It sounded amazing.
It wasn’t.
If a train station bathroom and the motor vehicle administration had a child, this would be Senior Flower Gardens. Crowded to the brim. Dirt and stench everywhere.
The parking lot was a mess of cracked concrete and had a rodent problem. The building itself looked like it hadn’t been cared for in years. Even the windows looked dirty and old.
Some guy was smoking weed near the entrance, stinking the place up.
The glass doors opened automatically as I stepped in. As usual, the front desk was unmanned. Jill was most likely helping out with seniors again.
The air inside was horrible. The neglect of old bodies, smoke, and mold wasn't something anybody should have to smell.
But, like most state-run nursing homes, this place was underfunded and barely hanging on by a thread.
Down the hallway, a cart sat parked against the wall with old food trays.
I turned into the last room on the right, my grandma’s room.
When I entered, I thought I’d find her in her wheelchair looking out the window. But she wasn’t. She was still in bed, right next to her roommate, Nancy, who was still in hers. Both of them lay there, staring at the ceiling with wide, empty eyes. Not sleeping. Not talking. Just … there.
My hands curled into fists. They both should’ve been out of bed hours ago. Instead, they lay there like nobody had even checked whether they were alive today. And the room smelled like feces and urine.
“Good God, Grandma.” I rushed to her bed.
The stench of her diaper hit me instantly. Sour, foul, and unbearable. Her silver hair was flat on one side, no doubt from having her lying in the same position for too long.
Her eyes shifted toward me, slowly, with effort.
“Please tell me they at least changed you this morning,” I said, although I knew better. God … I hated this place.
The second I pulled her blanket and nightgown up her legs, I realized how bad it really was. Her diaper was swollen to the rim. My stomach turned, but my hands didn’t hesitate. They never did. Not with her. Not after everything she had done for Mom and me.
But it hurt to see her like this. It hurt so freaking much. My jaw clenched hard as hate poured through me, hot and endless. And it landed where it always did.
My worthless dad.
The man who did all this to her.
Ever since Grandma's stroke, about three months after my mom died, Grandma had been trapped inside her own body. Her mind was still in there, somewhere, but the rest of her had turned into a prison. She seemed to be holding herself together for as long as she could, using strength she didn’t really have. And once my mom was gone, her body had given in. Like it had been waiting to make sure my mom could leave in peace first. And only then would the curse of high blood pressure finally claim her. Not even sixty years old.
“Let’s get you clean,” I said, forcing my voice to sound calm. Grandma didn’t need my anger. She needed my love.
I walked to the closet and yanked it open. Inside sat the usual stack of supplies. Diapers. A few folded clothes and sheets.
I grabbed a fresh diaper and fresh clothes. Today was her birthday, and I refused to let her look like this place had finally killed her. So I chose the pink silk blouse. Something that still felt like her. I paired it with the black skirt. The one she’d worn to my graduation.
I grabbed the hairbrush from the bathroom too so I could make her look like a million bucks. Even if it was just for a few hours.
On the way back to the bed, my fingers trembled around the folded blouse. Just a little. Enough to notice. Enough to piss me off.
That hate for my dad was still there.
He could pay for the nicest nursing home in the state for my grandma. The same woman who'd kept his kids alive when he was a drunk. The same woman who'd sold her house for us and stepped in when he disappeared into bars and lies. But even when Amanda wanted to help, he overruled her with a huge fit. And sweet Amanda didn't stand a chance. My dad took over her fortune like it was his. And refused to spend a dime from it on my grandma. Left her to rot in here. So this place was her only option, since she’d spent most of her money on my mom and on keeping us afloat when my mom was in jail. She’d burned through savings like it was firewood. The house she sold was worth about $450,000. Jack, the lawyer before Amanda had stepped in, took a lot of it. The rest went fast. It went to my parents’ mortgage. It went to groceries and bills. Then, after my mom’s death and my grandma’s stroke, my dad just kept the rest, since we were still minors.
Now I was too poor as a resident to help financially, and that truth sat in my chest like a sharp knife. But I’d sworn I’d get her out of here the moment I made money. I’d sworn it so many times it had become a spell.
I pulled off my grandma’s diaper and dropped it in the trash. Then I used the wet wipes and cleaned her carefully.
