By terry
Date: 5 October 2000
Just Call Me Billy, Please
I saw her again today
Gnarled fingers clutching the wheels of her chair
In trembling determination
And holding tight to a single daisy.
And her face was the same as last week and last month and the month before
Wrinkled, unsmiling, a hint of pain just beneath the surface.
“Good afternoon Katrina,
Why don’t I move you into the shade awhile?”
“Why, thank you Billy, you’re such a good grandson
All-ays comin’ ta see an ole woman when’ere you can.
I have something for you here.”
And of course, I am not her grandson
But does that really matter...
I first noticed her six months earlier.
A tiny, wrinkled, white haired lady
Struggling mightily to move her chair over the grass,
But determined not to give up.
And I offered to help.
So that was the day I became Billy...at least to her fragile mind.
And it was only in leaving,
When she grasped my hand in both hers,
Skin so dry and paper thin I could see the blue veins
Seemingly, ready to burst with the slightest touch,
That I noticed the faded blue numbers circling her wrist.
So before leaving to keep my doctor’s appointment
I went inside and asked her name.
“Oh, its such a sad story that one. Katrina Weinstein.
The County placed her here, and she has no living relatives that we have been able to find. Alzheimer’s you know. Five years now. But she’s a sweet one, if you get past that gruff demeanor.”
And for some reason, that day, I simply could not get the touch of her gentle hands off my mind.
The following week, I was back, ...so was she
Under the same tree in her mechanical seat, gently napping away the afternoon.
But the sun had moved since her arrival,
And I saw immediately that she would have a serious burn if she were not moved.
So, I gingerly rolled her chair back into the shade
Where she could nap away without harm
When she suddenly spoke.
“Billy, I know you could never remember the day you were born,
But I do...you were such a beautiful baby. Oh, did I cry my eyes out that day.
And your poor mother, my baby girl. She never even got to hear you cry. So they gave you to me to raise. And a more precious gift from God has never been given since. Oh, my Billy, I love you today as much as I did that very day. Now give your Gram a kiss. I’m tired now. I think I’ll sleep a bit, if you don’t mind.”
What could I do?
What would you do?
I leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek,
And turned away, with a wetness around my eyes that threatened to spill over any moment.
And a ritual began.
Every week I would leave for my appointment early,
And every week she would be right there, in the shade, in her chair.
I would bring her a flower, a drink,
One time a big yellow smiley face
That said, “Move Sonny, or I’ll Run Over Your Ass!”
And oh how she smiled at that.
Made me put in on her chair, right up front.
And gradually, I learned the story of Billy.
Her beloved grandson.
Whom I found out from my research had died twenty-eight years ago, in Vietnam.
“Billy? Do you remember high school?
When you took that cute little dark haired girl to the prom?
Whatever happened to her Billy? Oh, how I had hoped you would marry her you know. Though that was my little secret. What happened to her? Do you know?”
And it didn’t matter what story I made up. Not to her, not to me.
What mattered was that for an hour, her eyes would shine.
Her lips would curl into a smile.
And her grandson would entertain her with tall tales of his life.
A life she found solace in
A life she found hope in
And a life that gave her strength she said
To wake for another day.
But as I said, I saw her again today.
Awaiting Billy with a daisy clutched in hand.
And a love of her grandson firmly clutched in her heart.
And she will never understand my tears, so I will be strong,
And tell her the tallest story yet
Just to make her smile again, if only for today.
And what will she think I wonder
When her Billy quits coming each week.
And will she mourn him again, I ask myself?
And what kind of God would allow cancer to exist
And bring harm to the heart of a woman.
A woman named Katrina,
Who loves her grandson so deeply.
Who am I you ask?
Well just call me Billy,... please?
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