Dear Friends and Family,
Nancy has lots of books. Before her illness, a paperback was almost always in Nancy’s delicate hands or close by on the nightstand. Unfortunately, our home has only so many tables and so many niches. Our single small bookcase has always resembled my stomach after Thanksgiving dinner—too full.
All that changed today, March 31.
“Well, Nancy, how does it look to you?”
I opened the front door to Woodland for Nancy and waved my hand like a bellman as she walked into our home. Her steps were confident and her smile filled her face. As she entered the mud room, she clapped her hands and I heard a playful giggle.
(Today wasn’t April 1 and it certainly was no joke. For me, it was a combination of Thanksgiving, my birthday, and the spring season’s first mountain bike ride—all wrapped into one.)
The last time Nancy passed through the door to our home was 156 days ago. Five months, two weeks, and one day exactly. After Nancy left for her transplant hospitalization on October 17, she had never returned to our mountain dream home. I could only imagine what it must be like for her. My palms were sweaty like on our first date, and Nancy’s eyes darted in all directions, taking in all that was familiar.
“Everything looks fantastic, Winnie. I can tell the cleaners were here this morning. It even smells clean.”
(I momentarily considered telling Nancy that “the cleaners” were two of her dedicated friends, Janis and Joannie, rather than hired professionals but chose not to as attention of this sort is hard for my Nancy.)
“And the windows sparkle? You got them washed, didn’t you?”
(Indeed. I did. It’s worth every penny to see your eyes sparkle even more than the glass.)
“And look at the plants. They made it! I’m so surprised.”
(Me too. One of many things I’ve learned during your illness, Nancy. I actually now know how to water a plant—not too little and not too much.)
Nancy walked to the edge of the living room and made a loud sigh of contentment and relief. For several minutes, she gazed at the river and trees through the full-length windows. Both the lawn and the aspen trees were frosted with a new coating of snow tinged with the slightest hint of orange, a reflection of the impending sunset.
As she returned to me on the other side of the room, Nancy touched the back of a chair, straightened a book on the coffee table next to the couch, and ran her hand over the soft comforter draped on the back of the recliner. She gestured to the Christmas tree and laughed softly. The twinkle of the tree lights stood out brightly for her homecoming. She didn’t have to ask because she knew already that for me, today was better than Christmas.
“I think I might take a nap,” Nancy mumbled as she began to move slowly toward the bedroom.
“Can you believe what everyone did along the road on the way to the house?”
“How many ‘Welcome Home’ signs were there between Francis and Woodland?”
“Who brought the balloons and put the food in the refrigerator?”
“The banner over the front door was professionally made, wasn’t it?”
“Not to worry now, Nancy. We’ll thank each member of your ‘welcoming’ committee in good time. They love you, Nancy, and they had so much fun. You have so many friends.” I caressed and touched her arm ever so lightly. “I can’t figure out why.”
Nancy wrapped her arms tightly around me. A real kiss warmed my lips and a familiar tingle reached my toes.
“Sweetie, you need your rest. I’ll be upstairs opening mail.”
Nancy slipped beneath the comforter and I slowly stroked her forehead. “They did too much.” Seconds later, Nancy had entered dreamland.
I whispered, “I forgot to tell you that Joannie and Janis did the cleaning.”
After quietly closing the bedroom door, I raced upstairs to our family room for a final check. Everything was ready. Each minute seemed like an hour. I tiptoed downstairs three times. A faint smile brushed Nancy’s lips, but her eyes remained closed.
An eternity later, I heard a faint, “Winnie?” in the distance.
“I’m up here, Nancy. I’ve brought wine and snacks.”
“I’ll be right up.”
When I heard Nancy at the bottom step, I jumped up to meet her mid stairway.
“Here, put this on.” I placed a blue fleece ski hat on Nancy’s head and pulled the front down just above the bottom of her nose so it covered her eyes. “No peeking. I have a small homecoming surprise for you.”
“Winnie, what are you up to now?” Nancy shook her head but complied with my request. I led her up the last step and into the middle of our upstairs family room.
“Are you ready?” I asked her.
I slowly raised the stocking hat above Nancy’s eyes. She blinked twice as she refocused her eyes and then her whole body flinched as if hit by a bolt of lightning. In front of her was an oak bookcase that spanned the entire far wall of our family room. Neatly arranged were all her favorite books, randomly spaced between the many knick-knacks I had collected from the hospital, past trips, and even some “coming home” gifts from friends.
Nancy quickly sat down on the couch. She hugged me as I whispered into her ear, “The shelves are adjustable for different sizes of books and whatever else you want on them. I just added a few things so you would have an idea of what’s possible.”
Nancy’s head tilted to rest on my shoulder. “I love it, Winnie. You shouldn’t have . . .”
With a start, Nancy’s head lifted from its perch. “What happened to the TV?”
The giggle was mine this time.
“It’s gone to TV retirement land.”
Our family TV had once sat in front of the wall that now contained Nancy’s bookcase. Once big and beautiful, it had finally surpassed twenty years in age. It was so old that when I watched a basketball game in its last years, the score was too fuzzy to read, and its colors were dull and faded.
“But what are we going to do?”
“Don’t worry, my love. I know you’ll be spending lots of time in this room over the next six months. When you’re not reading, you can watch whatever your heart desires.”
As I was speaking to Nancy, I slid the remote from my back pocket, pointed it at the bookcase, and pushed the button. A movie screen slowly descended from behind the fascia at the top of the bookcase. The screen was large—one hundred inches wide to be exact. I pushed another button. The huge screen filled with life-size faces and sound filled the room from in front of us, from each side, and behind us. Nancy turned around and discovered why she had been asked to wear a blindfold. New speakers and a projector hung from the ceiling behind her.
“Surround sound? It’s the biggest TV I’ve ever seen!”
Nancy’s eyes were not only wide—they were moist. I handed her a Kleenex and I took one for myself, too.
Nancy put her head on my shoulder again and closed her eyes. “Is it all right if I shut my eyes for a moment?”
“Yes, sweetheart. You rest. We can watch TV later. I plan on us being here a long time.”
Summary: Home at last.
Thanks again,
Winnie