down the elevator, no stops, straight down. I quickly signed out stretching my head around the big vase of roses to see the clock, 8:15. I jogged to my car, put the key in the ignition, and turned my car on. I still had the feeling like I was forgetting something.

As I drove to Barnes and Noble, I called one of the coordinators of the poetry reading, apologizing for my delay. Yes, I was supposed to have picked out a poem weeks in advance, but I just couldn’t decide.

“What is the title of the poem you will be reading?” The coordinator, Adam, asked.

“I think I’ll read one of my lusty poems entitled Temptations. I think it’ll be interesting.”

“Ok Anjel, we’ll see you in about…..?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Before he could say another word, I hung up. I finally arrived there at 8:45. I rushed into the Barnes and Nobel entrance and up the escalator holding my folder of poems in my hand. I walked right into the room with a woman telling a poem about body parts. She was at the nose and going down.

What a weird poem, this woman’s insane!

The woman finished and all eyes were on me. There were only about twenty some-odd people there.

“Anjel is a newcomer and she would like to read a sensual poem for us called Temptations.” That was Adam speaking. Everyone clapped briefly and it was deathly silent as I walked up to the microphone. My legs felt like Jell-O and I was so nervous.

A microphone? What the hell do they have a mic. for? There’s only one…two…three…no time to count the people! This means everyone in the whole bookstore can hear me. Oh gosh, what am I gonna do, they’re all starring at me.

“Hi, like Adam said, my name is Anjel.” That’s all I could get out, my words almost spilled from my mouth. I’m not even sure they can out in the correct order. I could feel my face turn red.

Remember to look at one person in the audience, focus on the audience. Keep your eyes moving from person to person but always end up at that one person.
Then I pictured my grandfather in the back of the crowd and I focused on him. He was standing bravely with a dignified smile. He was holding something in his hand, it was the rose. My grandmother’s rose.
I forgot the rose! “Grandmother’s funeral.” Grandpa’s words. It is real; she’s not on vacation. I love my grandpa; he means the world to me. His reminders will always stay with me. I should. Just for him, he helped me realize my grandmother. She’s not on vacation. The poem. Just for him, I should. Just take a deep breath and talk.

“I’d like to change my poem if I may?” I asked to nobody in particular. I began thumbing through my pages of poems and found the one I was looking for.

“Go ahead Anjel.” I heard someone respond and I’m not sure who it was. I cleared my throat.
Here goes, it’s all or nothing. Fight or Flight.

“The title of this one is called Departure.”

Who cares what they think? So it’s not one of my intellectual poems about philosophical things……oh well.
“My grandmother is gone and I don’t know why.
Rinaldi 15
Her grace has risen, departed into the sky.
Many will say it was her time to go.
It may be true but why is it so?
A veil has fallen over my eyes.
To hide the true angel in disguise.
You will remain forever in our hearts.
Your memory in our heads shall never depart.
Your love, your care, your wisdom, and trust.
A piece of you will stay within each of us.
It’s ok to cry and now I know why.
You’re in a better place.
To walk through the Golden Gates.
So spread your wings and fly away like angels always do.
There is no reason for pain, now that God is with you.”