The last time we visited her in Hemet was almost 20 years ago, and at the time she lived in a little sandstone cottage that was part of a senior development. She kept all the curtains down, possibly to ward off the heat, and it smelled like sandalwood. There were several walls of photos of our family and my grandfather. Most of the photos were in the original frames — some wood, others silver, some faded with splinters — and the photos were ranged from wallet size to 11X14s.
For some reason I picture Lucille’s last living place as being a sandstone version of the army barracks where my great uncle was assigned during World War 2 (being a Jewish guy in his 30s, he was, not surprisingly or stereotypically, an attorney) like this:
and this:
Apparently the convalescent facility has an east and west side, so I see three barrack-type buildings shaped like a horseshoe. Even though she probably lived in an apartment-like the way my Grandma Sue lives, I keep imagining hospital-like rooms with adjustable beds like those in Cedar’s-Sinai Medical Center (my memories crowd out my imagination). I’m sure there’s a window, but it’s probably draped. The room or rooms will be cluttered. Some of the photos hang on the walls, while others lean against them. I imagine most of her clothing still hangs in the closet, some of it lying on the floor in rayon puddles. The sliding door of the closet is only partially shut, and it probably is mirrored.
I know it’ll have a distinct scent — a bit of soap or perfume, the sandalwood, a lot of disinfectant, and some sour sickly notes. I wonder if the bed will be made or if the sheets have been stripped, or if the bed is still there. I imagine that her caretakers stripped her bed at the very least, but I’ll see for myself in about 12 hours.
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death, Lucille, memory, memory token, imagine
Tags: convalescent home, death, future, Lucille, memory token, visualizing
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