The Porcelain Vase

Sunday February 10th, 2019

I implore you to have pity on Adeline Crane. The 87-year old retired office assistant had developed debilitating bilateral cataracts that not only blurred her vision but made her eyes rather sensitive to glare and intense light. For this reason, she kept her home low lit with heavy antique burgundy drapes always drawn. She was, and forever had been, ideal.

I try to be silent when she enters the house today. With the gentle creak of her shoes tapping against floorboard, I lull into their metronomic thrum. She ruefully whispers to herself as her cane clatters into the umbrella stand. I could not help but release a sharp wince.

Her gaze darts to the kitchen. Feeling her way through the oak-laden cavern of this cave of a home, she manages to find her hand on the handle to the aperture above the sink and feebly tugs it shut.

I catch a glimpse of her shuddering. I sway behind her and gently pull the knitted shawl over her shoulders a little tighter.

Wednesday February 13th, 2019

Once a month, Adeline’s daughters forge an effort to pack up and stop by the home for lunch. This week, Emily Crane-Williams is the only family able to make the pilgrimage.

She arrives at half past one, announced by the softest of knocks. Atop an engorged belly rests a striking white vase. She mentions that she has brought grandpa’s ashes, as the vase settles amidst the dust atop the fireplace. Gold lettering lines the bottom of the vase, I stand to read it: “Now and Forever. Addie and Alfie.”

Addie. I whisper, enjoying the sound traveling through my lips.

Thursday February 14th, 2019

I watch as Adeline sits at the dimmed dining room table. Today, she has a series of photographs splayed across the table. Polaroids of a life I had never seen.

She stared blankly over them, as if trying to focus with her failing sight. I looked over the photos she had. Addie and Alfie Wedding, 1953. Alfie and the Girls, 1968. Then I see it. Addie is dressed in a black satin night dress and she is smiling.

There are a pair of men’s shoes in the corner. Shoes I had never seen. I groaned as her hand absentmindedly lingered over this photo. Addie, 1955. I swipe my hand over the table, knocking away the photographs.

“Who’s there?” Her voice is shaken, eyes darting around the barren kitchen, “I will call the police!”

Adeline. How much of you did you hide from me -- I mean, Alfred? Who knew about this? Her palm pressed against the table as a gasp escaped her lips.

She was fragile when she fell, the thrum of her heart fluttering as she wheezed. The final photograph fluttered onto her chest as she laid on the floor.

Adeline Ann Crane, aged 87, departed this Earth on Valentines’ Day 2019. Loving mother and survived by numerous grandchildren. She will join her husband Alfred Crane.