My Mother's Chamomile

by Finkbeiner, Susie;

  “We can’t put her in a bubble,” I’d said one night, at the end of my patience. “She’s a child. We’ve got to let her play and explore. We can’t keep her from everything that might hurt her. This is no life, Clive.”

  “You didn’t see the father’s eyes, Olga.” Finger shaking, he pointed it in my face. “You didn’t see the way he watched that little casket go underground. I won’t let that happen to us.”

  Making my touch tender, I wrapped my fingers around his pointing hand and pulled it down. “We have to let her be a little girl.”

  “What if something happens?” Still yelling and with his face fierce, tears streamed from his eyes.

  I’d used my other hand to cup his cheek, feeling the heat of his skin, even on that chilly day. “We have to trust that God isn’t going to let that be. He’s got her in His hands.”

  “What about the little boy?” His voice almost didn’t make it to my ears. He quaked so hard, I worried he’d make himself have a heart attack. “I know it’s not right, but I keep feeling like God failed him.”

  “No, Clive.”

  “Listen, Olga.” His voice had turned hard. “I can’t help but wonder when He’s going to fail us, too.”

  After I told Clive about Gretchen’s cancer, he’d got real tired. We’d made our way into bed. I slept for a little bit before waking. The dark sky outside my window and our apartment silent, I rolled into the warmth of Clive’s side, feeling his breath on my face. Moving his arm to circle behind my back, he pulled me in and let my head rest on his chest, his undershirt, soft under my cheek.

  “You awake?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Grief settled, a burning pit in my stomach. “Are we going to be okay?”

  “Okay isn’t always the best place to be, sweetheart.” Soft lips pressed against my head, he kissed me.

  I couldn’t release words past the tightening in my chest and throat. All I could manage were quiet tears and prayers begging for mercy.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Evelyn

  Storm-heavy clouds hung low in the early morning sky. Getting out of my car, I breathed in the sharp, chalky scent of coming rain. Maple leaves turned upside-down, preparing for the downpour. I looked from the leaves to the tree to the house. My mom’s house.

  Framed by the picture window, she sat curled up on the couch, holding a book close to her face. Her bare toes, pulled up under her, wiggled. She turned a page, lips moving a little as she read.

  The smell of coffee welcomed me as I opened the screen door.

  “Hey, Ev.” She closed her book. “What a nice surprise.”

  “I was up early.” I didn’t mention how I’d been on the phone with Will until dawn. “I figured I’d come see you for a few minutes.”

  “I’m glad you did,” she said. “You’ve been so busy lately. It seems like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “It’s been pretty crazy at the Big House.” I slipped my shoes off and stepped into the kitchen. “Do you need a warm up on your coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m having tea anyway.” She uncurled herself and dropped the book on the coffee table. “I brewed that pot for Charlotte.”

  “She’s working today?” I poured a cup for myself.

  “Yup. And she had a really late night.” Scrunching up her nose, she pushed her lips together. “I guess some of her friends called to hang out.”

  “When did she get in?” I asked, stirring creamer into my mug.

  “Well after two in the morning.” Leaning over, she picked up a piece of paper from the floor. She sat up, holding a spot under her ribs. “I’m trying to remember that she’s an adult. My heart doesn’t agree, though. It still thinks she’s my baby.”

  “Deirdre isn’t going to make life easy for her.”

  “Especially if she shows up late.”

  “When does she have to be there?” My first sip of coffee burned my tongue.

  “Nine.”

  I checked the clock. “It’s half past eight.”

  “I know.” My mom shrugged, half her mouth tugging up in a smirk.

  “Has she gotten up yet?”

  “Not that I can tell.” Picking up her mug, she took a sip. “And I’m not going to wake her.”

  As if cued, Charlotte stormed down the steps, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t get me up,” she shrieked. “I’m late. Deirdre’s going to fire me. Thanks so much.”

  “Good morning, sweetie.” My mom’s voice came out as a song. “I made coffee for you.”

  “Great. Awesome. I can take it with me to the unemployment office.” Charlotte’s tone sliced through the air. “Do me a favor and wake me up next time when you know I have to work.”

  “Set an alarm,” I said. “It’s not Mom’s fault you need to grow up.”

  “Shut up, Evelyn.” Char dumped coffee into a travel mug, spilling a puddle worth on the floor in the process. She let a word slip that I was pretty sure she hadn’t intended on our mom hearing. “Sorry.”

  “Have a nice day, Char,” my mom called after her, waving.

  Charlotte rushed out the door, letting it slam behind her.

  “Well, that was a nice way to start the day.” I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a towel to wipe up the coffee on the floor.

  “She’ll feel bad about that later.”

  I nodded, knowing that she was right. Charlotte’s conscious never let her alone for too long.

  “How about you come sit with me for a little while.” She pulled a pillow to her stomach. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  I tossed the coffee-soaked towel into the sink. Walking back into the living room, I realized I’d left my mug on the counter. I’d planned on getting another cup. But I didn’t want to take the time right then. Her voice sounded thin and sad.

  Sitting, I let her take my hand. I hadn’t held her hand since right before my father left. After that, she didn’t have time anymore. She only had time to keep the four of us on our feet. Single parenting made her carry the world times three.

  Growing up all the sudden like that had made childhood seem even lonelier.

  “Ev, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I have cancer.”

  “Okay.” I blinked, letting the word sink in. “What kind?”

  Breathing in and out through her mouth, she held her lips in a tight circle. “I’m kind of nervous talking about it.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not upset.”

  “I don’t want you to be scared.”

  “Don’t worry about me right now, Mom,” I said. “What kind of cancer is it?”

  I hoped she’d say thyroid or an early stage of breast cancer. Something treatable. Something they caught fast enough.

  “I have a large tumor on my liver.”

  My eyes fell on the pillow that covered her stomach. “What stage?”

  “Four.”

  Stage four. The last stage. I’d embalmed so many people who had died after years of battling cancer, only to have it occupy their organs and bones. Even taking over their brain. Stage four rang like a death knell.

  “Have you gotten a second opinion?” The calm that held my emotions back surprised me. Years of training, I supposed.

  “No.” She touched my hair. “I really like how you got your hair done. It’s so pretty.”

  “Thanks.” I moved my head away from her fingers. “When do you start treatment?”

  “Next week.” She pulled the pillow tighter.

  “Can they operate? Sometimes they can remove tumors like that.”

  Her hair hit against the sides of her face as she shook her head.

  “Did they tell you how long?” A warm, salty tear made its way into my mouth. It surprised me. I’d thought I had my emotions pushed down. “Do you know?”

  Letting her elbow rest on the arm of the couch, she held her head up with one hand. “With your hair like that, it really ma
kes your eyes stand out.”

  “Mom, don’t do that right now. No changing the subject.”

  “Well, I don’t have many answers, Evelyn.” She rested her head back. “All they could do was guess. And I really want to forget all about having a deadline.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  “I mean, it’s terrible to think that my life is on this countdown.”

  Life was exactly that. A countdown. The time just ticked away louder the closer death got.

  “Are you scared?” I asked.

  Eyes open, her pupils so small I almost couldn’t see them, she looked into my face. “Yes,” she answered. “I’m really scared. I just don’t know what scares me the most about this whole thing.”

  I couldn’t stand looking at her anymore. A few tears weren’t bad, but I didn’t want to gush to her. She didn’t need that. And I didn’t want her to comfort me.

  “I should have more faith. Right?” She let go of my hand, holding the pillow even tighter than before. “But I’m dying. And I have so much more I wanted to do. And I’m not going to get the chance.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve got all this treatment I have to go through and appointments to keep. And I’m going to get sick and my hair’s going to fall out.” She tossed the pillow to the other side of the couch. “I’m sorry, Ev. I was doing so well keeping myself together until I started talking about it.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “It’s stupid that I’m fifty years old and dying.”

  “I’m sorry.” I could have smacked myself. Couldn’t I have given a more human response? Not the robotic, funeral director words I said to every person I worked with?

  “Thanks.” She covered her face with both hands, muffling her voice. “I’ll be fine in just a minute or two.”

  I reached for her, touching her back. “You don’t have to be fine, Mom.”

  Lowering her hands, she put them around my neck, pulling me close.

  She didn’t let go of me for a long time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Olga

  Rosetta sat across from me at my dinette. She’d brought me a cheese danish that just about melted in my mouth. Light and creamy comfort from my dear friend.

  “Do you think God will have something so sinful in heaven?” I licked a stray bit of icing off my finger.

  “Now, Olga,” Rosetta said. “Whoever deemed this delicacy as sin? Certainly not the Almighty Creator who made cows for butter and cane for sugar. This is all part of His good and perfect gift to us, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t argue with that.”

  “Besides, these are blessed baked goods.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Sure are. Last night, when we talked on the phone, I knew something was wrong.” Rosetta folded the napkin in her hands. “This morning, when I got up and out of bed, the Holy Spirit said, ‘Rosie, you get over there. And take something yummy.’”

  “The Holy Spirit calls you Rosie?”

  “He does, indeed. Why not? He knows me in and out.” Thick, shapely lips smiled across her face. Such a beauty, that Rosetta. “The baked goods, though, were a streak of genius on His part, don’t you think?”

  “I wonder if Deirdre doesn’t know the high and holy calling of her pastries?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. But I do believe Charlotte does.” Rosetta sipped from her mug. “She knows what it is to worship in the kitchen.”

  “She is in love with that job.” Pushing my fingertip into a loose crumb, I lifted it to my mouth.

  Rosetta took the last sip of coffee and watched me over the brim of her mug. When she put the cup down, she pushed her lips together. “Now, Olga, how are you doing? I mean to get the truth. Don’t you tell me ‘fine.’ I’ll know that’s not the whole truth.”

  “You get right to the point, don’t you?” Grabbing for her mug, I made to get up. “You want some more coffee?”

  “Not yet.” Her hand on top of the mug, she prevented me from taking it. “In a few minutes. Thank you.”

  Folding my napkin, I was sure her eyes stayed on me, smiling. That strong-willed woman would sit in her chair all day until I answered the question. I figured I might as well just give in.

  “Rosetta, I don’t know how much I can tell you.” The pressure on my chest made me breathe real shallow. “I was asked not to tell anybody just yet. And I already broke that promise to tell Clive.”

  “I’m not here for a tidbit, Olga.” Taking her hand off the mug, she reached across the table. Her brown hand on my white one. “I’m here to check up on my friend.”

  “You’re so good to me.”

  “It’s because I love you, honey,” she said.

  “I’m not doing so good, Rosie.” Rubbing the spot between my eyebrows, I tried to stop the headache that had started up. “And that’s the truth. I’m having it rough right now. We got some news about Gretchen that’s got me all kinds of worried.”

  Rosetta lifted her hands to touch her cheeks. Those rich brown eyes of hers filled all the way up with tears.

  “Oh. My sweet Olga. I am sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How can I comfort you?” Rosetta went back to holding my hand, patting it a couple times.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You aren’t accustomed to receiving comfort, are you?”

  “I can’t say that I am.”

  Fifty years Clive and I’d held the hands of our neighbors, soothing them through loss. We’d learned the right words, the soft expressions. We practiced comfort, never having need for it to come our way. Until then. And I didn’t know that I could absorb the mercy.

  “Olga, I don’t know how you expect to keep on dealing out comfort like you do without receiving some yourself.”

  No words. Just nodding.

  “It’s like a well, dug deep. If the comfort isn’t coming in, it sure can’t go back out.” The table shifted a little when she leaned on it. “Do you see what I’m saying?”

  “I think so.”

  “You need to learn how to fill up on mercy.”

  “Gretchen’s sick.” The words burst out of me. “Real sick. We don’t know how long she’s got. Not really. But we do know she’s probably not going to last another year.”

  “Oh my soul.” Rosetta’s mouth turned down at the corners. “My soul is heavy for you, Olga.”

  “I can’t do anything for her, Rosie.”

  “Oh, honey.”

  “All her life, I’ve been the one to fix whatever was wrong. When she fell down or got teased at school, I had a bandage or an encouraging word.” The back of my hand knocked a tear from my cheek. “And when she got divorced, we came and got her and the kids. We gave them a place to live. We fixed everything.”

  Muscles sore from fighting the fear and grief tensed up all at once.

  “Now, Olga, I got to ask you a question. And you might not like to answer it. That’s all right by me.” She lowered her eyes to catch mine. “How are you feeling about God right now?”

  Pulling lips in, I set my jaw so hard, it ached. “I never doubted Him before.”

  “But you’re doubting Him now?”

  “He isn’t doing right by my daughter,” I said.

  “Don’t let that suffocate you, Olga. It will drown the faith right out of you. Don’t you let it have that kind of power.”

  “Rosie, I never thought I’d be so tempted to curse God and die.” The tears came faster than I could wipe them away. “But I’m furious. I’ve never been so angry about anything in all my life.”

  “You can be angry. He’s used to that, I imagine.” Her voice turned into a smooth, cool balm, relieving a bit of my raw, beat-up heart. “What you can’t be is bitter.”

  “I know.”

  “I won’t sit back on my hands and watch the bitterness eat you up.” She clucked her tongue, like she always did when she had a hard truth to tell. “I’ve been watching what bitterness has done to ou
r Beverly. And I’ll tell you what, Olga, it will make all the difference in how you live through this time. Curse God and die will only get you more hardship with no one to carry you through. But you keep your hope in the Lord, even when you don’t feel like it, and He’ll provide more than what you ask.”

  My body couldn’t take sitting anymore. I felt like jumping out of my skin. Up and to the counter, I hovered myself over the sink and took off my glasses. Running the water, I splashed a little of it on my face. It cooled my hot, sore eyes.

  “This is too hard,” I cried. “I can’t bear it.”

  “Then don’t.” Rosetta had got behind me, her arm wrapped around my waist. “Let me be the hands and feet of Jesus to take good care of you. To love on you. You got me, honey. And I got a whole well full of mercy and comfort to spill over you.”

  The water dripped from my nose, dropping into a cup at the bottom of the sink.

  “Let the comfort wash over you. It can rinse away all the anger you got boiling inside.”

  I prayed for a flood.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Evelyn

  I didn’t want to leave my mom. Not with all that cancer inside her. With the undefined amount of time I’d still have with her. Especially not after the way she’d clung to me. My whole day could have been full of cleaning and cooking. Taking care of her could be my job. I wouldn’t mind a hiatus from the funeral home. Granddad would have understood. I wondered if I could sublease my apartment. Move back into my old room.

  “I need to rest.” Her words broke my planning. “I’m so exhausted.”

  “Go lie down in your bed.” I sat up straight. “I’ll stay down here and take care of things. I’ll call Granddad and ask for the day off.”

  “I really am tired, Ev.” She sighed. “You know I wouldn’t be able to rest. I’d want to help you.”

  “You wouldn’t even know I’m here.”

  “I would.”

  “I can be quiet.”

  “Evelyn, today I feel well enough to do the dishes and stick a meal in the Crock-Pot. So that’s what I’m planning on doing after a nap.” She pushed the hair out of her face. “Soon, though, I won’t feel up to it. Then, I’ll need your help. I’ll let you know when that time comes.”