Remember Me

By Rosemary Toppi

Remember Me explores family, love, and what happens when you look back and wonder if you've been enough.

How old do you have to be to make your own choices? Eighteen, Twenty-one, Thirty-five? For Beth it's sixty-six. She decides to shut off the machine that shocks her heart back into rhythm.

Beth knows she won't see another birthday. As she looks back over her life she finds love, not blood, is the foundation of family. Born into chaos in 1946, her mother abandoned her and her siblings one day before her eighth birthday. Even though she was adopted by a loving couple at age eleven, she struggled to find her voice through her teen years and early adulthood.

Now, as she looks back, she sees a tapestry of resilience and love. Are we really the authors of our own fate, controlling our own choices, or are there hints of guidance and protection even in the darkest corners of our pasts?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosemary Toppi
• Release date: Apr 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224576234

Book preview

For my mom

Thanks for the tea

and memories

2 Weeks Ago

Chapter One

My daughter Jen accidentally bumped my wheelchair into a cart in the hospital hallway.

Oops. She and my son Jordan suppressed a laugh.

Geez, you’d think a nurse would have better wheelchair skills.

I’m the boss of the nurses. I don’t push people anymore. I’m out of practice, she said, stifling a chuckle of laughter.

As we rolled, I said, I could’ve walked, you know.

We know Ma, but we wanted to get there this week, Jordan said.

Where did you learn such sarcasm? I joked, knowing full well his attitude came from me.

I learned from the best. He touched my shoulder. My trembling hand covered his.

In the compact conference room in the cardiology wing, my son and daughter sat on either side of me. Dr. Martinez (my cardiologist), Dr. Brook-Allen (my oncologist), and my assigned medical advocate all sat on the other side of the fake wood table. The French doors made the space seem bigger, but claustrophobia crept up my spine.

It’s a full house. Everyone came to tell me I was dying. As if I didn’t know. Do you have to pack me in like a sardine to tell me?

Can you open the door, Baby? My eyes pleaded with my youngest, Jordan, as I reached for my water bottle.  He jumped up and popped open the door. The room swirled with fresh air. Well, fresher air.

My kidney cancer that was in remission started growing again last year. Now the one kidney I have left is failing. The medicine to help my kidney tanks my heart. The medicine to help my heart ruins my kidney. At sixty-six years old, I’m not likely to see another birthday. 

Well, Dr. Martinez said. The best course of action is to keep taking as much Lasix as your kidney will allow and go from there. She turned to Jordan. She can go home the day after tomorrow. They closed their folders and shook my hand. My kids thanked the doctors as they shook hands.

Why did they thank the doctors? Why aren’t they screaming?  Jen should have stood with one fist in the air, the other hand grabbing the lapel of Dr. Brook-Allen’s superior white coat, saying, It’s 2013, damn it! There must be more you can do!

Jen and Jordan must be as numb to this run-around as I am. Many times over the last twenty-seven years, Dr. Martinez warned them, This may be the end. You should say your peace. I suppose they’re used to hearing it. It’s likely the same as any other day for them. Jordan probably thought, Oh, ya, okay, Ma’s going to die again. Should we get Chinese for lunch?

Beth, Dr. Martinez laid her hand on my shoulder and brought her face close to my ear. You’re a fighter. I’ve seen it through the years. As long as there is life in you, I know you’ll take full advantage of it.

Jen bends to hug me in my wheelchair. We’ll all be back in a couple weeks to have an awesome visit. Even Skye is coming. 

Okay, darlin’, I said in my New England accent, so it sounded more like dahlin’. It’s my nickname for all my daughters. Three girls: Julie, Jen, and Jess. Calling the girls darlin’ helped when I couldn’t keep their names straight. My baby boy Jordan didn’t come until they were in high school.

I can’t wait to see Sweet Skye. She has been too busy with her new job to visit her Nana.

Cut her some slack, Ma. She lives in Chicago, Jen said, protective of her daughter.

Sorry, I know. So do you. I’m glad you came out for this meeting. Thank you. Honestly, though, I can’t wait to see everyone, I said as Jordan started rolling my wheelchair out of the conference room.

13 Days Ago

Chapter Two

A few tears rested on the edges of my baby blues as I found myself alone with Dr. Martinez in her office. 

I don’t want to be here again, I said.

No stranger to this office, I met Rebecca Martinez when I had my first heart attack. I was thirty-nine then. No matter the season, the aroma of her pine scented candle always wafted from the windowsill. 

Three times in the last three months when my pacemaker couldn’t keep my heart rhythm steady, my ICD kicked me in the chest, and I called the ambulance. My ICD, an internal defibrillator in my shoulder, just under the skin, has tiny wires that connect tiny paddles to my heart.

I want the ICD turned off, I said.

Rebecca rose from her chair and sat beside me. Beth, I need to know if you’re sure about this. We have no way of telling how long your heart will work on its own. 

The tears that threatened before tumbled down my cheeks and spilled onto my shirt. Dabbing my eyes, I held onto the conviction that brought me here.

Turn off the machine. 

Your pacemaker will still regulate your heartbeat, but that won’t shock you back into rhythm like the ICD does now. She paused and took my hand. If your heart stops, you will die.

My commitment wavered for a moment, but my mind was made up. I’m going to die soon. I want it to be as peaceful as possible. 

I pushed myself up straight in the wheelchair and looked her in the eyes. I understand.

She nodded. Would you like me to call Jordan?

No, I’m keeping this decision to myself, I said, swallowing back the lump in my throat. There were too many decisions in my life that were made for me. This one is mine alone.

59 Years Ago

Chapter Three

A sound like stampeding horses thundered up the front porch. I winced as the screen door squeaked, announcing the five-year-old twins, Debbie and Donna, into the kitchen. One girl chased the other around the table, running and shouting as they made fake gun noises.

Will you guys be quiet? Patty yelled. She wasn’t mad. She had to yell if she wanted to be heard. Why’d you come in anyway? Take that hullabaloo back outside. She shooed them away with a damp dish towel.

They galloped around the table one more time, pretending their sticks were horses, their dirty tangled hair bouncing behind them. Then the twins scrambled back out the screen door with another creak and bang. This time, they jumped straight off the porch through the broken posts onto the dirt. 

I watched it all from my seat at the kitchen table, spooning oatmeal into my almost eight-year-old mouth. Patty braided my long, dark pigtails today. My faded blue dress was getting too short, so my knees showed a little as my legs dangled from my chair, swinging back and forth.

The twins and Patty were only three of my sisters. I had eight. Eight sisters and two brothers. Oldest to youngest went: Sara, Mary, Cathy, Barb, Patty, Tom, me, Mark, Debbie, Donna, and baby Judy. We were all born in this house. Sara, Mary, Cathy, Barb, and Patty had a different dad who died when Patty was three. My three oldest sisters were married with children of their own. 

For all the kids my mother, Lizzy Dendin, had, she hardly acknowledged any of us. Almost every year, a new baby was born and handed off to one of my sisters for care. She wasn’t here to cook dinner. Patty did that. In fact, Patty cooked all the meals with the little food we had. Lizzy didn’t do the laundry; Barb took care of that. Most nights, my mother wasn’t home when we went to bed. 

My father used to live with us, but he left last year a month after baby Judy was born.

Patty finished the breakfast dishes and got her books ready for school. She looked very neat in her pink dress and black Mary-Jane shoes with folded white socks sticking out at the top. Her hair was in a low ponytail, her bangs straight and severe. 

You’d better wash out that dish before you leave this kitchen, she said right in my face, poking her index finger into my shoulder.

I brandished a false, wide smile. Yes, your majesty. Her hand struck my face and the sting on my cheek was sharp. Ow, you didn’t have to hit me. I was gonna do it.

Without an apology, Patty left and headed down the road to meet up with her friend Betty. They had been walking to school together ever since I can remember. 

My sister, Barb, worked at Charlie’s Diner. She was there early this morning, but she would be home with the car soon to take Tom, Mark, and me to school. 

Cold water splashed over my hands as I rinsed my bowl in the sink. The sound of tires crushing rocks in the driveway made me think Barb was here. I dried my hands on my skirt and grabbed my schoolbook and slate.

I called out to Tom and Mark, Come on guys, don’t keep Barb waiting! I’ll get the twi–. My sentence was cut short as I opened the screen door right onto the uniformed body of a deputy.

There were two of them, accompanied by Miss Harmon, a lovely lady who had been here before. She had on a brown dress with a cream-colored belt and matching gloves. She had candy apple red-framed glasses that turned up at the sides, and brown hair curled just-so under her blue felt hat. Her white heels were already dirty from the driveway.

Hi honey, remember me? Is your mommy home? she asked with a practiced smile.

Opening the screen door wide, I let them into the kitchen. I’ll go get her, I said, before I turned and sprinted through the kitchen and up the stairs, passing Tom and Mark on their way to the kitchen. 

What I meant by get her was find her. I wasn’t sure she was home. As usual, I hadn’t seen her yet this morning.

Ma! Ma! That lady is here again, and she brought deputies, I called from the top of the stairs.

My mother came out of the bathroom cradling her head in one hand and holding her yellow housecoat closed with the other. She had on slippers that used to be yellow but were now a tattered, dirty mess. Her mouth opened to yell at me for being too loud when what I said registered. 

Her eyes widened, and she popped back inside the bathroom. Toiletries rattled and the cabinet door slammed. When the bathroom door opened again, she was wearing her nice blue dress with a bright white belt and her hair was combed back into a bun. 

She steadied herself on the railing and rubbed her neck as she walked down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, I tried to hold her hand. She slipped from my grasp and walked down the short hall. 

The two deputies stood near the kitchen sink. Miss Harmon sat at the table with Tom and Mark. I noticed Debbie and Donna’s eyes peeking in at the kitchen window. 

Good morning, Lizzy. Please sit down, Miss Harmon said.

As Miss Harmon talked, I realized what was going on, and why the deputies were there. Miss Harmon slid papers across the table. My mother took the pen in her hand and turned to Tom and me with no tears and no words. My eyes couldn’t get any bigger. I wanted to look at Tom, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my mother. She turned away and signed the papers.

Crickets trapped under the porch chirped louder in the moment’s quietness. The clock in the hall ticked and tocked at the last moments of my family. Even though it was a cool morning, sweat beaded on my forehead and above my lip. 

Finally, words came bubbling over from somewhere inside me. Wait a minute! burst out of my mouth. What are you doing? What is happening here? Yelling every word, I continued, Are you letting them take us away? Do Barb and Patty know about this? What will they say when they come home, and we’re gone? Barb will be here to take us to school soon. What will you tell her?

My mother said nothing to us. She rose from the table, turned her back to us, and walked into the hall. 

I started after her. Ma, please!

Deputy Larson caught my arm. Oh no ya don’t.

I don’t want to go. Please stop this, I called out to her as she left the room, "Why can’t you go? You’re hardly here anyway." 

My mother paused for half a second before she climbed the stairs. She never looked back. 

The deputy dragged me out of my house, across the porch, and down the broken stairs. He plopped me into the squad car and held me there with both his hands around my waist. 

Listen you little shit, he said, his nose touching mine, Don’t make me take out my friend here. Letting go of my waist, he patted the wooden club at his side and used the other hand to shut the car door.

I pulled my feet into the car just as the door slammed shut. Rising onto my knees, I pounded on the glass, calling to her.

Miss Harmon came out with baby Judy on her hip. She gave Donna and Debbie each a lollipop and the twins followed her.

Tom, Mark, and Judy went with Miss Harmon in Deputy Wood’s vehicle. The twins were placed in Deputy Larson’s car with me. The twins looked at me with screwed-up faces. They couldn’t understand why I was crying. They had lollies and got to ride in a car. For them, it was a great day.

We drove to the stop sign at the end of our road as Barb’s car rounded the corner beside us. The twins waved and smiled at her, but I banged on the window and yelled for help. She went by, watching us with an open mouth. She must have known. She must have known because she just drove on.

We were in the car for what seemed like hours, coming to a large red brick building in a compound of buildings. I was once again wrestled out of the car by deputy Larson as I flailed.

Inside, I learned this building was for eight to eighteen-year-old girls. Two days later, I spent my eighth birthday without my family in the dormitory of a rundown orphanage. I cried into my very small, very flat pillow.  I cried for my brothers, the twins, and sweet baby Judy. I cried for myself, too. I had no idea what had become of any of them. Would we grow up apart? Could something like this be temporary? Our home was crazy most days, but at least we were together. Eventually, the room faded into darkness.

The two women who ran the orphanage were always referred to as The Ladies when the children were talking about them. They were both salt-and-pepper-haired old spinsters. One was tall and haggard with a low gray bun, and the other was chunky with pink skin and a bobbed haircut. My mouth and attitude afforded me many hours of their punishments in my time at the home. The home, not my home.

In the first few days, I saw Tom and Mark across the street in a home for boys. The only cafeteria was in their building. The day I saw them, I ran to them. We hugged until The Ladies pulled us apart. They rapped us on the knuckles with a ruler right there while the others ate. 

After that day, my stomach would be in knots until I caught their eyes in the breakfast crowd. 

56 Years Ago

Chapter Four

A canvas bag was thrust at me. Your aunt and uncle are here to adopt you. Pack your things and come downstairs.

I placed the clothes from my only drawer into the sack as memories of the past three years flashed through my mind. Now, at eleven years old, my time here was a blur of school, punishment, bullying, and being bullied. 

At the bottom of the stairs, I paused. I assumed my Aunt Joan was adopting me. She was the only aunt I knew. I didn’t recognize the people standing with the Ladies in the hall. The woman looked young, and she wore pants. I dreamed of wearing pants. Before I saw a photo of Amelia Earhart standing in front of her plane, I didn’t even know women could wear them. This woman wore glorious green pants with thin black lines that made a checkered design. Her black wool coat was open, and I saw the green flowing fabric of her blouse tied in a big floppy bow around her neck. 

The man standing next to her was head and shoulders above her. He had on a dark suit with a thin tie, and his hat was just a bit crooked.

This is John and Millie Shelby, one of The Ladies said.

Millie’s dark hair fell over her shoulders as she bent down and touched her cheek to mine. She made a smooch sound next to my cheek, careful not to get any of her bright red lipstick on my skin. 

Over her shoulder, just beyond the big glass doors, Tom stood outside on the concrete. He saw me through the glass and smiled with one hand stuck in the pocket of his jeans, and the other holding onto a young girl. 

Is that baby Judy? I asked, even