"You know we all get old, Weston. It's nothing to fear," his grandmother told him. "Death, I mean."
"I know what you meant, Grandma," he told her.
"I'm not afraid to die," she told him. "I am afraid of being alone, though." She reached out her frail hand and took his before saying, "Thanks to you and your mother that's something I've never worried about. If not for the two of you, I really would rather move on than just hang on for the sake of living. I had two friends like that, you know. Their families put them in homes and forgot about them. They just wasted away, eaten up by sadness and the neglect. I swore I'd never go through that." She patted his hand and smiled. "You're such a good boy, Weston."
"We'd never let that happen to you, Grandma. You know that."
His mother had cared for her mother for the last three years since she got to the point where she could no longer care for herself. Her husband had passed away nearly ten years ago and she had lived alone, proudly and independently until the combined effects of debilitating arthritis and a mild stroke made doing so impossible.
She had her own room in her daughter's house with a television, a nurse who checked on her each day, and the companionship of her 'baby girl' who was now 52 years young. Somehow, no matter how busy he was, her adult grandson, Weston, also stopped by to visit her seven days a week, time permitting.
She and her daughter were both very proud of him. He'd been a Seattle police officer for a little more than four years after graduating from community college and then the police academy. That kept him plenty busy. But he was also a very nice-looking young man and an never-ending string of pretty girls took up even more of his time. As if that wasn't enough, he also worked out and played basketball with his fellow police officers yet somehow he made time to see his grandmother nearly every day.
How could he not? She'd always been there for him. She didn't have a lot of formal education, but she was the smartest person he knew. No matter what the trouble had been in his life over the years, she'd had an answer. Not a pushy answer. She'd sit there and listen carefully to everything young Weston said giving him room to explain or just vent. Only then did she offer her opinion. And invariably, it put things into perspective leaving Weston asking himself, "Now why didn't I think of that?"
She'd recently turned 82, and she wasn't doing well. Her spirits were still up and now he realized that a large part of that was due to being surrounded by people who loved her. At 25, he couldn't possibly understand what life would be like 60 years down the road. He could barely imagine turning 40 or having a family let only being 80-something. But he was already wise enough to see how important it was for someone that age to know that people still cared.
His mom was there pretty much all day, every day, but that didn't matter. He just couldn't stay away. On those very rare days when work kept him busy for reasons beyond his control, he felt guilty and he'd at least call to let her know he was thinking about her. Perhaps somewhere deep inside he hoped there would be a Weston in his life to remember him when friendship and love were all that were left and worth living for.
"I gotta go now, Grandma," he told her. "I start my tour in half an hour."
"Oh, right," she said weakly. "That sergeant of yours is a tough one. You best be running along. You don't want to get on his bad side, huh?" She managed a smile as he kissed her on the cheek.
"I love you, Grandma. You know that, right?"
"Yes, I do," she told him. "No doubt about it." She reached up and touched his face. The back of her hand was purple and nearly black. The skin looked like wax paper and he was afraid that if he touched it, it would just flake off leaving nothing but the bones he could almost see through it. "I love you, too, Weston. Never forget that."
"I won't, Grandma," he told her.
Then she said something he couldn't ever remember her saying before. "Goodbye, Grandson." She'd always said, "Take care" or "See you later." Never goodbye.
He smiled and said, "Bye, Grandma" not knowing he would never see her alive again.
The call came just as he was finishing his ten-hour tour of duty. It was his mom on the phone, and he had a foreboding about something being wrong as she never, ever bothered him at work.
"Honey? It's me," she said, her voice shaky with emotion.
"It's Grandma, isn't it?" he said quietly.
"She's gone, Weston. I'm so sorry. She loved you so much."
He sat quietly for a few seconds then said, "She loved you too, Mom. She told me that all the time."
The funeral was held four days later. After a very nice service at the United Methodist Church, everyone filed by her open casket to pay respects. Some just looked, others touched her cold hand. A few, like Weston, kissed her forehead as he took a final look and fought back tears; tears he knew she wouldn't want him to shed.
Rather than cry, he recalled her words about her fear of being alone and resolved to spend as much time as he could with people like his grandmother or more precisely, like her friends who'd been sent off to die alone in nursing homes where few people, if any, ever came by to let them know they still mattered.
There was a home just a few blocks from where he lived and that evening he stopped by for the very first time.
He walked up to the lady at the front desk and introduced himself. "Ma'am? My name is Weston Greer. My grandmother just passed away and I feel this, I don't know, this...need or...burden...to spend time with older folks who have no one who comes to see them. Are there any here like that?" he asked.
She sighed deeply and said, "Unfortunately, we have quite a few here, young man. Many have lots of visitors. Most have at least one. But we have more than a handful who have no one. My own mother is getting very old and it breaks my heart to think of her like that. We occasionally get folks from a church to come visit, but that comes with a price tag of sorts. We also bring people in for things like Bingo or whatever, but it's not the same as a personal visit—especially from a regular visitor. Come on. I'll introduce you to a few of them tonight and the others when you come back. Just say 'when' once you've met enough of them."
As they walked down the hall, the woman whose name was Marilyn, said, "You must have an amazing mother or parents or someone. A handsome, single young man like yourself could be doing a lot of other things with his free time."
"Maybe so," he said, "but I can't think of too many that are more important."
She pointed to a room number which had 17 on it. "This is Mr. Thomas's room. He's been here for a year and I've never seen a soul come visit him. He's a retired school principal and a very sweet man."
They walked another 20 or so steps and she pointed to room 30. "Mrs. Garr is in there. For almost her first year, she and her husband shared a room. He passed away and she's been completely alone ever since. Between you and me, I keep expecting her die of a broken heart any day now. Such a sweet lady."
She turned right at the end of the hall and three doors down pointed to room 54. "And this is Mrs. Tilly. She's been here longer than anyone I know and again, no one has ever come by to see her. At least not family or friends. She's 94 and getting very close to the end. She's so weak and frail."
She started to take him further and Weston said, "I think three is enough. At least for now." He made a mental note of the names and room numbers then thanked the lady for her help.
"There's plenty more if you that burden of yours grows any bigger," she told him with a friendly smile and a touch on the arm. With that, she went back up front.
Greer peeked into Mrs. Tilly's room and saw her staring blankly at the television. He walked over to her and when she became aware of his presence, turned her head toward him. "Are you an angel? Am I in heaven?" she asked in a very weak, very shaky voice.
"No ma'am," he said. "Just a mere mortal stopping by to get better acquainted." He leaned closer and smiled. "You kind of caught my eye as I walked passed your room."
The elderly woman made a noise he thought might be a laugh, but it sounded so painful he felt bad if it were. Her lungs rattled and she coughed and spat. He grabbed a tissue and wiped away the spittle. "You okay there, good lookin'?" he asked.
"Yes. Just fine," she said as the wheezing stopped. "So what really brings you by, young man? Are you going to try and sell me something or save my soul?"
"No ma'am. Neither of those. I just decided it was important to get to know people who spent their whole lives helping to make the world I live in a better place. I'd just like to acquainted. I'm Weston Greer. I'm 25 years young, and Seattle police officer."
She offered him a bony hand that looked even worse than his grandmother's had. "Nice to meet you, Officer," she told him. "I'm Martha Tilly. I raised two boys and a girl and was married for 52 years. After my husband died, I went to live with my daughter, Alice. She got cancer and passed away three years ago, and my boys put me in here."
She didn't cry, but her eyes were so...sad. Just the mention of her sons changed the way she looked. "They both live close by, but they never come to see me. I raised them better than that, but they're grown men and you can't force people to do things they don't want to do." She tried smiling a toothless smile and said, "If you ever see either of them, pull 'em over and give 'em a ticket. For me."
Weston smiled and said, "Yes, ma'am. I definitely will."
He spent about a half hour with her and let her do all the talking. It was as though he'd tripped a release valve allowing her to get rid of some of the things building up inside of her. When she told him she was very tired, he thanked her for sharing her time with him.
"No, thank you, young man. I...I can't remember the last time anyone came to see me."
"I'll be back tomorrow and as often as I can, okay?"
Mrs. Tilly didn't believe him, but she told him she looked forward to it. Greer smiled at her and said, "Would it be okay if I gave you one little kiss right here?" pointing to her cheek.
"I'm not married anymore so I suppose that'd be okay," she said with a toothless smile. Greer gently squeezed her hand and gave her that kiss. She put her other hand on his face and told him what a sweet boy he was. He thanked her again and wished her a good night.
On his way back to the front he saw Mrs. Garr also staring at a television. She was the tiniest little black woman he'd ever seen. She also looked very sad and frail. She had essentially the same questions as Mrs. Tilly and was just as grateful for his company. When he asked if he could kiss her too, she laughed. "I'm still a live wire, young man," she said. "I might just kiss you back, you know!"
He assured her that'd be just fine so he only smiled when she raised up and kissed his cheek, too.
His last stop was Mr. Thomas. Of the three people Greer visited, he felt the strongest connection with him. It was almost certainly because he was a man, but he was also a kind, gentle soul.
