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Griffin looks up at the house in front of him. It seems normal. Boring, even. It’s square and evenly proportioned, encased in pebble dash and surrounded by a concrete parking lot. A few token trees are planted around, early daffodils poking through the measly patches of soil.
He rings the doorbell and a loud answering buzz comes almost instantly.
A man in a horrible mustard cardigan greets him by name as he approaches. He reads his name badge.
“How is she, Miles?” Griffin asks.
The man smiles. “She’s good today, she’ll be pleased to see you. It’s been a while.”
Griffin nods, then pushes through a set of double doors into the main part of the house. He takes in the tired decoration, the bland watercolors on the walls, door after door, all closed to whoever might be behind. There is a strong smell of disinfectant.
He stops at the end of the corridor. He knocks once on the door, takes a deep breath, then pushes it open without waiting for a response.
‘Mom?” he calls as he goes in. “It’s me. It’s Nate.”
It’s one room, with a small bathroom off to the right. In the center is a hospital bed with rails on either side, decorated with a colorful throw. A stuffed brown bear leans drunkenly against the pillow. A woman sits next to the window in a large green chair. She has a blanket over her lap and a cup of tea on the table next to her. Her eyes are closed and her head is bent; she seems to be asleep.
Griffin walks up to her and kneels down next to the chair. He places one hand gently on her arm. “Mom,” he repeats, “it’s Nate.”
She stirs and looks at him, smiling.
“Oh, how lovely to see you.”
Griffin gives her a kiss on her papery cheek; she smells of lavender talcum powder. He pulls a chair around to sit next to her.
“How are you, Mom?” he asks.
“Can’t complain.” She squints through her glasses at him. “You look a mess, Nathanial. Have a shave. When was the last time you had your hair cut?”
He runs a hand through his hair. He smiles. Some things never change, after all. Mothers always like neat hair.
“Do you remember, I used to cut it for you when you were little? I once cut the bangs so lopsided we had to shave it all off. Like that friend of Cara’s, you know. The skinny one.”
“Noah comes to see you?” Griffin asks. He feels a flash of guilt. When even crappy Noah Deakin goes to see his mom, he knows he’s been a shitty son.
“Yes. Such a pity that poor boy doesn’t have a family of his own.” Her voice tails off and she smiles, looking out the window. “The primroses are coming through in the garden. Spring must be around the corner.”
Griffin’s concentration fades out as his mom continues to chatter away. He looks at his mother, feeling sad. Her hair is completely gray now, tied back away from her face in a neat bun, and she is thin, her cheekbones protruding from her face, skin hanging loose without anything to fill it. She is wearing a thick pair of plastic glasses, and every now and again lowers them to look out the window.
The dementia has all but taken every fragment of the mother he remembers. He’s surprised she recalled Noah visiting. Obviously, something about him stuck in her mind.
He looks at the photos around the room. Cara made all the arrangements for their mom to live here, now more than five years ago. And she’s taken the time to make the room feel like home. There are pictures on the walls, prints of well-known paintings mostly, as well as a few framed photos decorating the shelves. Nate sees a family photo of Cara, Andrew, and the kids, and picks it up.
His niece and nephew are older here than he remembers. He smiles at the gaps in Tilly’s teeth, her front two obviously having fallen out. He knows he hasn’t sent either of them a present or birthday card this year. There’s no excuse. More people he’s let down.
His mother sees the photo in his hand and peers over at it.
“Is Cara still with that awful boyfriend?” his mother asks. “The one with the silly name?”
Griffin assumes she’s referring to Andrew. Everyone’s always called him Roo. “Er, yes. Very much so.”
His mother beams. “And how is Mia?”
The tragedy of dementia, Griffin thinks, is how random the memories are. Cara and Roo were married a long time before him and Mia, yet Mia is the name she remembers.
“She’s fine, Mom.”
