My Mother's Chamomile

by Susie Finkbeiner

  “That’s nice of you.”

  He helped me to the couch and kissed my cheek before I fell asleep.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Olga

  Standing over Gretchen’s stove, I was sure I’d reentered the days of hot flashes. Stirring and stirring butter and sugar, I wondered how those grandkids of mine ever talked me into making them toffee. That job had always been Gretchen’s. And she had always made her toffee just right. If she’d ever burned a batch, she never told anybody.

  I’d eat that toffee until my mouth was sore and I was in need of a dentist appointment. But standing with that heat blasting in my face, it seemed like an awful lot of work to do for candy.

  But as bad as Gretchen had gotten, and as hard as the kids were taking it, I wasn’t inclined to deny them that one sugary treat they’d asked for. And, with Christmas only a couple days away, I’d not got myself out to find presents. I guess, for that year, the toffee would have to be enough.

  Toffee and Gretchen still with us.

  “How’s it going in there, Mom?” Gretchen called from the hospital bed, sitting up with her feet dangling off the side.

  “I don’t know, honey.” Beads of sweat rolled down the side of my face. I wished for just one more hand so I could wipe at the trickle. “How long does this stirring part usually take?”

  “Not too long,” she answered. “Let me come take a look.”

  Her walker made a popping sound as she pushed against it, standing up out of bed.

  “You get back in that bed. Just sit down,” I scolded. “I can figure this out on my own.”

  “Mom, Kathi told me to get up every couple of hours. Besides, by the time I get to you, it’ll be boiling.” Even taking two steps took her a good long time. “You stop looking at me. Get back to stirring.”

  “That medicine is making you sassy, I think.” But the smile on my face felt good.

  “It’s making me feel human again.” Hands on the counter, she inched over to peek around me. “It looks good, Mom. Maybe just one more minute before you’ll want to turn off the heat.”

  If I ever needed to know what mercy looked like, it was my daughter, standing next to me in the kitchen, her hand on my shoulder. Sweet water, if I ever tasted it.

  “How did those kids ever finagle me into making this for them?” I shook my head. “You know, I think we’ve spoiled them, Gretchie.”

  “They’re worth it.” She squeezed my shoulder. “Thanks for making this for them, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Next year, you should plan on buying it.” She started her journey back to the bed, making her walker creak as she pushed it along the carpet. “I bet you could put in an order at Deirdre’s.”

  “Why wouldn’t we just make it?” I asked.

  But then I remembered. The sweetness soured again. In two days, I would have my very last Christmas with Gretchen. Not because I was dying. She was. How strange to realize such a thing. That dread pulled my heart down to my toes with its weight.

  For my daughter to last for another Christmas would have meant nothing more than suffering heaped on top of misery for her.

  That bitter taste in my mouth just about caused my stomach to turn. Enough to ruin Christmas.

  “Lord God Almighty, You got to help me.”

  “What was that, Mom?” Gretchen asked, back on her bed, dangling her feet. “Is making toffee so hard, you have to ask God for help?”

  “It sure is making me nervous, honey.”

  Cold air pushed into the house. It turned my mind from blazing hot sorrow to soothing fresh air. That gushing chill also brought with it the sunshine smile of my Charlotte. If her face was God’s idea of help, then I liked how He answered my cry.

  “It smells good in here,” she said. “Are you making toffee, Gran?”

  “I’m giving it the old college try.” I turned off the burner under the pan. “How was your day?”

  “So busy. Crazy.” She took her time unbuttoning her coat. “I don’t want to see another Christmas tree shaped sugar cookie for the rest of my life.”

  “Do you have to work tomorrow, Char?” Gretchen asked.

  “Nope. I’m off for five days.” She pulled her arms out of the sleeves. “I guess Deirdre’s really slow on the days right after Christmas.”

  “Probably too many people in a sugar coma.” Pushing the soft, boiling hot toffee out of the pot, it spread on my baking sheet.

  “Are you going out tonight?” Gretchen asked. “I know a lot of your friends are home for Christmas.”

  “I thought I’d stay home.” Charlotte hung her coat on the back of a chair before making her way to Gretchen’s side. “It isn’t Christmas without watching old movies with you, Mom.”

  I hoped nobody minded a couple salty tears falling into their toffee. It just could not be helped.

  Gretchen made it through about half of It’s a Wonderful Life before falling off into a quiet snooze. Charlotte had curled herself up on the bed, sharing a pillow with her mama. It didn’t take long before Gretchen’s lulling breath had got Charlotte to doze, too.

  Then I sat alone, watching all the way to the end. Jimmy Stewart with tears in his eyes, holding his curly headed little girl high up in his arms. He pulled his wife as close as he could and turned his eyes skyward.

  I feared my sniffling and sniveling would wake the two beauties on that hospital bed. But they didn’t stir one bit.

  Tears still spilling over my eyes, I grabbed a couple blankets to cover them over.

  Then I put “White Christmas” on and let myself weep, hearing Bing Crosby croon about being home for Christmas.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Evelyn

  Candlelight flickered in front of my mom’s face. The whole sanctuary at First Church filled with rows of little flames, passed from one wick to the next. The most important one, to me at least, glowed in the face of my mother. Thin cheeked, but with the same wonder in her eyes as always.

  She’d insisted on coming to the Christmas Eve service. She’d even made sure to get extra naps in throughout the day to have the energy to sit in the pew. Her last time seeing the sanctuary full of tiny fire flickers.

  Heat built up in my chest, spreading into the rest of me. Gratitude mixed with sadness. I knew if I wiped the tears out of the corners of my eyes, my mom would see. I didn’t want her to break that smile that lifted her whole face.

  I’d made it through the rest of the service, up to that point. The guitar man, wearing furry boots pulled over the bottoms of his way-too-tight jeans. Old Buster’s angel singer butchering “O Holy Night.” The big man himself, preaching about seeking the Lord. Good Old Buster’s last Christmas Eve service. I hated to admit that it made me a little sad. More for him than anything.

  The congregation sang “Silent Night,” Charlotte’s voice cutting clear through all the others. My mom’s rattled, whispered notes full of mourning. I couldn’t get anything to come out of my throat. I doubted I’d be able to hear that song without bittersweet grief, thinking about the flame dancing atop my mom’s Christmas Eve candle.

  Will gave me a ride to my mom’s house after the service, both so exhausted we barely said a word in the car. He just reached over and held my hand. Squeezing it from time to time.

  Once we pulled into the driveway, we waited before getting out. The heat blowing on my face made me yawn.

  “Ev, I haven’t gotten you anything for Christmas,” Will said.

  “It’s all right. I haven’t gotten you anything, either.” Turning to him, I smiled. “This isn’t the best Christmas, you know?”

  “I know.” He nodded. “But it’s still pretty good to be with you.”

  “When are you leaving?” I asked. He’d planned on driving all night to make it to his parents’ house by morning.

  “I called my mom before the service,” he said. “I told her I couldn’t make it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t leave you guys
right now.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I want to be here to help if you all need me.”

  “Thank you.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone step out onto the porch and rush down the steps. Cal made his way to my side of the car.

  “I think something’s wrong.” I opened the door.

  “Ev,” Cal said, breathless.

  “What’s going on?” A shiver raced through my entire body.

  “I’ve been trying to call you,” he said. “Don’t you have your phone?”

  I checked my pocket. I’d turned it off.

  “Did we get a funeral call?” I asked. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” His voice sounded weak. I’d never seen his eyes so watery. “It’s Mom. Something’s happening.”

  The three of us ran to the house, getting inside as fast as we could. It still didn’t seem quick enough.

  Will pulled me close before we stepped inside.

  Chapter Fifty

  Olga

  I kept my spot in a straight-backed chair right next to Gretchen’s bed. Donald slept on the other side, stretched out on the couch. Everybody else had taken to thick blankets on the floor or sitting at the table, sleeping with heads resting on folded arms. Clive sat in the recliner, snoring so loud, I wondered that anybody could catch a wink for all the noise.

  By the time the sun rose on Christmas morning, Gretchen rolled her head my way, eyes open. She blinked lids over glassy eyes.

  “I dreamed of lilacs,” she whispered. “I could even smell them.”

  “That’s a wonderful dream, Gretchie.” I leaned in close to her. “I sure wish we had a few lilacs right about now.”

  “Heaven smells like lilacs.” Her words joined together, slow and lazy. “Don’t you think so?”

  “I wouldn’t mind that one bit.”

  “And, in heaven, I got to sit in a field of chamomile. Lilac branches dangling over my head and chamomile bumping into my legs and arms. It all smelled so good.” She inhaled as if she could still breathe it in. “Fairy flowers dancing all over my yard.”

  “What a lovely dream.” As hard as I tried to hold myself still, the shaking took over anyhow.

  “I think I’ll ask if you can be my neighbor. We could share the yard again. Work on the garden together, maybe.”

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Her hand lay limp in mine.

  “You won’t live on top of death any more, Mom.” A tear hung on to her eyelashes. “It’s just going to be a blink and you’ll be there, too. It will be very good.”

  Donald stirred, moving to his other side.

  “I’m not ready for you to go, Gretchen,” I whispered. “I keep hoping for some kind of miracle. I want you to outlive me by twenty years or so.”

  “If I could choose, I’d rather not die yet.” The tear broke loose and landed on her pillowcase. “But I don’t get that choice, do I?”

  “I don’t suppose you do, honey.”

  “Last night was bad,” she said. “I don’t want to feel pain like that anymore.”

  I nodded. Christmas Eve had been good, until just after we got her home from church. She’d thrashed and screamed from the pain. I thought she’d break all my fingers, how hard she clamped on them. Kathi had to come with a needle full of relief.

  I’d never been so scared.

  “It’s getting closer, Mom. Closer every minute.” She lifted her hand to wipe at another tear on her face. “I think I want to go out on the porch sometime today. Maybe sip a cup of tea out there.”

  “It’s so cold, Gretchen.” I figured the morphine had stolen her reason. “Why would you want to go out there?”

  “Just one more cup of tea on the porch,” she said. “Then I’ll come back and rest like a good girl.”

  Between Evelyn and me, we got Gretchen on the porch swing. All we could see of her was her face peeking out from the layers and layers of sweaters and coat and blankets.

  “Do you mind giving me a few minutes?” she asked. “Just to be by myself for a little bit?”

  “Of course,” I said, handing her the hot cup of tea.

  “I’ve just had everyone around me all the time for the last few weeks. I need a little quiet.” She breathed in the steam of fairy tea. “Thank you.”

  Evelyn held the door for me. “Let’s go make some pancakes or something. Okay?”

  “All right.” I stepped up into the house. It took all the strength I had to leave my daughter on that porch. Out of my reach.

  Charlotte stood at the stove, already pushing eggs around in a pan. Will, at the other counter, measured coffee grounds. Cal changed the sheets on the hospital bed while Clive and Donald talked in low voices in one corner.

  I got myself into the recliner, hoping to ease my aching body for just a few minutes. The long night of sitting up, watching my daughter sleep, had caught up with me.

  It didn’t take long for me to get to snoozing.

  My dream didn’t have lilacs. No chamomile swaying in the breeze, either. Just me in Aunt Gertie’s old attic, rummaging through dusty boxes of half broken junk. Whatever it was I wanted, it wasn’t in that attic.

  Aunt Gertie sat on a three-legged stool in the corner, her old wooden spoon thwacking against her leg. I decided I’d steer clear of her. The last thing I wanted was a welt on my behind from that spoon.

  “She died in her sleep, you know,” she said in her deep down in the bottom of her throat voice. “Your mother did. In the hospital. No. Don’t ask me what she died of. It don’t matter. She’s dead. That’s what you got to know. Nothing else.”

  My dream brain made her shut her yapper. And, because it was my dream, I decided she couldn’t be on that stool. So she disappeared. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

  The woman that replaced her sat on a metal folding chair. Charlotte turned to Gretchen turned to my mother in a way only possible in dreams. My mother. Her long, red hair all pinned up at the back of her head. How I’d loved brushing that hair with an old, soft bristled brush. Counting to one hundred, not caring that she puffed on a cigarette, making my own hair smell smoky.

  “Come brush my hair.” She looked at me in a mirror.

  “Yes, Mama,” I answered.

  “You done a lot with your life, Olga.” Pulling the pins from her hair, she let it fall down her back. “You done good.”

  “I miss you, Mama.” My voice sounded small. “Living at Aunt Gertie’s house was bad.”

  “I know it.” She turned to me. “I never wanted that for you.”

  “How did you die?” I asked, my hands smoothing over her hair.

  “Olga, baby, I got to go.” She kissed my forehead. Her lips felt like feathers. “You keep being a good girl.”

  “Don’t go,” I whined. “I need you. I’ll be a good girl for you.”

  “You need to let me go. And let old Gertie go, too, while you’re at it. You been holding on to us too long. Making more of us than we ever were. For good and bad.” She touched my cheek with the back of her fingers. “It’s time to let go of her, too.”

  “Who? Let go of who?”

  She faded. Light from the window behind her shimmered through her. “Gretchen.”

  Then she went away. Just the smell of her cigarette left, lingering in the air.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Evelyn

  For a full three days after Christmas, my mom slept almost nonstop. Kathi had come to insert a catheter. She also brought an oxygen tank. We moved the hospital bed closer to the window so that the sun could shine on her. In her few moments of wakefulness, she liked to look out at the evergreen.

  Don couldn’t get enough time with her. He didn’t leave her side except to use the bathroom a few times a day. Even then, he could only stand to be gone for a couple minutes.

  “Don,” my mom said, her voice so soft and quiet. “Babe, go take a little break, okay?”

  He opened his eyes. “I’m all right. I was just resting my eyes,” he answered. “I want to stay with
you.”

  He shifted his weight on the hardwood chair and reached for her hand.

  “You haven’t slept in a long time, have you?” she asked. “At least go take a shower. You need to relax. Just for a little bit. For me.”

  Without saying a word, Don stood, leaning over her. He kissed her forehead. Moving his head back, he looked into her face.

  “You’re burning up,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “Evelyn, call the nurse.”

  I fumbled for my phone, pulling it from my pocket. Fortunately, I’d thought to save Kathi’s number. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the mental clarity to find it on the cluttered tabletop.

  “I don’t want the fever treated.” My mom’s voice raised, but stayed thin. “I want this. It’s going to make things easier for me.”

  “We’re calling her anyway,” Don said.

  The family gathered in the living room. Deirdre had sent Charlotte home from the bakery with a couple dozen cookies and two raspberry jelly doughnuts for Cal. The white box sat, untouched on the kitchen counter.

  Kathi took her place at the table, filling out paperwork, her pen scratches the only sound in the room for a while.

  “Is Will coming?” my mom asked. “Do we want to wait for him?”

  “He’ll be here soon,” I answered. “We can just get started, if you want.”

  “Okay.” She looked at me. “I want to say as much as I can before I get groggy again.”

  “Go ahead, Mom,” Cal said.

  “I want you all to do whatever is easiest. So if you don’t want to do a viewing, that’s okay.”

  “We’ll need to do one the night before.” Cal leaned forward in his seat. “You know a lot of people will want to come.”

  “That’s so kind of you to say, Cal.” My mom’s eyes squinted toward him in a smile. Just the way they had when he’d brought a frog home for Mother’s Day or got a B on his report card. She treasured those offerings. “Just make sure you don’t exhaust yourselves.”