Dr. Reyes arrived shortly after lunch.
She knocked and entered when I invited her in.
I was sitting on the bed with Frank's photograph in my hands.
She noticed it immediately.
"I understand you went to the entrance this morning."
"I did."
She pulled the chair closer.
"Did you see the plaque?"
"I did. I saw Frank's name."
She nodded.
For a moment, she seemed relieved that I had discovered it myself.
I wasn't sure whether that was a good sign.
"Why is his name there?" I asked.
Dr. Reyes took a breath.
"The plaque is part of the building's history. I recognized your husband's name because I had seen it during my orientation."
"Orientation?"
"When I first became director, I was introduced to some of the center's history, including the dedication at the entrance."
She paused.
"I didn't make the connection until I saw your chart and then your photograph."
I looked at her.
"So you knew the name, but not the face."
"That's right."
I studied her expression.
"Why didn't you tell me when you first came into the room?"
"I wasn't certain what I remembered. I wanted to verify it before giving you an explanation."
I could understand that.
I still wished she had said something sooner.
I placed the photograph on the nightstand.
"Frank never told me about the plaque."
Dr. Reyes folded her hands.
"People sometimes make contributions without speaking much about them."
"I know. Frank was like that."
I paused.
"But I was his wife. You would think he might have mentioned something this important."
She didn't try to argue.
Instead, she asked me to tell her more about our life together.
I described the house we had bought in 1982.
I told her how Frank had carried me over the threshold, despite my protests that I could walk perfectly well.
I described the kitchen he had worked on himself.
I told her about Scott growing up in that house and the years Frank and I had spent caring for one another.
I spoke about his final winter.
I had never intended to share those memories with the director.
But once I began, I found that I wanted her to understand the man behind the name.
Frank had not been a grand speaker.
He did not make speeches about kindness.
He simply did things.
If someone needed help, he tried to help.
If a job needed doing, he did it.
He didn't always get everything right, but he rarely walked away from something simply because it was inconvenient.
Dr. Reyes listened.
When I finished, she looked at the photograph again.
"I wish I could tell you exactly what he did here."
"Can't you check?"
"I can continue reviewing the records available to me. I don't want to promise that every detail will be easy to find."
I nodded.
That was fair.
Then I remembered why I had asked to speak with her in the first place.
"There's something else."
She turned toward me.
"My son brought me here and said I would stay for only a few nights. Now I'm being told that my placement is permanent."
Her expression became serious.
"I remember."
"He has not returned my calls. I was told my house had been sold. I don't even have copies of the papers he signed."
Dr. Reyes listened without interrupting.
"I need to know whether I can leave."
"I understand."
She opened the folder she had brought.
"I've documented what you've told me about the circumstances of your arrival. I am also reviewing the admission information and the authority your son says he holds."
"Does that mean you can release me?"
"I can't give you a definite answer today. I need to understand the documents and what they authorize."
I felt frustration rising again.
I pressed my hands together.
"I don't want to spend the rest of my life waiting for someone else to decide what happens to me."
"I understand why you feel that way."
She looked directly at me.
"I will not treat your questions as unimportant."
I believed her.
That did not mean I was comfortable.
There was a difference between having someone listen and having someone solve your problem.
I needed both.
Before leaving, Dr. Reyes asked whether I had any other information about Frank's connection to the center.
I shook my head.
"He never spoke about it. If he did something here, he kept it to himself."
She nodded.
"I'll continue looking."
I watched her pick up the folder.
"Doctor, may I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Was Frank's name important enough that you would recognize it even if you had never seen his photograph?"
She paused.
"I recognized the name from the building's history. Seeing the photograph made the connection more personal."
I considered that answer.
It explained why she had stopped speaking when she read my chart.
She had not recognized me as a woman who had done something remarkable.
She had recognized the wife of someone whose name was already associated with the building.
I was relieved to understand at least that much.
When she left, I returned Frank's photograph to the center of the nightstand.
I thought about the plaque.
I thought about our house.
Then I thought about Scott.
Whatever Frank's connection to Willow Creek might turn out to be, it did not change the fact that my son had made decisions about my life without explaining them to me.
I needed to keep that clear in my mind.
I could feel proud of Frank without allowing his history to distract me from my own situation.
I could be grateful that Dr. Reyes was investigating without assuming she could solve everything.
And I could love Scott without pretending that what he had done was acceptable.
Those were difficult things to hold together.
But I was learning.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: I Began to See That Frank’s Quiet Legacy and Scott’s Secretive Decisions Were Two Different Matters I Could No Longer Confuse
My Son Promised Me Three Quiet Nights Away From Home, and I Was Foolish Enough to Believe Every Word He Said
Part 14 of 24
