* * * * *
There had been a time in the not-so-distant past when a phone ringing at 1:30 in the morning wouldn't have sent a cold bolt of lightning down my spine. Although those calls had never been easy or simple, it seemed that being the proverbial harbor in a tempest for someone you loved was worth every bit of lost sleep.
A call in prayer of a beacon, however, is worlds away from a call announcing that the tempest is, in fact, pounding at your door...
"There've been some complications..."
A call in prayer of a beacon, however, is worlds away from a call announcing that the tempest is, in fact, pounding at your door...
"There've been some complications..."
* * * * *
An hour after that, I was being asked to authorize exploratory surgery... "it may be her only chance"... "she could die on the table"... "she could die without it"...
An hour after that, we sat in the dark in the reception area of the blood donation center - a makeshift OR waiting room at 3:30 in the morning - the corridor outside dark as well, save for the light down the hall. Magazines sat unread. Footsteps in the hallway the only interruption in a whirlwind stream of consciousness. The footsteps generally meant nothing, except an hour later, when they did...
"I'm sorry..."
An hour later, we were allowed to see her. I wish we hadn't. She was nothing like what we had left just six or seven hours earlier, when we went home thinking things would be OK... not perfect, not necessarily good, but OK. And certainly not... this.
An hour after that, I was being asked to authorize exploratory surgery... "it may be her only chance"... "she could die on the table"... "she could die without it"...
An hour after that, we sat in the dark in the reception area of the blood donation center - a makeshift OR waiting room at 3:30 in the morning - the corridor outside dark as well, save for the light down the hall. Magazines sat unread. Footsteps in the hallway the only interruption in a whirlwind stream of consciousness. The footsteps generally meant nothing, except an hour later, when they did...
"I'm sorry..."
* * * * *
Long ago, I emerged from the doors of that same hospital, my eyes squinting in the early morning light of a confusing new world. Thirty-three years later, the scene repeated.
* * * * *
An hour after that, I was sorting through her closets, trying to decide on the dress in which she'd be buried.
* * * * *
This week is quite unlike the other markers that have passed. Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays... they've all been occasions to remember the life.
Early September, it seems, brings memories of the death.
Early September, it seems, brings memories of the death.
* * * * *
And then the real fun started...
I've written here before about how I saw both the best and the worst in people in how they responded to everything, and to me in particular. As much as, if not more than, the specifics of the events that week, I remember the people...
... my busybody cousin who wanted apparently wanted to orchestrate the funeral until I shot her down with a single stare... my manager at work who talked to me for an hour when I just called in to give my mind a break from everything... my uncle's slut of a SO who had recently left him for someone else, only to return out of guilt when she heard the news... Jami, who let me ramble into the phone for hours as I walked aimless circles around my yard... my godmother, who left on a cruise that morning, and who has never called or stopped by since she's been back... casual friends from out-of-town who kept calling and offered to travel for the funeral, thousands of miles in some cases... long-term friends who never called, and didn't offer... childhood friends who showed up when they heard the news...
It seemed like some people got upset with me because I called someone else before I called them. "Oh, you've already talked to XYZ? Oh, okay." Way to make it all about you.
Likewise, I think some people from whom I hadn't heard in a long time were put off when I didn't call them. A thousand pardons. Perhaps if they had shown any interest in me in the past year or however long before that, I would've felt more comfortable doing so. You don't call someone out of the blue to say "Hey, what's new? My mom's dead."
At least I don't.
Maybe other people are different, but I didn't want to deal with someone whose only apparent interest in me was out of pity, or because they felt guilty. I saw enough of that going on with my uncle. And sure enough, I knew where that was going.
I've written here before about how I saw both the best and the worst in people in how they responded to everything, and to me in particular. As much as, if not more than, the specifics of the events that week, I remember the people...
... my busybody cousin who wanted apparently wanted to orchestrate the funeral until I shot her down with a single stare... my manager at work who talked to me for an hour when I just called in to give my mind a break from everything... my uncle's slut of a SO who had recently left him for someone else, only to return out of guilt when she heard the news... Jami, who let me ramble into the phone for hours as I walked aimless circles around my yard... my godmother, who left on a cruise that morning, and who has never called or stopped by since she's been back... casual friends from out-of-town who kept calling and offered to travel for the funeral, thousands of miles in some cases... long-term friends who never called, and didn't offer... childhood friends who showed up when they heard the news...
It seemed like some people got upset with me because I called someone else before I called them. "Oh, you've already talked to XYZ? Oh, okay." Way to make it all about you.
Likewise, I think some people from whom I hadn't heard in a long time were put off when I didn't call them. A thousand pardons. Perhaps if they had shown any interest in me in the past year or however long before that, I would've felt more comfortable doing so. You don't call someone out of the blue to say "Hey, what's new? My mom's dead."
At least I don't.
Maybe other people are different, but I didn't want to deal with someone whose only apparent interest in me was out of pity, or because they felt guilty. I saw enough of that going on with my uncle. And sure enough, I knew where that was going.
* * * * *
Before she was wheeled into surgery that final time, we were asked if we'd like to see her. I had a feeling it would be the last time. She had tubes everywhere and was obviously quite out of it. I stood on her left side and as I looked at her, I saw her left eye was open ever-so-slightly. As I leaned in to whisper to her for what would be the final time, I saw the blue in her eye - the same blue that's in my own.
I really don't think she had any awareness of what was going on at that time. I think I prefer it that way. I hate to think of her in that fright, that confusion...
I really don't think she had any awareness of what was going on at that time. I think I prefer it that way. I hate to think of her in that fright, that confusion...
* * * * *
When the angel finally closed that eye, I sat in darkness down the hall - the fright and confusion my own.
