Page 48 of Stubborn Heart

“Just chocolate,” she answered.

As my mom urged my grandmother toward one of the tables so she could grab a seat, I scooped out some ice cream for the both of them as well as myself. I’d found that heartbreak always felt a little less painful if a couple of scoops of ice cream were involved.

Though I was technically still open for anyone to stop in for a sweet treat, it was unlikely. Because it was late Wednesday afternoon at the end of March—the busy season just wasn’t here yet.

Right now, I was grateful for the fact it was slow. As I looked over to where my mom and grandma were sitting, my heart ached at the sight of my grandma. She was crushed.

While we all knew these moments were going to happen with my grandfather’s diagnosis, he didn’t always have bad days. Of all the days for him to not have one of his good days, this had to be the worst one for it to happen.

I made it over to the booth where the two women I loved most in the world were seated across from each other and slid in beside my grandma.

“Thank you, dear,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, wrapping one arm around her back and giving her a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

My eyes shifted to my mom, who let out a sigh. Maybe they weren’t her parents, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t just as devastating to her. My mom loved my dad’s parents like she did her own. And considering they lived on the same farm with us, we saw them more frequently than my mom’s parents. It was inevitable for all of us to be so close.

The three of us took a few bites of our ice cream in silence before my grandma finally decided to speak. And when she did, she shattered my heart completely.

“This was the first one,” she said. “Not once in all the years we’ve been married has he ever forgotten about our anniversary. I know he can’t help it. I just wish I would have known this time last year that it would be our last time celebrating.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt horrible for her.

“We’ll never have it again,” she murmured.

Over the last couple of years, I thought I was experiencing the worst of what life would throw at me when I had to deal with a legal battle over the family farm.

I was wrong.

This was worse. So much worse.

And I was devastated for both of my grandparents—Grandma, because she knows what’s happening; Grandpa, because he doesn’t. God, if he knew what was happening and that he’d forgotten their anniversary, it would surely have killed him.

“I’m so sorry, Grandma,” I lamented. “I wish there was something I could say or do to make this better.”

She sent a look my way that indicated her appreciation as she replied, “It’s not your job to fix this. None of us can do that.”

“On the way over here, I was telling her this first one is going to hurt the worst,” my mom started. “While I don’t think anyone will ever get to a place where this whole thing will ever feel good, we’re all going to have to find ways to accept it and celebrate the ways we know he’d want us to.”

I nodded my agreement. “Yeah, and I think you can still celebrate with him, Grandma. I’ll pack up some of his favorite ice cream for you to take home with you. He might not know he’s celebrating, but you will. And you can remember for the both of you.”

My grandmother smiled at me. “I think that’s a good idea. It’s not easy, and it hurts like crazy, but I think the best thing I can do is continue to love him the way I always have.”

“I’d like to think he’s going to feel that,” I told her. “And in the end, isn’t that what matters most? Both of you knowing just how much you love one another?”

“It is,” she returned. “But let this be your lesson, Rhea. You, too, Danielle.”

“Our lesson for what, Edith?” my mom asked.

There was an extended pause before my grandmother answered, “I can’t say there’s anything I’d go back and do differently. I love the life we lived together. But I guess there’s a small part of me that wishes I would have taken the time to commit more of it to memory. The two of you need to take the moments you have with the people you love and cherish them. I never thought I’d wind up here, wondering what parts of our life Henry remembers or which memories were his favorites.”

“I think you already know what some of those favorites are,” my mom chimed in. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Henry happier than when he was here, working on the farm and spending his time with his family.”

My mom was right.

Extravagant purchases or material things were never something he cared about. It was this family, this farm, that mattered most to him.

Of course, I still wanted nothing more than to be able to fix this.

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