The Barn: Chapter Eight

By Doug Campbell and John Casey
The next morning, the brothers drove separately. Keith planned on leaving for Boston Logan immediately after their visit with Mom. Before heading to her room, they quietly shared a bland but hot breakfast and the same bad coffee in the Maple Grove cafeteria. By now, Keith was resigned to the fact he’d never get all the answers he was looking for. He was grateful, however, to have seen his mother again while she was still with them. He wasn’t sure there would be a next time.

Once finished, they returned their food trays and walked down the hallway to her room. The visit didn’t last long. “I love you Mom. I promise to come visit again soon,” Keith told her warmly. He lingered, waiting for some response, but none came. Her gaze

remained fixated on the television, a 1990s Oxygen Channel tearjerker unfolding on mute. They sat in silence for half an hour. “You should get going. I’m going to hang out a little longer,” said John. Keith agreed and gave April a kiss on the forehead. Then they walked out to Keith’s rental in the parking lot. “I miss you, Keith. I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon.” “I’ll be back, John. I promise I won’t disappear this time.”

John secretly hoped that were true. It took nearly a decade for him to return the first time, and Keith would soon be the only real family he had left. Keith got in the rental, waved, and drove off. Weaving his way south through the traffic on Interstate 93, his thoughts remained on Mom and John. And as he had felt on the drive up, the guilt began to creep back in. He was leaving them again. As if on cue, the overcast sky took on an ominous quality, darkening quickly as droplets of rain hit the windshield. How appropriate, he thought. Halfway to the airport, his cell phone rang. It was John. “You should come back, Keith. Mom passed away, just a few minutes ago.”

Keith didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Was it possible she held on just long enough to be able to see him one last time? The possibility of it gave him a small amount of joy. But it could not overcome the wave of loss that washed over him. “Keith, are you there? Did you hear me? Mom is gone. She passed as I held her hand. It was peaceful.” He choked back the tears. “Um, yes, Yes, I’m here. I’m turning around. I’ll be back there in about an hour.” “OK. Drive safe brother.” “I will.”

Keith returned to Maple Grove. It was a difficult day. They spent two and a half hours with various staff, going through their standard checklists. It felt wrong, desultory. Sterile. It must be hard for anyone working there to keep up the façade that they actually care, thought Keith. Though they had all seemed to take such good care of Mom, it couldn’t be anything other than a carefully acted lie. It was a daily thing at these large facilities—old people dying. Dying was their business. After finishing with the initial arrangements, they drove back to the house.

“Keith, I didn’t mention it earlier—the timing wasn’t right. But before Mom passed, she grabbed my arm. And she talked to me.” Keith snapped out of his melancholic haze.

“What did she say?” “It was unnerving, to be honest. She whispered to me, almost as if

she were telling me a secret, and didn’t want anyone else to hear. She said, ‘It’s in the barn’.” “It’s in the barn? What do you think that means, ‘It’s in the barn’?” asked Keith.

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But it was strange. I mean, these were her last words. I guess it could have been a dementia-induced fragment of her memory just running its course. Or, it could have been the one last thing in her mind that had yet to be destroyed by her disease, one final memory she held on to. After she said it, she let go of my arm and pointed up.”

“She pointed up?” “Yes. She dropped her crucifix, held up her hand at a forty-five-degree angle, and pointed. It was strange, to be sure. I felt a little scared, actually. It was as animated as I’ve seen her in months. Then she went rigid, her whole body.” “You don’t think it had anything to do with me asking about Gramp, do you?”

“I have no idea.”

© John Casey & Doug Campbell 2022 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED; Published with permission (PHiR Publishing, San Antonio, TX)