You can’t live forever, even if Grandma had given it a pretty good try

Disa went out to the kitchen. The obituary with grandma’s name was fastened on the refrigerator door. She remembered the last time she talked with Grandma on the phone. Grandma had sounded just like she always did then. Or had she? Maybe her voice had sounded more tired than usual. And hadn’t she been more abrupt than she used to? Disa had heard the doorbell at grandma’s place ring in the background.

‘Hold on a moment, they’re here with my food now,’ Grandma had said and put the Bakelite phone down.

The old phone had crackled loudly, but Disa still managed to make out the conversation between the homecare service person and grandma.

‘I want two potatoes, you know that, I have told you people several times already, have you forgotten? I don’t recognise you, are you new? What’s your name then? Let’s see if I have time to get to know you before you are gone again.’

The poor carers seemed used to the old folk’s crankiness and answered nicely to grandma’s accusatory questions. Disa felt like she was eavesdropping on something she shouldn’t hear, but this was a side of Grandma she’d never noticed before.

Grandma took her time, Disa wondered a moment whether she might have forgotten Disa was waiting patiently on the phone. It sounded as if Grandma was bustling about in the kitchen, but finally she picked up the phone again with another loud crackle.

‘Hello? Are you still there? I had to put away the groceries and food they brought me, you see. Can’t have it standing around going bad. That’s what took time. That they never learn that I want two potatoes, is that such a hard thing to remember? It can’t be that hard to remember, can it? I can’t understand. They are so young as well, they should be able to remember. To think they always forget, I’ve told them several times already. No, now I can’t stay on the line any longer, the food is standing here on the table getting cold. But have a good time and take care,’ Grandma finished with a warm and compassionate voice in the middle of all the contrition, and it sounded like she meant it.

A loud thud sounded as Grandma hung the receiver down on the hook. She had probably dropped it a bit too hard in her eagerness to sit down to eat. She had kept her appetite to the end, Disa thought. It had been the last time they spoke. Grandma had probably been more intolerant than usual, but Disa could understand her frustration. Staff being switched at the rate they were must be tough for these old folks. It was hard for them to always be met by new faces whose name they didn’t have the time to learn before another replacement came. So they always had to let in different strangers into their private sphere.

It was expected, of course, you can’t live forever, even if Grandma had given it a pretty good try. But still, it felt sad when it happened. She knew Grandma had felt satisfied with her long life and also that she hadn’t had a very eventful time in her last years, it was her time to go Disa mused. She felt grateful that she would stay in their memories and hearts for a while longer.

A few weeks later Disa had been to Grandma’s apartment to collect a few things. It didn’t feel at all as pleasant and cared for now that her grandma wasn’t there. Before, it always felt like the apartment was bright and airy, full of Grandma’s embracing warmth, but now it felt glum and slightly worn. Disa had never thought of that before. That some furniture and paintings had already been removed and left dirty stains behind likely heightened this impression. In the end, Disa had only taken a few things. She also considered taking the grey Bakelite phone that stood on the windowsill in the kitchen and had been Grandma’s for so long. But it had turned out to have broken, when you lifted the receiver you could no longer hear a signal. The telephone had gone down together with Grandma. Disa put her index finger in the hole for zero on the dialling pad and pulled it around to the stopper. She repeated the process several times with different numbers and noticed that it was Grandma’s phone number she was absently dialling.

The rotary dial got caught slightly each time at the same place. It must have been used to dial thousands of phone numbers over the years it had been around, but never grandma’s own number. When she dialled the last digit in grandma’s phone number she slowly raised the receiver and put it hesitantly against her ear. She half expected to hear Grandma’s raspy voice and lovely chuckle.

‘Can you imagine. Now I’m finally here with Grandpa again. I’ll tell him you sent your love. Can you imagine!’

But the receiver was silent, there wasn’t even any crackle from it. It was stone dead.

In the bathroom, there had been a luxury towel in unopened gift wrapping on a shelf. Maybe Grandma had received it as a present at her hundredth birthday. On the mounted towel stand hung a washed out towel. She suspected that Grandma hadn’t been able to imagine using the new one, she would have thought it was too fine for everyday use. She could imagine how their conversation would have sounded.

‘Oh, the fine one. No, I can’t bring myself to use it.’

‘But Grandma, you’re a hundred and six years old, what are you saving it for?’

‘I suppose you’re right about that. Well, can you imagine, that I’m so old. But we’ll see. We’ll see if I can make myself use it.’

She came to think of Grandpa’s car, which they had been so careful with. They had put slipcovers on the car seats to protect them. When the old Saab finally gave up after twenty-five years, it had been junked with the slipcovers still attached and the seats still as good as new underneath.

As a poem for the obituary Disa had suggested the verse in grandma’s poetry book written by her mother. She took the book gingerly from on top of the microwave, turned to the first page and read the ornate beautiful cursive handwriting in black ink. The last line “Contemplate and reflect” which stood as part of the poem felt more like request or suggestion than as part of the poem, so they had left it out.

If Grandma had been able to see the obituary, she would probably have filled in the last sentence in the stanza herself. She had known the poem by heart and probably saw the last line as part of it as well.

She thought back to the last time visited Grandma.

Grandma had opened the door and stood waiting for them as they took the last steps to it. She had probably been standing waiting for them at the kitchen window for a while and spotted them from behind the crocheted curtains as they approached.

‘Well, there you are, how nice of you all to come. To think that you want to come visit an old lady like me,’ she chuckled. Disa handed over the flowers. ‘Ooh, what pretty lilies. And pink, which I love,’ Grandma said holding them out take a close look. Then she stuck her whole nose into the bouquet and breathed in its scent with a long, loud breath. ‘Oh, they smell lovely. Thank you so much,’ she said and bowed. ‘Thank you, thank you.’

Disa embraced her Grandmother. ‘It’s nice to see you,’ she said. Then, she took a hug from Michael as well.

‘To think that people hug so much these days,’ Grandma said. ‘We didn’t great each other like that in the old days, not even people very close to you. You only shook hands, that was the closest you’d get. I barely even think I ever got a hug from my own mother, or else I’ve just forgotten. But I don’t think people had time for that then, there was always so much to do. But I’ve started to like it! Imagine that, getting a hug from a handsome man, I won’t say no to that,’ Grandma said and peered from under her wrinkled brow at Michael. Her entire mouth formed a smile, revealing the even upper row of her dentures.

Michael was nonplussed and just smiled back at her.

‘Come in, come in,’ she said.

They took the few steps to the kitchen where Grandma had set the table. A plate brimming with buns stood on the counter with coffee cups, glasses, and dessert plates. The table had a bread basket with hotdog buns, mustard, and ketchup, a trivet, plates, and glasses.

Grandma placed the bouquet on the kitchen counter. ‘As you’re such a big and strong guy, can you move this chair over to the table,’ she said to Michael pointing to an extra chair standing by the chiffonier in the kitchen. Michael lifted the chair and placed it in the gap between two others at the table.

‘I hope you’re hungry, I’ve already got lunch ready,’ she said and picked up a steaming pot from the stove with both her hands and placed it on the trivet.

They had just eaten breakfast, but a little lunch would still go down. They were at Grandma’s place and Disa knew she would make sure to fatten them up. She couldn’t help finding it pleasant to not think about weight and sugar intake for one day.

‘I thought we’d have hotdogs,’ Grandma continued. ‘It’s just so tasty, isn’t it?’ I’d never once had it until I visited one of my grandchildren the other week, Margareta’s children,’ Grandma said, referring to the children of her oldest daughter, Disa’s cousins. ‘And it was so fantastically tasty, so good I asked the homecare service to buy some for us as well. I’ll get out milk and lemonade and you can choose for yourself what you want to drink. Go ahead and start,’ she encouraged. ‘Margareta’s children just ate with their hands, but I felt that was too much of a bother, so I’ll use a knife and fork. How about you?’ she asked.

‘We’ll eat without, that’s how we usually do it,’ Disa said.

‘Reeealy, is that how you usually do it? Well, go ahead then!’

Grandma took out a knife and fork for herself from the cutlery drawer and sat down at the table on the same chair she had been using all these years. Disa prepared a hotdog for herself and passed the fork on to Michael who took one and then passed it on to Grandma, she heaved a sausage out and placed it in her hotdog bun, set it down on her plate and drove her fork through it. She held the hotdog down firmly and started cutting with her knife. The others at the table ate with their hands.

‘Disa has told me you lived through two world wars as well as the Spanish flu,’ Michael said in an impressed voice as he took a bite.

‘I’m one-hundred and six years old, you know, that means I’ve been alive for over a hundred years,’ Grandma said with natural logic. ‘That gives time for a lot of things,’ she said chuckling.

A loud and shrill ring signal sounded through the room. Grandma jumped up clutching her chest. The sound came from the grey Bakelite phone on the windowsill next to the table. Grandma struggled to stand, slowly. Several signals had time to go off. The person calling was probably used to Grandma taking a some time to reach the phone. She finally lifted the clunky phone and the harsh sound echoed out into the room and faded.

‘Two, zero…’ Grandma started, but realised that it was the five-digit number she was reading out and stopped. She corrected herself. ‘I mean, five, four, zero… two, zero…’ she worked her way through the full eight-digit number.

Disa couldn’t help smiling. Her grandma could be such a dear.

‘Yes, hi Margareta, I can’t really talk right now. I have visitors, you see,’ she said and lit up as she looked over at Disa. ‘Yes, Disa is here with her family. Yes, can you imagine. They’ve come all the way up here from Virsta to visit an old lady like me,’ she said, letting go another of her familiar and warm chuckles. ‘I’ll call you back later. Yes, I’ll tell them you said hi. Bye now. Yes, bye.’ She placed the Bakelite phone back on the hook. ‘Margareta says hi. I told her I couldn’t talk right now since you folks are here. I’ll call her back later,’ she informed without needing. After all, they’d heard the entire conversation and already picked up on what had been said.

After lunch they had coffee and cakes. Disa took the opportunity to grab a cake for herself. Something sweet went perfectly with the coffee after the food. The hotdogs had really tasted good. Everything always tasted great at Grandma’s. Was it down to the homey kitchen or was it Grandma’s positive disposition spreading even to their taste buds. Grandma took a lump of sugar and placed it between her lips and slurped coffee through it.