A Room with a View

Her daughter and her son were no longer able to give her the round the clock care she suddenly required and that she gave them when they were babies. Life is funny like that, but what goes around comes around and do onto others as you would have them do onto you, life is all about karma good and bad. The children of her son and daughter, no doubt, will do to them what they have done to her.

Both married with children, her children have lives of their own. Admittedly, times are different now with people living longer, notwithstanding, when she grew up, she was taught to never turn her back on family. Unless they were mentally ill, as was her uncle, cousin, and mother and needed professional medical care, family members did whatever was necessary for other family members in their time of need. Nonetheless, she still felt guilty about leaving her mother here and wondered if this wasn't her justified punishment for doing that with her children placing her here, too. Just as tragic when her mother could no longer function and care for herself, it was horrible when she received the call that her mother was gone.

"We're sorry, but your mother is gone."

"Gone? What do you mean she's gone? Where did she go?"

"I'm sorry. She's dead. She committed suicide."

No daughter should receive a telephone call like that about their mother, a call she discovered this institution routinely made. Cold and detached, they were so insensitively unprofessional back then. She always wondered if there was more to the story. As Ruth was in her youth and still is now, her mother was an attractive woman and Ruth always wondered if her mother had been sexually assaulted, brutalized, and physically abused by the mostly male staff that was not very well trained to care for the women who were left unconditionally and unsupervised in their care. Sometimes under the false pretenses that they were mentally ill, the patients were routinely drugged by the staff to keep them quiet and to keep them there as paying patients, when instead they were just depressed.

Had this happened today instead of in the early 50's, they could be prescribed a pill and there'd be agencies that would open an investigation into the wrongdoings of the nursing home on her behalf. She could have filed a civil suit for wrongful death and ultimately put the hospital out of business. Still, she was saddled with remorse and saddened with guilt that it was somehow her fault and that she hadn't done enough to help protect her mother.

Back then, she didn't harbor any thoughts that a medical doctor, a psychiatrist of all professionals, would place money before the mental welfare of a patient. With the grounds so beautiful and the setting so serene, she was naïve that evil didn't lurk here, but it did. Much like in the Garden of Eden, it thrived. Understanding all of that now helped her to understand the motives of her children for leaving her here. At least she had her view.

Albeit somewhat accustomed to her new surroundings now after being here for more than three years, Ruth still had her bad days where she felt angry having been abandoned here by her family. Apart from their obligatory holiday visits, her son, her daughter, and her grandchildren came to see her less and less and when they did come, their visits grew shorter and shorter and to the point where she was so hurt and so angry when they finally arrived that she pretended she was asleep, just so they'd leave.

Thinking she was asleep, her son and daughter were insensitive in their words. The venom they spewed that she was still alive, gave her the strength to continue to live and her view gave her the reason she needed to continue. The older she lived, the more she was forgotten by them and the more she relied on her view to make her happy.

She imagined her daughter getting a call for her to come to the nursing home one day. She imagined the meeting they'd have with the nursing home administrator.

"Gone? She's gone," she imagined her daughter saying when hearing the news from the administrator. "What do you mean, she's gone? Where did she go?"

"I'm so sorry. She died peacefully in her sleep." She imagined the administrator breaking the sad news of her demise to her daughter.

"Gone! She's finally gone!" She imagined her daughter saying when telling the news to her brother over the phone.

"Well, it's about time. I thought she'd never die. I thought the old bag would live forever," she imagined her son saying to his sister.

Her daughter gave her a cell phone for her to keep in touch, but she always misplaced it and whenever she found it again, she always forgot to recharge the battery before losing it again. Since her children put her here to die, she still believed, she wondered if losing her cell phone wasn't psycho-symptomatic of not wanting to talk to her children any more.

Living life on her own for nearly twenty years after the death of Robert, her beloved husband, a lesson of being self-sufficient that her mother had unknowingly taught her by her mother's inability to live on her own after her husband died, Ruth felt imprisoned here. When she was first placed here, no longer independent, it was too big of an adjustment to suddenly swallow all of that at once and to find herself living in an unfamiliar place with strangers that she didn't know, like or trust.

Five years older than her, she wished Robert had lived longer. She wished he was here with her now to care for her and to protect her, as he had done during the years when they were together. Oh, how she loved him. He was her best friend. If he was here with her now, they could look out the window and at the view together and hold hands, while smiling at one another with the secret of what they used to do by the lake.

If it was up to her, she would have been married on these grounds, but her mother insisted that they have a church wedding. If it was up to her, she would have eloped with Robert before he shipped out to war. She thought she'd never see him again. She was so happy when he returned home safe and sound and in one piece.

Like a dream, it seemed like yesterday when they first met and sometimes it seemed as if it never happened, it was so very long ago. When she met him, she never thought her life would turn out the way that it had become now. Certainly, once she found him, she couldn't imagine her life without him. Then, with him leaving for so long and finally coming home from war after defeating the Germans and the Japanese, she thought their time together would never end. Now alone and still missing him, she dreaded every minute of her life without him. Something she thought would never happen, some days she forgets to remember him by not thinking about him.

'Robert? Robert who?'

If it wasn't for his picture on her nightstand, she feared she'd forget him altogether. Yet, her view never allows her to forget him because he never forgets her. He's there. He's always there, especially when she needs him to be there. There he is again.

He returns to her every night to stand and wave at her by the lake; it's his time to visit with her. She still kisses his photo goodnight on those days when she remembers who he is. It's the medication they force her to take that makes her forget him. Those pills fog her mind and make her lazy and tired. She's better off without them and hides them in her mouth, whenever she can, to spit them out later, once the nurse leaves her room.

She hates forsaking the control of her life to a staff of strangers. No longer can she eat what she wants or go where she wants, whenever she wants. She misses driving her car to go shopping at the supermarket or the mall and she misses visiting her old friends. The fact that her friends never came here to visit her made her wonder if they were still alive or if they were locked away somewhere else, too, as she was locked away here. She wished she had a friend who was locked away with her; they could reminisce about the old neighborhood and gossip about people they used to know. It was horrible to be so mistreated and as a good mother and a caring grandmother, she certainly deserved better than being imprisoned here, she felt.

"I miss my grandchildren. I miss my cat," sometimes thinking that she was alone, she surprised herself by saying that out loud and was even more surprised when Dorothy answered.

"I'm sure your grandchildren will visit you, soon, Ruth, Honey. And I miss my dog, a Golden Retriever named, Molly."

When they first left her here, she wondered and worried what would happen to her house and her possessions. They've all since been sold and her possessions divided between her son and her daughter leaving her with just a few of her most treasured things to make her feel at home here, they said. She wondered who took her cat, Julia, named after her daughter who died in childbirth, something else she never told her children. She remembered how special Robert was during that time, caring, loving, and understanding to help her through her pain and depression. She found out later and just as quickly forgot again that her daughter took the cat.

She wondered about her neighbors and how her best friend, Cynthia, was doing after she had fallen and broken her hip. She had forgotten that Cynthia had died some years ago, long before she was even placed here. What seemed like yesterday was years ago and what seemed like years ago happened yesterday.

She wondered about her mail and the mailman that she spoke with every morning before sending him off with some freshly baked cookies she made the night before and quickly wrapped in a paper towel when she saw him approaching. He's since retired and moved to Florida. It's funny that she never saw him as being that old, old enough to retire, but he was.

It wasn't so bad being here. For one thing, she didn't have to cook anymore and shop for food, even though she sometimes missed it, cooking and shopping had become too much of a burden for her to do. Now that she thought about it, things can be worse, they always can be worse. Unlike so many others who had gone from her life, at least she was still breathing.

Usually very early in the morning while the others slept, she'd catch a glimpse of a deer, a fox, a hawk, and even the rare sight of a black bear. Then, late at night, she'd watch the nocturnal creatures emerge, owls, bats, coyotes, badgers, opossums, and raccoons to hunt prey and forage for food. The forest never slept. Breathing, living, changing, and alive with activity, there were always animals out and about and things to see. And then she saw her Robert.

She couldn't believe he was there, but he was, just as how she remembered him.

"Robert, Rob, Bob, Bobby, I love you."

Ruth didn't sleep much. Sleep was such a waste of her time when she had so little of it left to live. She'd sleep when she was dead was what her grandmother used to say and what had now become her mantra. As if devoting all her time in church to gaze up at the altar, she spent her days and nights looking out her sacred window at her beloved view. She didn't want to miss seeing Robert. Sometimes she imagined seeing Robert wearing his uniform and sometimes she imagined him naked. Sometimes she imagined him waving to her and calling to her to come out and join him, but she couldn't open her door. She tried, but it was locked from the outside and she'd bang on it wanting to leave.

"Open the door. Open the door. Robert is out there waiting for me. Let me out. I need to talk to my Bobby. I need to kiss him. Open the door. Please, someone unlock my door. I want to see my Robert."

"Ruth, Honey, it's late. Go to bed," said Dorothy. "You can go out tomorrow morning when they unlock the door."

Sometimes, she'd fall asleep in her chair and be surprised to awaken in bed after one of the orderlies put her to bed, as she had done so many times with her children. Sometimes the touch of the orderly lifting her would awaken her and she surely thought it was Robert helping her to bed.

"Robert? Is that you? Oh, Robert, I love you."

Away from cars and people, with everything done for her, it was relaxing to watch nature in its natural habitant with birds building nests and animals taking shelter and living off the land, as it was meant to be. Suddenly, becoming withdrawn, anti-social, and even a bit misanthropic, she preferred watching her animals than talking to people. Except for the lack of manicured lawns and overall nature's natural landscaping, the view she had was what a mentally ill person had peering out through his barred window from 1880, when it was built, to 1970, when it was demolished to make way for the construction and dedication of this nursing home in 1999. How awful it must have been for her uncle, cousin, and mother to not only be confined here but also to have been trapped in their disturbed minds, as she is now.

Never having been an artist, never having had a lesson, yet, always knowing she could draw, she suddenly took to sketching her view with pencils. When the staff noticed her drawings in black pencil, they happily supplied her with art paper and a rainbow of colored pencils for her to sketch in color. Her mood enlivened with her drawings and her drawings were so remarkably and professionally done, that the staff had an art show of her sketches for all the other residents of the nursing home to see and enjoy.

It had taken her more than 80 years to discover her artistic gift and to reveal her talent for sketching through the memories that she was given from her view. It was as if she had an extension of her view that she could now post to her white, lackluster walls to give them not only a bit of color but also to extend her view so that she could see it even on those sick days when confined to her bed.

Only, she penciled her view the way the landscape behind the nursing home was before and not in the way that it was now. Always, Robert stood prominently in the picture. Sometimes he was dressed in uniform, sometimes he was naked, but she never drew him; she merely imagined him leaving a space for him to be penciled and colored in later, perhaps. Only, she never did pencil and color him in later because he no longer existed.

Everyone questioned why she left a space and some guessed why she did, but she never told anyone. Her love was gone and leaving the space for him was her window of escape to take whenever she needed to see him again. Leaving that part of her drawing empty allowed her to imagine him there and to imagine her gone from this view to be with him.

The land had remained vacant for nearly thirty years until some wealthy doctor got the idea that this was the ideal location for a nursing home and it was. High up on a hill and overlooking the valley below, the view out back, unnoticed by those who would rather recreate with the other residents, was what made being here tolerable. Her room with a view gave her the solace she needed to continue. The view from her window was her ever changing canvas of life, wild or otherwise. Besides, this is where Robert came to see her every night.

In all the places her children could have placed her, once she resigned herself to no longer being able to live in her house and on her own, she considered herself fortunate to be here. Knowing that eventually she'd die here, she felt at home here because of the view she enjoyed so much each day. She only wished she could be buried on the grounds in a plot next to her mother, so that she'd overlook the lake and could come out late at night to be with Robert again, but that cemetery had been closed for decades. Nonetheless, she's already written her will requesting that she be buried next to her baby daughter, Julia, a plot across the way from her beloved husband. Hopefully, when he's not here, he's there.

She had bought the double plot when they were first married but used one grave for Julia. Then, when Robert died, as a WWII veteran, he was allowed a plot in the veteran's lawn across the way from Julia's grave. She likes the fact that he watches over Julia, as he will watch over her when she's finally put to rest across from him. That should come as some surprise to her daughter and her son to discover that they had or would have had an older sister. She almost wished she could be around to see the shocked looks of surprise on their faces when her lawyer reads them her will.

Slowly rocking in her chair, it was the same chair she used to nurse her babies, comfort her children when they were ill, and welcome and hold her grandchildren when they visited. She rocked as if keeping beat with the ticking of time that her mantle clock faithfully ticked away on her dresser, the antique clock her mother had given her as her wedding gift. She knitted clothes and blankets for the great grandchildren she imagine she'd have and sipped lemon tea from the good china cup and saucer that her husband bought her for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, the one she always kept on display in the china cabinet with the good china and dared never use for fear of breaking it. All the while, Ruth loved looking out her window at the view. It was all about the view, as now there was nothing else left for her to do or to see but to enjoy her precious view.

It didn't matter if the landscape was covered by the snows of winter and the lake was frozen solid with ice, she loved watching the winter giving way to spring with its announcement of another year of life for the new creatures that emerged from the forest. Then, when winter warmed to spring, she awoke to the birds singing and she enjoyed watching the bloom of the buds come alive before closing her drapes from early June until mid September, when the colorful speckled leaves and the chill of fall allowed her to reopen her drapes and enjoy her view again.

During that time, when she shut her drapes, she drew her sketches. During that time, instead of looking out at her view, she endlessly stared at her sketches. During that time, she slowly became more withdrawn and more depressed, no longer leaving her room to mingle with the other residents.

Every year, the summer was her time of depression when she couldn't enjoy her view. Every year around this time her precious view was assaulted by a collection of deviant, nude men who invaded and abused the privacy that this remote location afforded and that encouraged and helped to hide the secrecy of their perversions. Some of the men were gay and others were just perverts hoping to catch a glimpse of a nude or semi-nude woman that tanned on the bank by the lake while flashing them their penises. She didn't need to see any of that nor did she want the memory of her view despoiled by their abhorrent lewd and lascivious behavior, which is why she kept her drapes closed for three months.

Open minded and accepting of others, Ruth didn't care that some of the men were homosexual; one of her grandsons was gay. Yet, still, just as she had no desire to watch a man and a woman having sex, she had even less desire to watch a man and a man having sex. Then, she wondered, if when she came here to have sex with Robert, if those who lived in the mental institution could see them. Because they weren't free to make love, she wondered if the sight of them making love tortured them, as much as the sight of man making love with another man now tortured her.

Yet, what bothered her even more than public sex was the open promiscuity of the gay men who came here just to have sex with not just one special man, but with several strangers. Every day they came looking for a lover and looking for sex and every day she counted the days until she could open her drapes to enjoy her view again. Especially with AIDS and other STDs running rampant, she never understood that kind of driven, dangerous, deviant, and self-destructive lifestyle that would put them at such risk for diseases and even death.