The Trouble With Falling

I had tried to help out the best I could. I worked at a coffee shop before school and at a local grocery store after school. I saved up as much as I could, wanting to help Grams finally reach her dream. We had been close to having enough too.

We used some of our savings to put me through culinary school and I had come back to Atlanta to start looking for spaces to rent with Grams. That was when we got the Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

My time and energy went into taking care of Grams then. I worked at the bakery in the mornings and at a little café a few blocks away in the afternoon. I tried to spend all of my free time with Grams. On the good days, we would look through old photo albums or make our favorite old recipes together. On bad days, I just did my best to make her comfortable and happy.

We spent the holidays baking but I noticed that she seemed to be getting worse, having more bad days than good. I managed to talk her into going to the doctor again right after Thanksgiving and we had the appointment scheduled, but we never made it.

Grams collapsed in the apartment when we were making dinner together one night. I had called 911 and rode with her in the ambulance to the hospital, squeezing her hand as they worked on her. I had tried to talk about the bakery and all of the things that we were going to do when we went back home, anything to try to get her to stay, but she didn’t make it.

She had a stroke and by the time the EMTs got to the hospital, it was too late. They couldn’t revive her.

I spent the first part of December planning her funeral and trying to adjust to being all alone. Grams was buried next to Grandpa, Mom, and Dad in a quiet cemetery on the outskirts of town. The funeral had been small with just a few friends from the neighborhood.

Then it was like the whole world just forgot about me.

Everyone got busy with the holidays. They put up decorations and bought gifts and celebrated. They did all that while I mourned.

By the end of December, I knew that I needed a change. I couldn’t keep living in our apartment, in the place that she had raised me. It was right before Christmas when Grams’ lawyer reached out to me.

We went over her will and, while I knew most of it, I was shocked to find that Grams had one last surprise for me.

A savings account with enough money to start that bakery that we had always dreamed about and one final letter.

I walk over to the desk that I managed to cram into the corner of my new small one-bedroom apartment. The top is covered in mortgage papers for the new bakery, old recipe cards, and my laptop. I make a note to myself to try to organize it later this week as I open up the top drawer and pull out the envelope.

I must have read this thing a hundred times in the last three weeks. I can probably say it all by heart now, but there’s something comforting about seeing her familiar handwriting on the page that has me reading and rereading it.

I carefully unfold the worn paper, smiling when I see her loopy script.

Hartley,

If you’re reading this, then I’m gone. I wish that I didn’t have to go. I know that you must be sad and I hate that I left you all alone. That’s actually what this letter is about.

Don’t be.

Sure, you’ll have to grieve me, just like with your parents, but then go out, Hartley. Have a life. Meet new people and start a new family.

That’s what I want for you. To be happy.

I think my next surprise will help with that as well.

I’ve been saving, putting away everything I could all these years for you. You might not be able to afford that fancy bakery that we had planned in Atlanta, but maybe that’s for the best. You could use a change, something to knock you out of your comfort zone and get you started on your new life.

I hope that you find a nice place with great people. I want you to know that wherever that is, I’ll always be watching.

Love you forever,

Grams

I wipe awaya stray tear as I carefully fold the letter back up and gently place it in the envelope and then back in the desk drawer.

I head back over to the window, glancing out at the empty street below. I’ve had more doubts and second thoughts in the last two weeks since I moved here than ever before, but something deep inside me is telling me that this is where I am meant to be.

When I had thrown a dart at the map back in Atlanta, I had been shocked when it hit this tiny town in Michigan. A part of me, a big part, had wanted to redo it, but that was against the rules. I had gone online and started looking for spaces to rent and apartments, and I was surprised to see that Honey Peak, while small, was actually pretty nice.

With the mountains and all of the cabins, it reminded me of a scene out of some old western movie. The snow had looked beautiful in all of the pictures, gently landing on rooftops or clinging to the tops of the mountains, but now that I’m here, the charm is starting to wear off.

The apartment that I found was small and came furnished already, so I was able to sell most of our stuff back in Atlanta. The bedroom, bathroom, and living room are all super small, but it has a kitchen and that’s all I need in life.

The space that I rented is directly below me. I had been surprised when I found the old bakery up for sale. Sure, it needed a fresh coat of paint, a new oven, and a new industrial mixer, but the display cases and floors were in perfect condition.

I had jumped on it, putting a huge dent in the savings account but feeling like it was the right step.

I check my phone, groaning when I see that the temperature today is going to be around ten degrees all day. I decide that I’m going to have to break down and go buy a better coat and pair of boots.

I can see my car down below, half-buried under the new snow, and I know that it will take me at least fifteen minutes to brush the snow off and defrost it. At least I’m not going far.

I smile as I let the curtain drop and head into the kitchen, thinking that this day calls for something sweet.