A Lethal Legacy (22 page)

Soon Aunt Susan's
promiscuity and nakedness took a back seat as she became increasingly violent
and difficult for the aides to handle. One day I had to kneel in her lap to
keep her legs still. I held her arms with every ounce of strength I had while
the facility's hair stylist trimmed Susan's bangs so she could see. When she
finished cutting, I loosened my hold and climbed out of her lap. Susan looked
me directly in the eye and slapped me full across the face.

Even though her
physical being looked small and frail, her strength remained stronger than most
grown men. In a highly agitated state, it often took three or four aides to
restrain her.

When she began
attacking the other patients, either by hitting or biting them, the nursing
home became increasingly alarmed about the possibility of a lawsuit from one of
the other patient's families. They began mentioning sending her to a facility
for observation for thirty days. They warned me that during those thirty days
her bed would probably be filled from the long waiting list. The unspoken
implication led me to begin looking for another nursing home for Aunt Susan.

After a quick check
with my lawyer, I found that indeed the nursing home was quite within their
rights as long as they gave me thirty days' notice.

"What happens if
I can't find a place for her after thirty days?" I asked Tim Pierce, my
lawyer.

"She would have
to be placed in the state mental facility," he said.

I told Claire over
dinner that night about the possibility.

"You can't let
that happen, Ed," Claire said as her face reddened.

"I know, I know.
I need to check around for a good place first. Maybe I'll be able to find
something even better."

"Claire, what's
the matter?" Cassie asked when she noticed how agitated Claire had become
at the mention of a state hospital.

"Ed's
grandmother, Helen Townsend. She was ill, something like Susan although we
didn't call it Alzheimer's. It was scarier then because we thought she had
simply lost her mind, you know, gone crazy." She made small circles with
her forefinger. "The doctors eventually diagnosed it as insanity or
senility brought on by her diabetes."

"What
happened?"

 I realized when
Cassie asked that question that I had never confided in her. It was something
the family kept hidden because of the embarrassment it caused at the time. No
one wanted to admit that Grandma had been sent away to the loony bin. Gary and
I were taught by the masters at keeping those little unpleasant secrets to
ourselves.

"Aunt Susan and
Grandpa cared for Grandma in their home," I said. "Susan hadn't
married yet. Grandma started acting very strange. First came the accusations.
Weird stuff. Gary and I would go and visit Grandma, and she would tell us that
Susan and Grandpa were having an affair. Of course, Gary and I were too young
to realize what was going on, but we would tell our parents about these things
because Grandma seemed so agitated," I said.

Claire reached over
and touched Cassie's hand before she took over and continued the story.
"When the boys came home with these wild stories, we began to suspect that
something more was wrong than just the diabetes. Susan didn't tell us much, but
we could tell that Mother Townsend was becoming an increasing burden on her. We
talked her into hiring a nurse's aide to live with them. Philip and I took care
of the cost."

"One night just
before Christmas of 1955, we received a call from the police in the middle of
the night," Claire said. "That night Mother Townsend had taken a meat
cleaver from the kitchen, and when the aide came to administer the night's
shot, Mother pulled out the knife and swung it wildly. She sliced off the end
of the aide's little finger."

Cassie looked from me
to Claire in disbelief. "She tried to kill her?"

"We don't know
that. By the time we got to the house, she was sedated and mumbling
incoherently, something like Susan does now. She never really spoke to us
again," Claire said.

"What happened
then? Did they arrest her?"

"We tried to
keep it as quiet as possible. The aide fortunately was very understanding and
knew that Mother's illness, or insanity, as the police called it, caused the
violence. She decided not to press charges. However, the doctor told us that if
we didn't want this repeated, we'd better put her in a facility that could deal
with an illness like hers."

"And you put her
where?"

"Unfortunately,
at the time there were no facilities except at Ypsilanti State Mental Hospital.
Philip and Stanley fought bitterly about this. Stanley could never admit that
something was seriously wrong with his mother. Finally, Philip and Susan made
the decision to commit her."

"What about her
husband, Ed's grandfather?" Cassie asked.

"He was fairly
broken up himself at the time and really had nothing to say about any of it. He
would begin crying whenever the subject came up around him. So, as I said, the
decision was left to Philip and Susan. Stanley would have no part of it. So on
December 23, 1955, Philip and Susan signed the papers to commit her. Grandpa
Townsend signed, too, as required by law. Although I don't think he ever knew
what he was signing." Claire gave me a guilty look.

"What about
Stanley?" Cassie turned to me for an answer.

"Dad never
really got over the fact that his mother was insane. He and Uncle Philip would
argue about it whenever they'd had too much to drink, but other than that, the
subject was taboo around the family. I was always grateful that Dad died before
Mom's illness began. I'm not sure he would have survived it. I've never thought
about it much, Claire, but since you've mentioned it, I wonder. Do you think
Grandma really had Alzheimer's?" I asked.

"When I saw
Susan constantly in motion even when she was sitting, I sure thought back to
visiting your grandmother."

"Exactly. I knew
it was all familiar, but not because of my mom. She never had the same
characteristics, even at her worst moments. But Susan reminds me of Grandma. I
never put the two together before."

"We have to do
something. We can't let Susan die the way her mother did," Claire
interrupted my revelation by bringing me back to the present.

"No, I know. And
I won't let it happen. We'll work something out." Even though I tried to
sound reassuring, I wasn't sure what I would do next.

I began a several
month struggle with the nursing home as I persuaded them to keep her. Finally,
after adjustments of her treatment and medications, Aunt Susan's violent
attacks disappeared almost entirely. The nursing home decided she would be able
to stay as long as I wanted her to remain with them. Ironically, soon after
they made their decision, Susan's body began to wear out. 

She died all alone
one Saturday in June 1995 as I sat at my computer writing about the
destructiveness of a life without love. 

Her death came as a
relief after the months of watching her suffer, but I couldn't help but wonder
why someone with such a loving spirit died in such a miserable state.
Did
any of us ever truly understand the vagaries of this life
, I thought. When
it became too much for me to comprehend, I wrote to escape the pessimistic edge
creeping into my consciousness.

Even though I thought
I was writing fiction, Kristina would soon bring a reality all her own to my
writing and escape would be all but impossible.

Things became
complicated when my lawyer, Tim, began to process Susan's will. As he began
unraveling the pieces, we realized it wouldn't be a simple case of filing with
probate.

"I found the
lawyer in Grosse Pointe who held your aunt's will. It looks a little
complicated," Tim told me during a phone conversation several weeks after
Aunt Susan's death.

"How so?" I
asked.

"Everyone she
mentions as beneficiaries in her will is deceased, I think. Maybe you can help
clarify. Who is Marjorie Elizabeth Townsend?"

"My mother. She
died in 1994. She was Susan's sister-in-law," I said.

"Philip Paul
Townsend is the other beneficiary."

"Uncle Philip,
her brother. He died in 1993."

"Evidently Susan
never went back and changed her will after they died."

"No, probably
not. She was becoming a little disoriented around the time of my mother's
death. But wouldn't Claire inherit Philip's share and me, my mom's?" I
asked warily.

"No, not the way
she worded the will. Your part should be fairly clear-cut, but Philip's must be
inherited through direct family line, not a spouse. Did Philip have
children?"

"One son, Gary.
He died in 1990."

"Gary have any
children?"

"One daughter,
still living."

"OK, it may not
be so complicated after all, except we'll have to pull death certificates and
then file a special request with the court. Could take up to twenty-four
months."

"Sure, no
problem. I guess the money will just grow in that time, right?" I knew
Susan's money needed a little rest period to build itself back after the drain
of her last few years.

"Do you have
Gary's daughter's address? We'll need to send her notification."

"Sure, hang on a
minute," I told Tim. We hadn't heard from Kristina in over a year, but I
was certain this news would make her happy.

True to form, when
Kristina received her letter from Tim, she called Claire immediately. Claire
told me later that she spent little time on the formalities, but wanted to know
when the money would be dispersed.

"I told her it
might be several months. Was that OK?" Claire asked me later at dinner.

"It  might be
longer, more like several years. You know how the courts are. Next time she
calls, tell her you don't know anything, and she'll have to talk to me."

"She also
wondered about you handling the estate. She said something about you having far
too much power over her life now," Claire said.

"Too bad, isn't
it? I don't see it as control. She's got her own life. Now, more importantly do
you want to go to Tessa's dance recital with us on Saturday?" I asked
Claire more to change the subject than any real curiosity about her answer. Where
my children were concerned, Claire showed exceptional partiality.

"You think I
would miss the bestest, most gracefullest dancer in the whole company? You bet,
I'm going!"

Sometimes Claire had
difficulty attending these events because she had become increasingly frail
even though her mind remained sharp as a tack. It was difficult to remember
sometimes that she was actually eighty-eight years old.

I continued signing
documents for Aunt Susan's estate, but there was no end in sight to the
settlement. Tim began to get harassing phone calls from Kristina who was
demanding to know when she would get her money.

"I told her I
would talk to her once, but after that, since I was working for you, she would
have to get her own attorney. I sent her a listing from the Las Vegas yellow
pages. That should keep her quiet for now. What's the deal with her?" Tim
asked during one of our many phone conversations regarding the estate.

"Don't
ask," I said. "She feels the world owes her a living, I guess."

Soon after this
conversation, Claire received another call from Kristina. After she hung up the
phone, Claire came into the study where I was diligently writing.

"What do you
hear from the lawyer about Susan's money?" she asked.

I knew that Kristina
must have called because Claire would never ask questions about someone else's
money on her own.

"Kristina
called?"

"Yes, she really
wants me to see if the lawyer or I can lend her the amount she's entitled to
until everything is settled."

"That's
ludicrous, Claire. I hope you told her to be patient."

"I tried, but
she was very agitated. She made some accusations against you, Ed. I was
thinking it might be better for everyone if I just lent her the money."

"I don't think
that's a very good idea."

"I called Tim
Pierce after my talk with Kristina and asked him about it. I hope you don't
mind."

"What did he
say?"

"First he said
the same thing you did. But then he said it could be arranged, but he would
advise that I get a regular loan drawn up with a payment plan and interest.
That sounds a little too impersonal."

"I think Tim
makes sense. If you think, you should do this, then make her really pay back
the money, just like anyone else. But I still think you'd just be asking for
trouble."

"Ed, there's
more. Kris asked that you send her a copy of every check you have ever written
on the account including while Susan was still alive. She also wants all the
financial statements and all of the legal documents sent to her from the time
you became Susan's guardian. I told her she was asking an awful lot, but that I
would give you the message."