The Stranger in My Home

By Kelly Flanagan

A low angry voice rumbled from the living room as Eve stooped to move clothes from the washer to the dryer. “You’re a naughty, nasty little boy.”

She dropped the wet clothes on the floor before rushing out of the laundry room and through the kitchen. Eve’s mom had her bony hands on her four-year-old, great-grandson’s shoulders. Lucas looked up, his chin jutted forward in defiance.  “You don’ wike me.” His blue eyes were wide and his lower lip quivered. 

Eve’s heart sank. “What happened?”

Lucas scooted toward Eve, wrapping his chubby arms around her leg. She picked up her  grandson, and he rested his chin in the crook of her neck. After a momentary snuggle, Lucas lifted his head and met Eve’s eyes. “I spit at her.” Exasperated, she opened her mouth, ready to send him into a timeout, when he whispered, “Great-Gram took Lamby.”

Eve’s eyes rested on the curly stuffed lamb peeking out from behind a blue-fringed pillow resting on a chair. Her mom picked up the stuffed lamb and tossed it at Lucas. Grumbling, she shuffled to the couch where she plopped down and covered up with a blanket. “He needs a nap.” 

Three weeks. That’s how long Mom had been staying with Eve while her sister, Mom’s caregiver, took a much-needed break. How will I handle two more weeks of both Mom and grandchildren in the same house, she wondered, the pit in her stomach growing into a boulder. 

Mom had dementia. Her 83-year-old body was slowing down, but her brain moved even slower, like a watch that no longer kept time. It’s not her fault, Eve reasoned, reminding herself to be more patient. Before lowering Lucas to the floor, she whispered in his ear. “Remember, Great-Gram says things she doesn’t mean. Sometimes you just have to ignore her.” 

Lucas nodded, a solemn frown filling his face. He squeezed Lamby against his chest, and joined his two-year-old sister, Ella, building a tower out of blocks.

 Eve tucked the blanket around her mom’s feet and lowered herself into a chair. After covering her head with the blanket, Mom muttered a string of swear words. Lucas looked at his great-gram and then at Eve, his eyes wide. “Poop, fart, stinky butt,” he repeated, a smirk set on his face. Eve planted a hand on her forehead and sighed.

Ignoring Lucas and Mom, Eve closed her eyes, thinking back just three short years ago to Mom’s 80th birthday. Eve, along with her sister, their husbands, and a handful of grandchildren and great-grandchildren were gathered at Mom’s sprawling lake home to celebrate. Her mom raced around, preparing food, chatting with the grandkids, and bouncing babies on her hip. With silver hair cut pixie-style, trendy jeans, and running shoes, she looked almost youthful. “Sit down and relax,” Eve pleaded. 

Mom returned to the kitchen to grab a drink for someone. Eve’s daughter rolled her eyes and laughed. “Don’t try to stop her. Gram’s just like the Energizer bunny,” 

Mom flashed a wicked grin as she carried a margarita on the rocks and bottle of water into the living room, the water for one of the kids and the margarita for her. 

Now, that Energizer Bunny had morphed into a turtle, slow, but not quite steady. Now, Mom spent most of the time sleeping. Her slowdown and forgetfulness didn’t happen overnight, but to Eve, it seemed like a switch flipped off and she wasn’t sure when that happened. 

How could she have not seen this coming when it felt like a speeding car careening around a track now? She wanted to blame it on the isolation during Covid, but in retrospect, little signs were there before. Everyone’s life, but her mom’s, was back to normal post-covid. 

Two years ago, on a visit to the lake, Eve noticed her mom’s refrigerator needed cleaning. She grabbed a trash can and tossed expired food from the fridge into it. They carried four overflowing bags to the big garbage can in the garage and chatted while cleaning the kitchen. Eve assumed since Mom was slowing down, cleaning a refrigerator by herself was just too tiring. She broached a subject brought up by her sister many times since their dad died. “Maybe it’s time you move closer to one of us?” 

Her mom’s large, sunshine filled home was on a crystal clear lake. From the bank of sliding doors spanning across the front of the house, sailboats and waverunners crisscrossed the lake. The neighbor kids splashed in the water and jumped off giant floats. Mom stared out the window. “I love this place. I’ll know when it’s time to move. I’m not ready.” 

Worry and irritation made Eve’s face feel hot. She brushed wisps of hair out of her eyes and continued cleaning. Maybe she was reading too much into the little hints that things weren’t quite right? There had to be a lot of 80-something seniors who lived alone, but couldn’t quite keep up on household chores. Mom could hire help, but Eve knew she wouldn’t. In her mom’s mind, she was young and could still do everything by herself.  It was probably time for a family Zoom meeting to figure out how to best help. 

Later that day, after the refrigerator was clean and other chores done,  Mom and Eve decided to walk, a ritual they enjoyed during every visit. They both loved to walk by the cedar-shingled cottages nestled between stately lake homes, commenting on the landscaping and people who lived there. Mom’s pace slowed each year, but she still climbed the hill leading to the little ice cream stand a mile and a half from her house. A chocolate and vanilla twist cone was a perfect treat while they rested on a wooden swing outside. 

Mom gazed at a huge house sitting on a piece of land jutting out into the lake. “That’s where the dance hall used to be.” Her eyes closed and she smiled. “Your dad would pick me up in his 1952 Buick Skylark and take me dancing there every Saturday night in high school.” 

Eve laid her hand on top of her mom’s. Mom’s fingers had grown thinner as she aged, making her wedding ring fit loosely. They looked like twigs that might snap in a strong wind, and brownish age spots dotted her hands like plump freckles. Eve remembered when Mom’s hands were strong and gentle when she grasped wiggling grandchildren. Could they even hold a great-grandchild now?

They got up and began walking home. Mom smiled at Eve, her eyes sparkling. “That little cottage over there,” she said, pointing to a fieldstone house perched next to a curve in the road. “That’s where I stayed every summer, growing up. There was a store next to it that sold baked goods, candy cigarettes, and wax bottle candy. The owner gave me a warm chocolate chip cookie every day, and I used to swim with her daughter.” 

Eve heard the stories before, but they took on new meaning now. Mom was happiest when she pulled memories from somewhere in the twisted pathways in her mind. She seemed more relaxed and younger as she wove the ribbons of memories into a story. Best of all, it helped Eve think about her mom the way she wanted to remember her, strong, witty, and independent. 

During visits the previous year, Eve’s worry deepened from a tiny valley to a bottomless crevice. A stack of bills sat on the table, unopened. The mountain of toilet paper, cleaning supplies, and Kleenex in the basement doubled in size. Hundreds of books were stacked in teetering piles in every room. Laundry, something Mom used to complete with almost a religious zeal, filled laundry baskets in the basement. Now, she seemed to have lost the energy to even do the smallest tasks. 

On one visit, Eve sat down at the kitchen table and opened the bills. Overdue. Final Notice. Sent to Collections. How could this happen? Mom always paid every bill early. Eve organized the mail into two piles, deal with later and urgent, and then went out to collect the mail waiting in the mailbox by the road. Judging from the pile she pulled from the mailbox, it must have been a week since Mom last retrieved it.

“Eve, do you have a minute?” The next door neighbor was clipping the hedge between their homes. Jen was 60, the same age as Eve. She was short and athletic with chin-length sun-bleached hair, which made her look ten years younger. Eve felt fortunate that Mom had a next-door neighbor who kept an eye on things. Last year, Jen’s husband repaired an emergency water leak and hooked up a hose so Mom could water her overflowing barrels of geraniums and October daphne more easily. Eve walked over to Jen, who put down an oversized hedge trimmer. 

“I noticed your mom is never outside. I used to see her working in her yard or taking a walk everyday. She rarely goes out anymore.” Eve glanced at the clay pots of withering flowers, confirmation that Jen was right. “Last week, she wheeled her garbage can to the road on Wednesday, but the garbage truck always comes on Tuesdays. She seemed startled when I told her it was Wednesday. It’s none of my business, but I thought you’d want to know.”

Eve leaned into the white picket fence separating their properties. “I suspected Mom wasn’t getting out much. I appreciate you keeping an eye on her since none of our family lives close by.”

Worry lines snaked across Jen’s forehead. “I look through her window from the window in my kitchen each day just to check on her. Did you know your mom usually stays in her pajamas all day?”

Things were worse than Eve imagined. She suspected Mom wasn’t taking her daily walks or visiting with friends, but Eve thought she was at least getting dressed each day. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m sure it’s time for Mom to move closer to my sister or me. I have to go back home tomorrow. Do you mind calling me if anything comes up?”

A meeting between Eve and her sister set everything in motion. They found an independent senior apartment close to her sister and moved Mom there right after selling her house. Surprisingly, her mom didn’t even complain when told she needed to move. She seemed relieved they were taking charge. On some level, Mom knew that living at the lake house alone wasn’t working.

The transition to independent living went well, and Eve visited less frequently. They continued their nightly phone calls though. Eve had called every night for the last 12 years, ever since her dad unexpectedly died. Before dementia set in, she looked forward to their marathon length calls discussing books, friends, and the latest world news. Now, phone calls were short. “Hi, Mom. How was your day?“

Eve would hear Mom sigh as she collected her thoughts. “It was good. It’s really cold out today so I just stayed inside and read all day.” 

Mom was fixated on the weather, so every phone call was a scene from Groundhog’s Day. Every day was too cold and windy to go out. “Mom, it was 80 and sunny today at your house. You need to get outside and take a walk.” 

It was best to change the subject before her mom withdrew into her shell. “Tell me about the book you’re reading.”

Eve would hear her mom shuffling through papers to find her book. “Oh. It’s really good.” A heavy pause followed as her mom tried to recall what the book was about. “It’s about this woman and…you know. It’s good.”

Eve was startled out of her reverie by Mom’s singing. 

“Bumm, Bumm, mountains. Bumm, Bumm, valleys. Stand beside her and guide her. Luga Lu Luga Lu from above. God Bless America, My home sweet hooooomme —”

Her mom was sitting on the couch, hands slapping her legs as if  playing a drum. Delighted, Lucas and Ella slapped their knees and sang along. Aware that she had an audience, Mom’s face brightened, and she sang louder to the tune of God Bless America. Where she couldn’t remember the words, she made them up or substituted drum and bugle sound effects. 

As Mom sang, Lucas and Ella danced around the room, waving their hands above their heads and laughing. They joined in the singing, repeating the nonsense words. Suddenly, the singing stopped. “You’re being too loud. Nasty kids. Go take a nap,” Mom muttered and then curled back on the couch, covering her head with the blanket. 

Tears gathered like tiny diamonds in the corner of Ella’s eyes. Lucas looked from his great-gram to Ella. He curled his arm around Ella and rubbed her back, just like his mommy did. “Sometimes, you have to ignore her,” he whispered to Ella.

Eve heaved herself out of the chair as Lucas and Ella ran off to play with their kitchen set. She was exhausted, but there was no time for rest. With a quick glance at Mom, she went back to the laundry room to fold clothes before it was time to take the grandkids home. 

With the kids gone for the day and dinner over, Eve lazily washed dishes. Mark, her husband, and Mom watched Jeopardy in the living room. She heard them competing to see who could get the answer fastest and Eve was amazed her mom sometimes won. It felt like old times with them laughing and razzing each other when they got an answer wrong. Mom’s brain seemed to be fully engaged now. Sometimes that happened, moments of surprising lucidity peppered with her quick wit. The sudsy water warmed Eve’s hands, the lights were dim, and the room gloriously quiet. Yes, it felt like old times. 

When the kitchen was clean, Eve turned the light off and wandered into the living room. She dreaded what was to come next. Mom needed a shower. It had been four days since her last one, and there was no way she could delay it for another day. Sometimes, Mom just nodded when Eve told her she needed a shower and slowly walked toward the bathroom. Other times, she swore and complained as Eve prodded her into the shower. She never knew which mother she was going to get. 

“Mom, Jeopardy’s over. Let’s get your shower before Dateline comes on. I know you love that show.”

Mom crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed into two slits, like a wary cat. “Not now. Later.”

The relaxed, peaceful bubble Eve felt earlier burst. With her grandchildren, she could bribe them to take a shower, but that didn’t work on Mom. She read somewhere that baby boomers were called the “new sandwich generation.” Like the meat layered between two slices of bread, she was squeezed between grandchildren and parents, both demanding time and energy she didn’t have. A tightness in the back of Eve’s throat made her jaw hurt. Anger did that to her. She was so tired that the fight drained out of her. “Okay. Tomorrow morning. Do you promise?”

Mom nodded, rested her head against the couch cushion, and closed her eyes. “Poop, stink, poop.”

Eve looked at Mark who was stifling a laugh. He put out his hands and pulled her in his lap, wrapping his long, muscular arms around her. “Babe, let it go for tonight. It won’t hurt if she waits one more day for a shower.” 

“It won’t hurt, except she’s starting to stink,” Eve whispered in his ear. They both burst out laughing and the tension slipped from her shoulders right before Mom broke into a loud rendition of The Sound of Music, complete with yodeling. Still laughing, Eve rolled her eyes while Mark gave her an impromptu back rub.

The next morning, Eve was at the stove, scrambling eggs, when Mom wandered into the kitchen, wearing a pale pink terry cloth robe and fuzzy pink slippers. After a brief greeting, Mark left for work. Eve cleared his dishes from the kitchen table and set out a heaping plate of eggs and toast for her mom, who picked at them, moving the egg around her plate. Better now or never, Eve thought. “Let’s take a shower before Lucas and Ella get here.”

Mom flicked a chunk of egg that had fallen in her lap onto the floor. “No. I’ll take it later.”

Later wouldn’t work. Eve was babysitting Ella and Lucas all day. Plus she had phone calls to return during their naps. “Mom, we might as well get the shower over before the kids arrive. C’mon. A nice warm shower will feel so good.” 

Eve watched in dismay as her mom flicked another piece of egg off her plate and shook her head. Little bits of egg covered the floor and her mom’s orange juice glass teetered on the edge of the table. Without warning, Mom shot up out of the chair, causing the glass to topple to the floor and shatter. Orange juice pooled between the glass shards. 

“I am not going to shower now. I will decide when to shower. You will not tell me what to do.” With steely eyes, Mom glared at Eve. Her fists balled into tight knots and her chin tilted up as if daring Eve to respond. 

Eve leaned on the cabinet, counting to 10 in her head. It didn’t work. “Look what you did. Can’t you just cooperate for once? You’re taking a shower. Now.” Her voice thundered off the walls. She was so mad that she felt her face burning. Mad that she was fighting over a stupid shower, mad that she had yet another mess to clean up, but mostly mad at this crappy situation. 

Mom wasn’t her mom. Mom was part 4-year old child having a temper tantrum and part confused old lady. It wasn’t fair. Eve opened her mouth to say more and then closed it before she said something she’d regret. Instead, she grabbed a broom and dustpan from the closet.   

Mom stood for another minute, watching Eve sweep the soaking glass shards into the dustpan. Then she tightened her robe belt, turned abruptly and strode back to her bedroom, closing the door with enough energy to make the floor shudder. Through the door, Eve heard  her mom muttering. “Fart, fart, stink.” And then the singing began. Eve released the breath she was holding, sat down on the floor, and cried.

After a short, cleansing cry, Eve returned to the mess. Just as she emptied the last wet pile of glass into a garbage bag and placed the bag in the huge garbage can in the garage. Lucas and Ellas arrived. Ella cradled a bald headed doll named Donna, and Lucas clutched Lamby. Lucas looked around. “Where’s Great-Gram?” 

 No matter how much Mom complained, swore, sang, or yelled at the kids, they always asked for her. Eve bent down to hug them and warn them to leave their great-gram alone. “Great-Gram is in her room right…”

Before Eve could finish, Lucas ran down the hallway and blasted into her room, with Ella following right behind. Eve braced herself for an explosion of words, the start of a battle. A few moments of quiet was followed by soft giggles. Then howls of laughter. She slipped into the hallway and peered through the open door. 

Mom clutched Lamby, making it dance across the bed in a series of jumps, turns, and somersaults. Lucas perched on the edge of the bed, laughing as his lamby put on a show fit for Broadway. He playfully poked his great-gram, and she poked him back, making them both collapse in laughter. Ella stood next to the bed, holding up Donna for Mom to grab next. 

Eve’s heart swelled. 

Two little kids looked past the teasing, swearing, and bitter comments to see a great-gram who loved them. They saw humor and kindness when Eve lost the ability to see past Mom’s shell. If two little kids could see her mom as a person, could she do the same?

As Eve watched them from the doorway, Lucas and Ella ran back to their toys, tired of the game. Mom sat on the edge of the bed, a hint of a smile creeping across her face. For a moment, she looked young and happy. Eve sat beside her on the bed and wrapped an arm around her. “Hey, Mom. I love you.”

Mom reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Eve’s eyes. “Hey, honey. I love you too. I’m ready to take that shower.”

Kelly Flanagan was an award-winning elementary school teacher. She has a B.S. in Journalism and a Master of Education. Her debut middle grade novel, Holding Onto Courage, was published by All Things That Matter Press in October 2024.  Kelly lives in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin with her husband. In the winter, she can be found in Florida’s panhandle, walking the white sand beaches. Besides writing, Kelly is the webinar coordinator for The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI), spends time with her four active grandchildren, and plays hours of pickleball.