A Tragic Accident

Jacob walked out of Marie’s room and down the corridor to the exit of the Compassionate Care Nursing Home.  He was glad the hall was empty.  He would not have to greet anyone.  He was choking back tears and knew if he had to speak, he would risk the dam breaking.  Marie had once again had no clue who he was.  He, of course, knew exactly who she was….his beloved wife of 45 years, his best friend in the world, the mother of his children, the other half of himself.  He made it across the parking lot and collapsed into the driver’s seat of his car.  Grasping the steering wheel with both hands, he leaned his head against the wheel and began to convulse with sobs that came from the very core of his being.

Jacob was not only sad; he was also angry.  How could it be that a disease could steal away his wife’s mind, her personality, her ability to respond to his loving touch?  It was wrong.  Things like this should never happen to anyone.  Jacob had never been a deep thinker.  He was a practical man and had left the philosophical questions of life to Marie.  Now, if Marie was capable of complicated thought, it wasn’t obvious.  She couldn’t even figure out how to open the milk carton or sugar packet on her dinner tray.  Jacob was left to work out the strange unfairness of life on his own.

Fortunately, he did not ponder the sameness of each day.  He did not balk at what life had become or consider its meaning.  He got up from his half of the double bed, went to a donut shop where some men his age gathered for breakfast, and headed to Compassionate Care Nursing Home every day.  He would arrive in time to watch the staff bathe Marie, comb her hair and help her into a chair.  After he fed her lunch, he would go back to his little senior apartment and take a rest before returning to make sure she got her supper.  The nurses and aides at Compassionate Care were, indeed, compassionate, but it broke his heart to leave the needs of his sweetheart to someone else.

Jacob had cared for Marie in their home for as long as he could, but then, she began wandering at night.  He became exhausted, never quite sleeping soundly, lest she should leave the house and become lost.  He finally resigned himself to this arrangement.  He sold their home in order to have the funds to pay the nursing home cost.  He knew he could have bled his resources dry, and then Marie would have qualified for Medicaid, but he didn’t want her in just any nursing home.  He wanted her in the best.  Compassionate Care was not posh, but its reputation for quality care was well-known in his community, and it was close enough for his daily commute.

Disposing of the remnants of their wonderful life together in order to downsize into his small and lonely apartment had broken his heart.  Marie would never know that he had sold and given away the linens she had carefully embroidered and the tablecloths she had crocheted.  He had kept only what was necessary for his Spartan existence.  He determined that all of his resources must go toward Marie’s comfort.  Lately, however, he had begun to realize that his resources would almost certainly run out before Marie passed away.  Over the years, during prior financial crises, they had been able to discuss challenges and face them together.  Marie always asked discerning questions, as they worked through problems.  He sighed as he thought of her most recent questions which had been delivered in an accusatory tone; “Who are you? Why are you sitting here in my room?”

That evening after feeding Marie her supper, Jacob was driving home when he heard an annoying rattle coming from under the car.  He had spent his working years as an auto mechanic, so his diagnosis was swift.  “Huh….sounds like a muffler bracket isn’t doing its job anymore.”  He made a mental note to look at that later.  The mundane but fixable problem of a muffler bracket took his mind off the unfixable problem of Marie’s mental state, and the looming problem of how he would continue to pay for her care in about two months.

Jacob had a sudden impulse to stop at the convenience store he passed on the way home and buy a pack of cigarettes.  He had not smoked in twenty years.  Marie had been proud of him for quitting, but his nerves were shot, and he remembered the comfort of holding the cigarette, manipulating it, and inhaling the calming vapor.  He chastised himself for the idea.  He shouldn’t spend the money, but he found himself pulling into the parking lot and making the purchase.  He told himself that he would limit himself to just one after dinner each evening, but he lit up as soon as he got home.

After his smoke, he lay on the driveway next to his car and examined the source of the rattle.  He could see the rusted bracket that needed to be replaced and determined he would stop at the auto parts store on the way to the nursing home tomorrow.

Jacob never had much of an appetite at suppertime.  Eating alone is one of the saddest and loneliest of activities.  Tonight he just made himself an egg and toast.  Marie had been a wonderful cook and served balanced and attractive meals.  Jacob sighed and lit another cigarette.

After eating his meager meal, Jacob got out his checkbook and paid his bills for the month.  He would need to transfer some money from his savings account soon.  He and Marie had been careful to save for their retirement, so that they would not be dependent on Social Security alone, but her dementia and need for continual care had not been factored into the equation.  The savings would soon be gone.  Jacob pondered this and possible solutions, but decided against robbing a bank.  If Marie had to move to a less expensive facility, maybe she wouldn’t know.  But maybe, in some subtle way, she would sense the change and be less happy.  He would feel he had let her down.

Later, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.  He could hear a couple arguing in a nearby apartment.  Foolishness, he thought.  Most arguments he had had with Marie were so foolish.  He couldn’t even remember what they were about. He tried to focus on the “to-do” list for tomorrow.  He would stop and buy that bracket in the morning, and do the repair before he went back to feed Marie her supper.

It was good to get up with a specific purpose in mind.  After his shower, Jacob took off for the coffee shop.  He ran into Ted, who was also a retired mechanic, and chatted with him about that darn muffler bracket and his plan to stop at the auto parts store.  At least it was something to talk about other than Marie’s depressing and worsening condition.  He knew the clerk at the auto parts store and exchanged a bit of banter with him also.  It was a good start on the day.

The memory unit, where Marie now lived, was locked, a fact for which he was glad.  He didn’t have to worry that she would wander off in her nightie and die of exposure.  As he was buzzed in and entered today, the first sight that greeted him was Mr. Jackson running down the hall in only his pajama top.  One of the aides was in hot pursuit.  Mrs. Jackson stood in the doorway of Mr. Jackson’s room watching his bare buttocks hustle down the hall and looking like she might die of embarrassment.  She was dignified and well-dressed.  She looked at Jacob sheepishly and said, “I’m so sorry….he doesn’t know any better.”

Jacob nodded and replied, “I understand.”

All of the spouses of the residents here understood.  Each one had occasion to feel embarrassed by the behavior of their previously rational loved one.

Jacob entered the room and put a kiss on Marie’s forehead.  She looked up and said, “A quarter and a dime in the machine.”  She was crinkling up her nose as though she smelled something unpleasant.

At first Jacob was totally puzzled, but then he remembered.  Although he had showered this morning, he had put on the same shirt he was wearing yesterday.  He had rationalized that he would only wear it for a few hours before changing into work clothes to replace the muffler bracket.  He had smoked in this shirt yesterday, and that was the reason for the crinkle in Marie’s nose.  Fifty years ago, he could get a package of cigarettes from a vending machine for thirty-five cents.  What a strange thing for Marie to remember, when she didn’t recognize her husband.

Jacob took Marie for a walk, and they watched some TV together before lunch.  While he was feeding her, she said, “He never comes to see me anymore.”

“Who?” He inquired.

“The nice man with the dark hair.”

Jacob rubbed his bald pate.  He had once had a very thick head of dark hair.  He hoped she was remembering him.  Perhaps she was thinking of the days when they were young.  He tried to explain to her that he was the young dark-haired man, now grown old, but she had totally lost interest in that topic and seemed unaware of what he was saying.  She stuck her finger in the bowl of soup, twirled it around, and then licked it off.

As Jacob left that afternoon, he passed Mr. Jackson’s room.  He was now fully clothed, and Mrs. Jackson sat next to him holding his hand.

When he got home, Jacob tried to take a little rest, but he kept thinking about Marie and about the muffler bracket.  He got up, changed into work clothes, gathered some tools and headed for the driveway.  He put the car up on a jack and crawled underneath.  “This job shouldn’t take more than half an hour, even if the screws in the bracket are rusted and hard to remove,” he thought.  “I will shower again and put on a clean shirt before I go back to see Marie.”

As he worked on removing the screws, a wasp flew under the car and buzzed by him.  He waved it off, but an image flashed across his mind.  If the wasp were to sting him and he moved abruptly, he might accidentally kick the jack and be crushed under the car.  He shuddered. 

Then, he pondered.

“I have a $500,000 life insurance policy.  That should be enough to pay for Marie’s care until she dies.”

“I have a will.  My lawyer knows what to do for Marie in the event of my death.”

“If that wasp were to sting me, there might be a tragic accident.”

Marie would never know…it would cause her no grief.  In a semi-lucid moment, she had grieved the loss of the young man with the dark hair.  She would never miss the old bald guy.

He had discovered the perfect practical solution to his dilemma.  Marie was not there to ask the deeper questions regarding the long range implications and morality of such a decision.  She was at Compassionate Care trying to pull the button off her sweater.

He lay motionless under the car.  The wasp buzzed back, but did not sting him.

He repositioned himself so that his chest was under the lowest part of the car’s undercarriage.

He sighed deeply and whispered, “I love you, Marie.”

Then he kicked the jack with every ounce of strength he possessed.

A few hours later his son and daughter, who lived several states away, each received a call from the police, that there had been “a tragic accident.”

Marie died six months later.  She never mentioned the old bald man who had visited faithfully, but each day she shuffled the food on her lunch tray around and never ate any of it.