Boston General Hospital…1954

This is the second of the storytime series…A collection of memories and musings from my childhood…Kate Granado

The open road

As the Greyhound bus raced down the highway, my mother slept quietly beside me. The rhythm of her breath keeping beat with the hum of the tires beneath us. “We’ll be in Kansas tomorrow.” She reassured me as she dozed off. I kept thinking about my father. Those winter months after his death was cold and dark. And lonely. I missed so many things about him. All the familiar guideposts were missing. The ordinary had become more alien in the day-to-day of a normal routine—no joyful homecoming in the evening. No, reading of the newspaper, snuggled in my father’s lap. He would read the paper aloud as if I understood the current events. Me, understanding only that I was safe, secure, and loved. Never realizing it was all temporary and that the warning signs were just around the corner.

The week after the funeral, I returned to school. The teachers were kind, but most of the kids ignored me. The isolation made me feel ashamed that my father had died. Now, and forever, I was going to be different – with only a mother. My mother, in all her own personal sadness, reassured me that “sometimes people don’t know what to say, so they say nothing.”

The endless wheat and corn fields continued to whiz by as the bus raced toward the setting sun. I kept thinking about how close I came to see my father on the only day I went to the hospital. My mother thought the hospital would make an exception and allow me to see my father. They did not, and I never saw him again.

The bus rhythm and the open road were lulling me to sleep and returning me to the memory of the hospital.

The first warning sounded on a Monday

The first warning sounded on a Monday. Mrs. Acorn, my second-grade teacher, stood over my desk and whispered to gather my things and come with her. I was surprised to see my Aunt Bibe standing outside the classroom. She hugged me and quietly told me my father was in the hospital, not to worry, my mother was with him and would be home in time for dinner. She kissed me again on the forehead and put her cheek next to mine. As she pulled away, I thought she looked so sad. “Let me have your books, sweetheart. I have a taxi outside waiting to take us home.” 

Our upstairs neighbor, Gladys, opened our apartment door. She hugged and kissed me, assuring me my dad would be home in a few days. “He’s sending lots of kisses home with your mommy, just for you. Your mom is going to stay a little longer with your dad tonight. She’ll be home in time to tuck you in.” I was sleeping and awoke to the soft murmur of my mothers’ voice as she stroked my hair. Her smile and eyes were sad, her voice a whisper. “Daddy is feeling better. He asked me to give you lots and lots of kisses. We’ll go to the hospital and visit him tomorrow; we’ll bring him a present.” She stood to leave and bent to kiss and tell me I was loved. Sleep found me quickly with the comfort of knowing I would see my father tomorrow.

The yellow Checker taxi waited on the street below our apartment building. The day was sunny and cold. The trees were changing color and would soon blanket the sidewalks with fallen bright-colored leaves. The driver jumped out of the cab when he saw my mother and me walking toward him. Shawn, a fellow driver and family friend, hugged my mother, kissed the top of my head, and opened the taxi’s rear door. With a deep exhale, my mother settled us into the back seat. She leaned toward Shawn, and with her hand on his shoulder, said, “Thank you, Shawn. Tim is in Boston General.” I could see Shawn’s kind eyes in the rearview mirror as he nodded and smiled at her. His eyes held the same sadness as my mother’s. The Checker Cab Company was the largest in Boston. The drivers were a close-knit fraternity of friendship. If a driver and his family were in need, other drivers would step in and rotate caring for the family. There were hushed words between my mother and Shawn as we sped along the streets to downtown Boston.

Boston General Hospital

We hurried through the revolving doors and into the lobby of the hospital. The entry was massive. I thought the hospital would be quiet and peaceful. It was just the opposite. It was crowded and noisy, with people going in all different directions. Holding my hand, my mother walked directly to one of the many sitting areas. This one had a big round leather ottoman in the middle with the chairs and sofa’s surrounding it. I jumped up to sit in one of the chairs with my coloring book and crayons in my lap. My mom sat down in the chair next to me. She carefully unzipped my jacket and placed it on the back of the chair.

“I’m going up to visit with daddy. But first, I’m going to talk to the nice lady sitting over there, behind the big round desk, and ask her to keep an eye on you.” When can I see daddy? “I’m going to ask her when you can see him.” She stood and straightened her dress. She bent down to kiss me and reminded me to “be a good girl. No running around, stay here and color.” She stopped at the round information desk and pointed and waved to me while talking to the smiling woman behind the counter. My mother gave me the A-okay sign and headed toward the elevators.

I’m only seven, and I was a little afraid of being in the hospital by myself, but I thought I’m a big girl, and I need to be brave. The chairs and sofa were filling up with grown-ups, so I moved to the floor. I kneeled up to the ottoman, put my coloring book on top of it, and started coloring. When I looked up, one of the adults smiled, and another asked if I was alone. I pointed to the desk and told them, “the pretty woman is watching me, and my mommy is upstairs with my daddy, and he’s getting better. And I’m going to see him today when my mom comes downstairs for me.”

I’m bored with my coloring book. I stood and walked around the ottoman, dragging my hand along the edge, walking slowly in a circle. The leather is dark brown and soft. I stop to smell my hand, and the scent reminds me of my father after he shaves. The smell is warm, familiar, and it makes me very sad. I know I’m going to cry. I kneel back down by the ottoman, I fold my arms on top of my coloring book and lay my head on it, face down, and I begin to cry. I try not to, but the sadness is too heavy.

My sister Jeannette

Someone sits down beside me on the ottoman. I’m embarrassed that I’m crying, and I don’t look up. This person tugs on one of my braids and says, “Wake up, you silly head!” I know that voice and roll up to see my big sister, Jeannette, sitting next to me. I burst into more tears and fling myself into her arms. “Hey, hey sweetie, it’s okay. We’re all here now; don’t cry. Mommy is still upstairs with daddy. She’ll meet us at home later.” I rest my head on her chest. I don’t want to let the sadness I feel about my father go, but the joy of seeing her is overwhelming. “I’ve been upstairs with Daddy,” she tells me. “He is awake and sends kisses and hugs for you.” “When can I see him?” “We’re working on it, maybe tomorrow. The hospital has many rules about children coming upstairs to see patients. They have more rules than you have in your school.”

As she knelt to zip me into my jacket, she cradled my face in her hands. Kissing my forehead and looking into my eyes. I’m overcome with the same sadness again. But, this time, I have a shoulder to cry on. I leaned into my sister and wrapped my arms around her, the two of us still kneeling on the floor. I take in the sweet/citrus scent of her perfume, and it envelopes me in a safe cocoon of love. I miss my sister. She is twenty-seven. She married Vern in the living room of our old apartment two years ago and moved to Brooklyn. Vern flys a fast plane for the Navy and lives on a ship. 

We giggle and snuggle in the back seat as the taxi speeds us home. Jeannette tells me about her train ride from New York City and what we’ll do together when I visit her in Brooklyn. We have soup and toast for dinner. Jeannette helps me into my pajamas and tells me a happy story about all the animals that live on a farm. We say our prayers with a special one for daddy. Jeannette stays at the side of the bed, tucks me in, and kisses me. She has the same sad eyes that Shawn and Mommy had this morning. As she leaves the room, sadness finds me again, unguarded and alone. My only escape to safety is sleep. Security only lasts for so long, and the safety of our family is running out. It seems like the hands of time are no longer on the family clock. 

I am laughing so hard my side hurts, and I can’t breathe. I’m happy, and somehow we are at the zoo in Franklin Park. We are rolling around on the grass, and my dad is laughing and tickling me. I’m crying funny, silly tears. I roll over, face down, and smell the sweet freshness of the grass. But, when I open my eyes, the zoo is gone, the sunlight is gone, the laughter is gone – my dad is gone. I’m all alone in my bed, in our apartment, covered again in sadness. These new tears are not funny tears. They are big salty, sad tears.

I can hear the hushed voices of my mother and sister talking. It’s morning. I roll over, jump out of bed, and wander out to the kitchen. I find them sitting with our neighbor Gladys, drinking coffee. My mother opens her arms for me to sit on her lap. Her body is warm, and her arms wrap around me as she kisses my cheek. I tell them about my dream of the zoo, how daddy tickled me, and how the animals were laughing with us. Jeannette makes me smile when she starts imitating how the zebra, the elephant, or the lions, tigers, and bears look when they laugh. We’re happy for a minute.

While my mother plays with my hair, she tells me Jeannette will help me get dressed. I’ll spend the day with Gladys while she and my sister go back to the hospital. “I wanna go! You said I could go tomorrow, and tomorrow is here, so it’s my turn to go.” My sister and Gladys look at my mother. I can feel my mother take in a deep breath. She hugs me tighter and tells me about the rules that hospitals have. “Just like your school,” she says. “The big rule is no children upstairs to see patients. We are asking them to change the rule. Today when we go to the hospital, we’ll see if they have changed the rules just for you to see Daddy.” I jumped off her lap, put my hands on my hips, and said, “It’s not fair,” and left the kitchen.

The kindness of Gladys

I’m with Gladys for the day. Jeannette and mom will be home for dinner. It seems like whatever I want, Gladys has. We spend the day playing games and Gladys reading me stories. It’s almost time for the Micky Mouse Club; I yell out with excitement. Gladys tells me, no Micky Mouse Club. Today we are going to a dance party and turns the TV on to American Bandstand. She jumps up and starts dancing around the room. As she is twirling by, she grabs my hand, pulls me off the couch, and we dance around the apartment. “Let’s have a dance contest!” The winner gets ice-cream and cookies…I won and went home exhausted, with a tummy ache.

The hospital will not let me see my dad, and he is not well enough to come down to the lobby. Both Jeannette and my mom tuck me in and reassure me my dad will be home soon. In the morning, Jeannette will take me upstairs to Gladys. It seems like I cry myself to sleep every night. I’m scared. I want my dad.

It was after four in the afternoon of the following day. I’m in front of Glayds TV, deep into the fast-paced song and dance of the Mickey Mouse Club. Glayds had doted on me all day with Campbell’s tomato soup, made with milk, for lunch and snacks of M&Ms. It all seemed too good to be true. If I only knew that truth was lurking just outside the door, I would never have let Gladys answer the knock. She opened the door and stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. After a few minutes, the door opened, and she comes in. I have never seen Glayds move so slowly. She turns her whole body to close the front door and stays there as if listening to a voice through it. As she turns around, her face seems to be the same color as her grey hair. She looks at me, and I stood up. I know the answer before I ask the question – is my daddy home? “No. But your mother is. Finish watching Micky Mouse. I’m going to change my dress.” She walks swiftly to her bedroom.

She returns after a short time in a new dress and lipstick. She kneels to brush my hair. With her face so close to mine, I can see now that she has the same sad eyes. She kisses my cheek and hugs me. She is quiet. The room is quiet, and the quiet scares me. We leave her apartment and take the stairs to the floor below, hand in hand. I hesitate as we near our apartment. I pulled my hand away from Glayds. “No, I don’t want to go in.” Glayds kneels again in front of me, her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t be afraid; everyone is inside with your mother.” “My daddy is not inside. Where is he?” She doesn’t answer me. She stands, straightens her dress, runs her hands through her hair, and takes a deep breath as she grabs and hugs me. I remember, more than anything else, that hug. That hug, at that moment, felt like an angel wrapping her wings around me. I felt scared but safe. I felt protected. Gladys opened the front door to our apartment.

Fear and sadness

The apartment was overflowing with friends and family. Five on the couch. My sister, her best friend Marie, my brother Bill, his wife Dolly, and Vern, in his uniform. Aunts and uncles in the chairs, more chairs from the kitchen, filled with more people than I had ever seen in our apartment. All eyes turned to me as we walked in. The talking stopped. I look for my mom. She was in my father’s chair. She’s sitting up very straight, dressed in black, her arms reaching out to me. I ran to her and could feel her tears on my cheek. She turns her head, her soft lips resting on my ear. She says nothing. She holds me. I can feel the stream of tears running from her eyes. She softly whispers. “Daddy is with the Angels in Heaven.” I freeze. I think if I stop breathing, I can stop time. I can stop any more words about my father and heaven. I can dry my mothers’ tears.

I feel like I am drowning. I can’t breathe. Right now, there is no stopping the tears or time. My mother is holding me so tight; it’s like we’re one person. Our tears merge like two rivers running wild with an undercurrent of dread, a riptide of finality pulling at us. The voices in the room became distant, then silent. A breath passes between us and locks us together in grief and fear. There are no words spoken. The loss is too overwhelming, and words would only deepen the pain of reality. Suddenly I am deep in the sadness of the day. Thrown into the grownup world of death. 

So begins the lost adventures of childhood and the retreat of the widow. And the endless open road in front of us.

to be continued…