My Mother's Chamomile

by Susie Finkbeiner

  I couldn’t imagine that day without her. Really, though, I couldn’t imagine any day when she wouldn’t be around. The sweetest moments of life would have an edge of bitterness for me without her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Olga

  Aunt Gertie never let me mourn my mother. She’d find me on my little bed with a wet face and sick from all my crying. She’d snarl at me and tell me God had no use for my tears. She’d swat at me, her hand stinging my skin, until I got up and washed my face.

  Yelling at me while the tears flooded my eyes, she’d tell me that God had a reason for my mother’s death. His judgment had been swift and steady. And that, if I questioned God, I’d be in peril of joining my mother in the blazing fires of hell. That my tears would sizzle in that burning place.

  Aunt Gertie sure was a miserable person.

  I hadn’t spent a whole lot of time reading my Bible that week. Not with Gretchie feeling as good as she was. I’d hurry up and get breakfast down my throat, say a thank You prayer on the way, and get every minute I could with my girl.

  Her good days weren’t sure to last long. Chemotherapy started up too soon, and I wanted to collect all the smiles I could. To gather them in my heart to last me during her sick days. And, as little as I wanted to think of them, the days when she would be gone.

  I splashed in the oasis, guzzling the sweet water, fully aware of the desert that gathered up around us, getting closer all the time.

  Soon, the water would turn bitter and I’d cry out to God again, wondering why He’d let it happen.

  Something had woke me up earlier than usual that day. A bump in the wee morning that made my heart thump so much, I couldn’t get calmed back down. I figured I might as well get my weary bones out of bed.

  Tying the bathrobe tight around my waist, I got into the chair at my dinette to read a little of my Bible. I’d missed it, that old friend of mine. The leather of the cover soothed the tips of my fingers as they moved over top of it. The pages opened, making a swishing sound. Such a pleasing noise.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long, Lord.”

  He’d forgiven me. I felt it like a hug.

  The tears came so I couldn’t read the little words on my onion-skin thin pages. My God didn’t smack me. He didn’t scream at me to wash the remorse and grief off my face. He gathered my tears. Held me in His arms. And He poured love all over me.

  He filled me all the way up. I sure would need every drop I could get.

  Feeling whole and full of God’s sweet mercy, I stood at my living room window, watching an uneven V of geese practicing their departure. I always missed them when they took off for their warmer winter homes. Summer never lasted long enough for me.

  Movement on the ground caught my eye. Charlotte ran along the sidewalk past the garden. Still in her sweatpants, she held herself around the middle. Bad eyes and everything, I could still see the fear on her face.

  “Clive,” I hollered, feeling the way my voice went shrill. “Clive, honey. We got trouble.”

  “What’s the matter?” he called out, alert as soon as his eyes opened, I was sure of it.

  “I don’t know yet.” I made my way to the door where my slip-on shoes sat waiting for me. “Get over to Gretchen’s when you’re dressed.”

  “Are you dressed?”

  “I got my robe on.”

  And down the steps, out the door, and to Charlotte I went. The morning dew wet my shoes as I rushed with her, both of us without words, to the sidewalk. All I could think of to pray was for swift and nimble feet. Breathless, I got to the porch. One light, the one over the kitchen sink, gave the house a sleepy, peaceful look.

  I grabbed hold of the porch railing, about to pull myself up the steps.

  “Wait, Gran,” Charlotte said, breathless, holding my arm.

  “What is it?” I asked, keeping my hand on the wood.

  “I don’t know.” She licked a tear off her lip. “I heard a crash. When I found her in the living room, she was passed out.”

  “Did you call for an ambulance?”

  “Don did.” Her breathing quickened, the air only making it partway into her lungs. “I didn’t check to see if she was still alive.”

  “Oh, Lord,” I prayed aloud.

  “I’m scared,” she whimpered.

  “Me, too, honey.”

  “Pray that she’s okay, Gran. Please,” she begged me. “I know God listens to you.”

  I nodded, doubting that my prayers would do any more for my daughter than anyone else’s.

  My hips ached as I moved up the steps, feet as heavy as rocks. My soul cried out, like the Israelites. Unsure, terrified. Feeling abandoned. Afraid that I wouldn’t hear His voice until it was too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Evelyn

  I couldn’t tolerate sitting in the waiting room with the rest of my family. The doctors had my mom in some room, hooking her up to who knew what kind of machines with tubes and needles. And, all the while, my family sat in chairs or paced around the waiting room.

  I’d found a bench in the hall, right outside the door. Bending at the waist, I held my face in my hands. Whatever words I found to pray surprised me. I felt too deep in a hole to put a thought together.

  “Hey, Ev,” Will said, coming out of the waiting room. “You want to come back in?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered into my hands.

  “Well, the doctor just came in. He’s waiting for you, if you want to hear what he’s got to say.”

  “Do you think it’s bad news?” I asked. “Did he give everybody a sad look when he came in?”

  “No. He seemed really relaxed, actually.”

  I held out my hand for him to help me up. Feeling too weak, I didn’t think I could stand on my own.

  “This is too hard.” I leaned into him.

  “I know.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I love you.”

  I held Will’s hand, listening to the doctor’s calm, steady voice. He stood next to Don’s chair and used his hands as he talked.

  “We have Gretchen in the ICU for right now,” he said. “Just to get her stable. She’s pretty dehydrated. We think that’s part of the trouble she’s having right now.”

  “But we all tried to get her to drink,” Charlotte said. “She couldn’t keep it down.”

  “I know.” The doctor nodded. “This isn’t your fault. I know that.”

  “When can we see her?” Don asked, rubbing his palms together.

  “In just a little bit.” The doctor put his hand on Don’s shoulder. “She needs to rest up first.”

  “How’s she doing?” Gran asked. “Is she still unconscious?”

  “She woke up for us, but we gave her a little something to make her sleep. And we’ve got lots of fluids pumping to get her hydration levels back where they should be.” He looked around the room. “I’ve called her oncologist. She’ll be able to tell us a little more about what’s going on with the cancer part of the equation.”

  “What about it?” Granddad sat up. “Is it worse?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics about that.” The doctor rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to talk to Doctor Ferris about that. I wish I could tell you more.”

  The doctor left the room. Every one of us sank deeper into our chairs. Slumped our shoulders more.

  “Well,” Gran said. “She’s still alive. We know that much right now. And we’ll just have to trust God with the rest.”

  “I’m not sure I have that kind of trust to give,” Don said. He went back to pacing circles around the room.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Olga

  Gretchen had been in the hospital three days before they moved her out of the ICU. Her new room had more space for the family. Clive joked that it was our first family vacation.

  My girl sat up in the hospital bed, holding a little dish of orange gelatin, eating the littlest of bites. Seemed like all she could keep down w
as Jell-O or pudding. Sometimes a little ice cream, too. But only after the pain medication worked its way through her body.

  Cal had left a few hours earlier. He’d grown restless after day one in that place, just sitting around, doing a whole lot of waiting. That boy had to fix things. Just like his granddad. It made him half crazy knowing he couldn’t do a blessed thing for his mama. But he could go piddle around the funeral home. Clive would have gone along, if it hadn’t been for me needing him beside me.

  “I feel awful, sitting here eating in front of all of you,” Gretchen said before sliding a small bite onto her tongue.

  “Don’t feel bad, honey,” I said. “We’ll send somebody out to get supper in a little bit.”

  “Well, I can tell you one thing, it doesn’t taste good at all,” she said. “Nothing tastes good anymore. It’s sad.”

  A knuckle rapped on the door.

  “Come in,” Donald called.

  Pushing open the door, Gretchen’s oncologist walked in. Doctor Ferris, I recalled. The one with the big desk and dangling earrings. She carried a clipboard under her arm.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said, noticing the room full of family. “I heard you had quite the crowd in here.”

  “You’re just in time to watch me eat this goo,” Gretchen said.

  “I’m glad to see you eating. That’s good.” Doctor Ferris stood, her back against the wall. “Now, I met your mother a few months ago.”

  Gretchen, always the welcoming one, pointed at each one in the room, making introductions. She exhaled at the end, out of breath.

  “Great. Thank you.” The doctor addressed Gretchen. “Now, do you want your family with you right now? I have the results of your scans and tests.”

  “Well, can my husband stay?” Gretchen asked. “And my mom? I’d like everyone else to take a little break.”

  “Coffee’s on me,” Will said.

  Clive and the kids hustled out of the room without so much as a word. Will put his arm around Evelyn as they went. That young man had become a gift from God to our family.

  The doctor waited for the door to close all the way after they left before she made a peep. When the small click of the latch sounded, she turned to Gretchen.

  “As you know, we did quite a few scans,” she began, pinning images of Gretchen’s liver onto a light-up board. “The cancer has spread significantly. We found tumors in several places.”

  Donald’s face drooped, and his shoulders fell limp. “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “It means that the treatments didn’t work the way we’d hoped.” She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “At this point, Gretchen, you have a few decisions to make.”

  “What kind of decisions?” I asked.

  “Whether to keep up with the chemotherapy or not.”

  “What do you think I should do?” Gretchen asked.

  “I usually don’t tell people this.” Doctor Ferris took off her glasses, letting them hang from a chain around her neck. “But, at your stage, I think it would be good to try to stay comfortable and enjoy the time you have left.”

  “So you’d choose to stop the treatment?”

  “I would.”

  The doctor explained options for pain management. Medications that had names I’d never be able to pronounce.

  “Can I go home?” Gretchen asked. “If being here isn’t going to extend my life, I’d rather spend my time at home.”

  “Let’s get a few things arranged and then I’ll help you get discharged.” She pulled a card from the pocket of her long, white jacket. “I’d like you to give hospice a call soon. They’ll help you with everything you could possibly need to do this at home. This is a very good one.”

  Donald lowered his head, letting it rest on Gretchen’s chest. She ran her fingers through his gray hair.

  “I’m sorry, Don,” she whispered. “I wish this wasn’t happening to you.”

  Hearing that man cry from deep down inside made me almost crazy with grief.

  “I’ll go tell the kids.” I forced myself out of the chair I’d occupied for hours. My knees threatened to send me crashing to the floor. Bracing myself against the wall, I pushed forward to the door.

  Just get out of this room, I thought. Don’t you dare fall apart now. This isn’t the time. You wait until later.

  As I opened the wide hospital room door, I heard Gretchen behind me.

  “Thank you for being such a good doctor. You have done a fantastic job.”

  My heart was so heavy, I thought I would drop to the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Evelyn

  Easy listening music flowed through the speakers at the tiny grocery store, lulling me into mindless wandering. The whiny sound of a saxophone played music from the seventies, drawing out the notes a little too long.

  All I’d needed was flour and coffee creamer. Somehow, though, in my numb aimlessness, I’d managed to fill a whole cart with food. Mostly junk. All of it quick to grab and eat along the way. And one bag of apples.

  I’d broken the rule about shopping hungry and had the chips and frozen cookie dough to prove it.

  Right as I walked toward the one cashier on duty, I saw Deirdre coming my direction. She waved one hand while steering her cart with the other. No matter how much I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to retreat without being completely obvious.

  Strategic thinking wasn’t easy on less than two hours of sleep.

  “Evelyn,” she called, her cart full of chocolate chips speeding toward me. “How are you?”

  “That’s a lot of chocolate chips.” I stepped toward the cashier and pretended to read the magazine covers. Some celebrity had a baby. What did I care? I stared at the cover anyway, wondering how much the movie star had been paid for the photos.

  “Charlotte and I are baking cookies for the elementary school. They’ve got an open house or something later this week.” She cleared her throat, leering at the tube of cheap cookie dough in my cart. “Looks like you’re planning on doing some baking, too.”

  “I have no intention of baking those.”

  She laughed, holding her round, jiggling stomach. “Oh, with all you’re going through, you still have that sense of humor.”

  “Well, thanks.” I pushed my cart into the checkout lane.

  Leaving her pile of chocolate chips in the middle of the walkway, she followed right behind me. “You know, Evelyn, I know what you think of me.”

  Stacking my groceries onto the cashier’s belt, I tried to ignore her.

  “But I’m not just a big gossip.” She cleared her throat again. “I know that’s my reputation. And I earned it. I admit it. But I’m trying to be better about it.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I care about your family. I do. And I’m sorry.” Her hand on my back felt like a limp fish. “Your mom is a really good woman. I hate to see her like this.”

  “Yup. Thanks.” I noticed that a giant can of ravioli had landed on my loaf of cinnamon swirl bread, crushing all the center pieces. “Great.”

  “If you ever need anything—”

  “Okay,” I interrupted. “I keep hearing people say that, you know? And I couldn’t tell you what we need right now if I wanted to. Which, as a matter of fact, I don’t want to have to do. Mom’s only been home from the hospital a week. We’re completely exhausted and trying to get our feet under us. It’s going to be awhile before we can even start to think about what we need.”

  Surveying my mountain of groceries all piled up for the cashier, I realized that I had three different kinds of salsa, but no tortilla chips. Also, I’d forgotten the flour. The one thing that my mom had specifically asked for and I’d forgotten it. I sighed, letting my entire body slump. I bit my lip to keep from dissolving into a puddle.

  I’d wandered around that grocery store for over an hour. How had I forgotten the flour? I must have passed it at least half a dozen times.

  “What’s wrong, Evelyn?” D
eirdre asked, stepping even closer and rubbing her hand on my back. “What is it?”

  “I forgot the flour.” Then I lost it. All the emotion I’d stuffed down over the course of months spurted out in blubbering, gulping sobs. Right there next to the rack of bubblegum.

  Deirdre held me until I could stand on my own again. Then, she rushed off, leaving her cart of chocolate chips. When she came back, she had the biggest bag of flour the store sold.

  “I hope this is okay,” she said. “It’s what we use at the bakery.”

  “Thank you.”

  The cashier, some pimple-faced high school kid, scanned my items as fast as he could, trying to avoid eye contact with the crazy crying woman in his line.

  Chapter Forty

  Olga

  Gretchen had gotten good at hiding all the pain. She couldn’t keep it from me, though. I’d been around her in all different kinds of hurt. She wore the hurt right in the spot between her eyebrows. The way the skin gathered up. And, every once in a while, she’d clench her jaw for a flash flinch.

  Oh, did I ever ask the Sovereign God to put that ache on me instead of her.

  Doctor Ferris had given her a prescription for pain medicine in pill form. Donald had it filled at the pharmacy. Gretchen just refused to take a one of those pills. It didn’t matter how big her pain, she wouldn’t be drugged. She’d had Charlotte stick them in the kitchen junk drawer.

  Gretchie sat on the couch, letting the sunshine drench her scarf-covered head. Eyes closed, her face tilted as if she inhaled the warmth.

  “It’s colder out there than you’d think,” I said. “Downright nippy.”

  “I bet.” Not moving, she kept right on soaking. “How are things over at the funeral home? I feel completely out of the loop.”

  “Oh, it’s busy as ever.” My washcloth scrubbed against a sticky spot on the counter. “Busiest we’ve had in a few years, really. They had a funeral over there this morning.”