夢幻完美男友

Eight years ago， my mother received an unusual call from her mother.

“Have you got a minute？” my grandmother asked in her gentle 1）drawl. She then claimed that my 60-year-old aunt， my mother’s sister， was seeing someone.

My mother was 2）incredulous. “Unless she’s sneaking out of the window at night，” she said， “I’m not sure how she’s going on these dates. She’s living with me and Rickey.”

My aunt， having undergone double hip-replacement surgery， was 3）recuperating under the care of my parents.

My grandmother continued： “Well， this new gentleman actually has been in love with your sister since kindergarten. He’s just been waiting for Ronnie to get out of the picture.”

Ronnie had been my aunt’s husband for 40 years. And he recently had left her， but not in the way anyone had expected.

Let me back up. The last few decades had not been kind to my aunt. She had 4）wrestled with ending her long marriage to Ronnie， who was a troubled soul.

He wasn’t a bad person， but he struggled with addiction， a condition that can mold you， with sticky hands， into someone else.

With the news of her 5）impending surgery， my aunt knew he would be unable to care for her， so after much consideration， she promised to find him a new home， gathered up her courage and left.

Not long after， on the day my uncle was scheduled to check himself into a retirement community， he put a gun into his mouth and killed himself.

Now， on the phone with my grandmother， my mother said：“I really think you’re imagining this. You’ve been watching too much television.”

But my grandmother， a woman of biblical patience， grew ornery at my mother’s refusal to believe that my aunt had a suitor.

While this may sound like a plot from daytime television， the story arc was not out of character for my grandmother. At this point in her life， she filled her days rereading books and watching television， 6）marinating on these tales as if they were scandals plucked from her own life.

It was doubly difficult to know when her stories were true because of her 7）Alzheimer’s. The disease preserved many of her old memories while stealing much of her ability to sustain new ones.

However strange her story of the make-believe man， it was remarkable that， so far into her disease， my grandmother remembered that my uncle was no longer “in the picture.” She had forgotten that my mother is a cancer survivor， that I live in New York and that my brother is married， despite the wedding photo on display in her room. Yet my uncle’s death was as fresh in her mind as if she had plotted it herself.

About a week later， my grandmother called with more about this wealthy businessman. He had a name now： Nick Stephanopoulos. He was Greek， a convenient parallel to my Lebanese grandfather.

She 8）gushed that Nick was flying my aunt to Paris， Rome and London， and that he planned to buy her luxurious gifts. He was crazy about her， not to mention that he was an international man of romance.

There comes a time when the caretakers and family of Alzheimer’s patients may be advised to adopt the patient’s reality as their own. This can help establish a sense of normalcy for the patient， diminish potential confusion and temper agitation.

So we brought Nick into our lives. Soon my grandmother began asking us about him. At lunch， as we caught up on one another， she would address the table with great expectation： “Well， how’s Nick？”

At first we’d pause， shifting in our seats and wondering who would be the first to accept my grandmother’s delusions as our reality. Eventually， my aunt would 9）pipe up， “Nick is...great.”

We tried to keep our answers short， because to us they were lies. And even though we knew pretending was the best solution， we still weren’t comfortable making up a life for the man， though his life did seem exciting…

One afternoon when my aunt visited my grandmother in her 10）assisted-living home， my grandmother spoke gravely， saying， “I need to tell you something about Nick.”

“What is it？” my aunt asked.

“On the train to New Orleans last week， he bumped into Mr. McDaniel， you know， the train conductor.”

“Mmm.”

“Mr. McDaniel thinks you should know that Nick is involved in some 11）unscrupulous business deals，” she said， her eyes focused intently as she waited for a response.

“I’m so happy you told me，” my aunt replied. “I don’t want to be involved with someone untrustworthy， and I’ll bring this up with him.”

My grandmother was pleased. Crisis avoided. Never mind that people mostly drive that route these days， and Mr. McDaniel—well， he had been dead for 40 years.

These wild stories continued month after month， each vignette becoming a source of amusement among us. We 12）marveled at my grandmother’s mind， which was restricted by memory but freed by imagination. When my mother and I spoke， I would always ask about Nick. She would giggle and say， “Oh， let me tell what Nick did this time.”

Nick Stephanopoulos offered us something to hold on to. He was the laughter born of our sorrow.

More than two years after inventing Nick， my grandmother took a fall and broke her arm. At 88， she couldn’t recover and declined over the course of five weeks. But as she made her slow exit from the world， she continued to tell us stories about Nick.

And then， one afternoon at the hospital， near the end of my grandmother’s life， my aunt was 13）huddled behind a television， fumbling with cables when， suddenly， my grandmother said， “I’m sorry to hear about Nick.”

My aunt stopped 14）fidgeting with wires and peeked out from behind the television. “What about Nick？”

“I heard he only has three months to live，” my grandmother said. “I’m sorry.”

My aunt， stunned and disappointed， sat quietly calculating what this meant. After two and a half years， was this really the end？

A couple of weeks later， my grandmother passed away at hospice with my mother and aunt by her side.

For victims of Alzheimer’s， whole lifetimes vanish. For their loved ones， faith is tested and perseverance tried.

But to see Nick’s fictional life stretched before us like a partly painted canvas proved that even memory loss couldn’t shatter my grandmother’s hope that my aunt would receive all she deserved.

Playing along with my grandmother kept us close to her， even as she was being taken from us. It was easier for us to live a lie. But with Nick’s death， we discovered our strength as a family. We were no longer pretenders. We were believers.

八年前，我母親接到她母親打來的一個(gè)不尋常的電話。

“有空和我說句話嗎？”我外婆拖長腔調(diào)柔聲問道。隨后她聲稱我那位六十歲的姨母（我母親的姐姐）在和某人約會(huì)。

我母親不相信?！俺撬砩蠌拇皯袅锍鋈ァ！彼f，“不然我不知道她是怎么出去約會(huì)的。她跟我和里奇住在一起?！?/p>

當(dāng)時(shí)我姨母做了雙髖關(guān)節(jié)置換手術(shù)，在我父母的照顧下休養(yǎng)康復(fù)。

外婆接著說：“嗯，這位新露臉的先生事實(shí)上自幼兒園時(shí)起就愛上你姐姐了。他只是在等著羅尼跟你姐姐分道揚(yáng)鑣?！?/p>

羅尼和我姨母維持了40年的婚姻。但最近他以出乎任何人意料的方式離開了她。

讓我來解釋一下來龍去脈。我姨母過去幾十年可不好過。羅尼是個(gè)累贅的包袱，她費(fèi)了很大勁才結(jié)束了他倆的漫長婚姻。

羅尼人不壞，但是個(gè)癮君子，這種狀況就像一雙黏糊糊糾纏不放的手，把人摧殘得面目全非。

姨母得知馬上要做手術(shù)，也知道丈夫沒法照顧她，因而經(jīng)過深思熟慮之后，她承諾給他找個(gè)新家，然后鼓起勇氣離開了。

沒過多久，在姨父本該要去登記入住養(yǎng)老院那天，他吞槍自殺了。

當(dāng)時(shí)，母親在電話里跟我外婆說：“我真的覺得這是你的幻想。你看電視看得太多了?！?/p>

外婆素來有著圣人般的耐心，這次卻因我母親拒絕相信有人在追求我姨母而變得暴躁起來。

雖然這個(gè)消息聽起來像日間電視節(jié)目里的劇情，故事主線卻并非不符合外婆的性格。在那段日子里，她整天重讀書籍、看電視，浸泡在這類故事中，仿佛這些令人咋舌的事件出自她自己的生活。……