Stitch in Time
The gift of a poinsettia connects an elderly woman and a little girl in an unexpected way
Will his Conover 6-year-old stood daughter, outside suddenlythe door, shy, holding hidinga small behind poinsettia,his legs. its base wrapped in green foil, He bent down and looked her in the eyes. “Now, I need you to talk to her, OK, sweetie?” The little girl nodded. Will looked at the clock down the long hallway, where a pair of residents were chatting in their wheelchairs. Ten minutes, he thought to himself.
His daughter, Madison, was the reason they were here, outside Room 375, on an otherwise perfectly good Saturday morning in mid-December.
Her first-grade class was part of her school’s “adopt-a-grandparent” program with Parkview Manor. The kids each got a poinsettia to deliver to their match. Then when they came back to sing Christmas carols, the kids each ate lunch with their new friend.
He wasn’t supposed to have Maddie today. But he awoke at 6:15 a.m. to the loud beeping of a car, followed by a knock on his door — Maddie bringing a cup of coffee, black, and an apology from her mother, who had been called in to work at the hospital. Will had worked third shift the night before and could only offer a groggy wave of acknowledgment from his front porch. Now, he double-checked the room number and knocked. After a moment, the door opened a crack. “Yes?” “Hi,” he said, “I’m here from the school, well, we both are —
Madison, come out here — and, well, you know, this is the program from St. Matthias and —”
With the mention of the parish, the old lady smiled and edged the door open again. After a moment, Will realized that was the sign to come in.
The room was a jumble of furniture and boxes. The kitchen counter included a pile of paperback mysteries, a one-plate microwave oven and a stack of dishes, with mail from at least a week spread out in front, catalogs mostly. In the corner, there was a small Christmas tree, boxes labeled “lights” and “ornaments” underneath.
The old lady sat in a rocking chair, a newspaper on the table next to her, an in-progress blanket on her lap, knitting needles steadily moving, all attached to a ball of yarn that rolled across the floor, as if it were in search of a kitten.
He set the poinsettia on the table and found a corner of the couch. Madison took a spot on his knee.
“Well,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”
“Is Christmas coming?” the old lady asked, as if startled by that fact.
She looked around the room — the words on the whiteboard read “Saturday, Dec. 17” and her unlighted tree was in the corner.
“Yes,” she said, falling back into the present. “Christmas will be here in no time.” She offered a smile, and returned to her knitting. Will tried small talk: The weather, the place, the food. All, she said, were terrible.
“I’ll be moving back home soon. Got everything packed up in these boxes.”
The conversation was a series of dead ends. Every time she looked up, it was as if everything started over, often from the same place. “And who is this?” she asked, nodding toward Madison. Before Will could answer, Maddie jumped from his knee and ran toward the window: “Snow!”
Outside a blur of flakes twirled and danced in the air, offering a sense of liveliness and excitement that was missing inside.
“I’m Will, that’s Maddie,” he said gently. “She really has been looking forward to this but, you know, it’s the first real snow of the year and ...”
That morning, Maddie had heard the snow was coming, got out her bright blue snowsuit — the one that stayed at his house — and drew a picture of the snowman she wanted them to build. Now she was by the window, ignoring his sharp glances. “Maddie, come over and talk to Mrs. — “He realized he had forgotten her name and fumbled in his jacket pocket for the piece of paper: Verna Kranklinberg, 83. “Just call me Mrs. K,” she said. “Grandma K.” He looked around the room again, thinking they should offer to do something to help her — The dishes? Put lights on the tree? But now Maddie was hiding behind the boxes and —
“Madison Ann Conover, come over here now.”