“Was that the first time you called Grandpa?” the boy asked, who’d been listening with wide charismatic eyes since his grandmother had called him into the room.
“That’s right, Ollie. That’s when I called your Grandpa,” Olivia said in a raspy voice.
She was an elderly woman, with paling skin, pushing translucent. Wrinkles succumbed her face in deep folds, creating grooves that her tears traveled through. Her hair was white as cotton—stringy, and clinging onto her scalp in a waning grip.
She was fading away in the slow burn of dying old, and she was graceful.
Now, as she lay in her bed, waiting for the end, Olivia Gardner was thankful.
“What was he like?” Ollie asked.
“You don’t remember him?”
Ollie was a nervous boy, fourteen, and plastered with pimples. Olivia knew her grandson well, for he reminded her of herself at that age: full of fear, and full of worry.
“I remember moments,” he said, pondering the question. “I remember Grandpa always smiling.”
That made Olivia smile in return.
“James did have one hell of a smile,” she said. “He was the love of my life, and it took my life coming to an end for me to find him.”
“But your life didn’t end, Grandma.”
No, it did not. But it almost had, and there were times she wished it did. Those were amongst the dreadful days of chemo. But it wasn’t hell, not really. Hell, would’ve been going through it alone. Her mother was by her side every step of the way. She had Mia, the same Mia who’s kicking around outside of her room right now, eagerly waiting for her turn to say goodbye.
And above all else… she had James.
Her grandson looked at her perplexed. She could see he was wondering why. Why had she told him and only him the story of her life?
“You see, Ollie, I chose to live,” Olivia said as she took her grandson’s hand inside of her own.
“I’m ninety-two-years old, and I’m about to die. But I’m not afraid. I was like you, my boy, and I don’t mean to offend you when I say this, but like you, I was scared all the time. There’s more to this life than your work and your grades, and—” she stopped herself and thought of something.
“Do you know the story of Pandora’s box?”
He shook his head.
“Well, it’s an old Greek myth. I love the Greek myths. Much like the bible, they’re full of stories and lessons. In this one, Prometheus had stolen fire from the heavens and gave it to man. Now, Zeus—the king of all Gods—was outraged. Fire, you see, was only for the Gods, so as an elaborate way of revenge, to punish man, Zeus created Pandora, a Goddess in the form of Aphrodite, and presented her to Epimetheus, who was Prometheus’ brother. On their wedding day Zeus gave Pandora a present: the box. He had warned her never to open it, for what lies inside is dangerous.”
Ollie listened on, more confused than ever.
“But you see, Zeus created Pandora to be curious, and much like a child with a light switch she couldn’t help herself, she had to open it; she had to see what was inside. She opened the lid and what was let out was all of life’s miseries: hate, envy, greed, hunger, death, and war; all of man’s sins. Pandora slammed the lid shut and tried to put them back in, but it was too late, they had escaped into the world. The only thing that remained inside was hope. And hope became the only thing that man had left to cling to.”
“Grandma, what are you talking about?” Ollie asked.
Olivia coughed out a laugh.
“I’m talking about living your life, Ollie, I’m talking about learning how to. Sure, Pandora’s box is a story about responsibility and consequences, but to me, it’s more of a story about hope. Cause even through all of life’s carnage, if you have hope, you have meaning. This world can be as big as you make, Ollie, with endless possibilities, compassion, and love. Or this world can be as small as that bedroom of yours. There’s a whole universe outside of your closed door, and I’m telling from experience, don’t be afraid to open it.”
Ollie’s face turned red with embarrassment, and he drew his hand back from his Grandmother’s.
“I don’t mean to insult you, Ollie, I’m here to warn you, much like my father once did for me. I told you the story of when he asked me to end his life, right? But I didn’t tell you what it was that really scared me. Do you know what that is?”
He thought for a moment, and she watched his eyes scurry for the answer. Finding the answer was what he loved to do the most. It was a quality she knew would suit him well.
“You were scared of him?” he asked.
“Hmm… not quite him, I mean, sure, what he asked scared the living hell out of me. But what scared me above all else was that he was right.”
She cleared her throat and coughed. Ollie handed her some water, placing the glass to her chapped lips. She drank with an effort to swallow. Then she breathed in deep, wheezing, and continued on.
“I wasted a lot of time, Ollie. I wasted my youth. But I made up for it when I met your grandpa, and because I did you’re sitting here now, alive, with these choices to make yourself. Do you remember what my father told me life was about?”
Ollie nodded his head, his eyes began to swell with tears.
“What was it?”
“Life…” he said and paused, “is about living.”
They both cried, and Ollie hugged his grandmother.
“I love you, grandma.”
“I love you.”
He’s going to be okay. The tightness in her chest loosened with the thought. The nurse shuffled Ollie out of the room and shut the door, leaving Olivia to rest and take in her surroundings, pleasant to know it was the room she would die in. Pictures hung on the walls, each of a memory James had stolen with his camera and given to her along the way.
One wall, painted in a meadow green, was a collage of all their adventures—all the places they’d been and all the experiences they’d shared. In the middle of it was the picture of her alone, walking through the dark and away from the train; her middle finger, shining in the headlights. She shook her head and smiled.
She saw the photo of them in Ireland, when she went back for the second time on their honeymoon. Behind them lay the terrain of the country side. The limestone soil sprouted juniper shrubs, along the mossy field of willows. In the foreground, Olivia and James posed for their picture under an elm tree. It stood tall and dignified in the middle of the field, with bushy leaves disguising its branches. It was as if everything surrounding the tree belonged to it, including the couple underneath.
She thought about that old couple she’d met a long time ago, Martin and Abigail. She thought about endless love, and how even after death, that love still carries. When she saw the other wall, she knew it was true. It was the photos that their love created. They had twins together—two boys, Edward and Bryan—both of whom looked remarkably like James, and thankfully so. After James passed, Olivia could still see him in them, as if his spirit inhabited their eyes.
There was a photo that James had taken in the hospital. She remembered him setting up the camera on a tripod next to the bed. He had gotten behind her and held her, as Olivia held their new baby boys. She looked at that photo and knew, everything that mattered was there. The outside could’ve been on fire, the Earth could’ve been crumbling away. But it wouldn’t matter… her world was in her arms.
She slept.
Later, the door opened, and the whole family walked in. She saw Mia with her children and grandchildren. Edward and Bryan trailed behind; she could still see James in them. Ahead of them were their wives and children, Olivia’s grandkids, Mary, Matthew and Ollie. Ollie, who led them all in.
Olivia was weak, but she was strong enough to smile one last time. In each of their surrounding eyes, her imprint was felt, just like she had felt Him coming, and heard Him tapping at her door. It was time; he’d returned for one last visit, and this time when he left she would go along with him. Death was no longer her enemy, he was no longer something she would try to avoid. She knew this when she reached out to shake his hand, and felt the warm embrace of a friend in return.