My Mother's Chamomile

by Finkbeiner, Susie;

  “I’m Gretchen.” Her quiet voice quivered. “I just found out that I have liver cancer.”

  “Thank you for sharing, Gretchen,” Debbie said.

  “What stage?” Stacy asked.

  “Stage four.”

  Debbie’s smile fell. Her eyes darted around the room, no doubt analyzing the mood. No one else moved. The room sank into cavernous quiet. Only the sounds of traffic from outside broke the silence.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” Stacy nodded her head, keeping gentle eye contact with my mom.

  “Thank you,” my mom whispered.

  “Are you doing treatment?” Stacy asked. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “It’s okay.” Mom touched the back of her hair. “I start tomorrow. I’ve got no idea what to expect. I’m scared.”

  Stacy crossed her legs and arms at the same time.

  “I know I’ll probably get really sick and that my hair will fall out.” Mom wiped a tear from under her eye. “And I’m okay with that, I guess. But I’m worried that I’m going to have all that treatment and it won’t make any difference in the end.”

  Stacy narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. It’s kind of hard to know how it’ll go. It’s all about how your body reacts. There’s never a guarantee that treatment’s going to help.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “I mean, for me, if my stuff keeps getting worse, I’m just going to quit the treatment and try to enjoy the little bit of life I have left.” She touched her scarf. “I guess you have to choose your battles.”

  “It just seems like a fight I can’t win,” my mom said, just loud enough to be heard.

  “Who says you have to fight it?” Stacy leaned forward, resting elbows on her crossed legs. “I don’t. I think it’s better to live at peace with yourself. Accept the process and get as much living packed in as you can.”

  “Well, thanks for sharing, ladies.” Debbie cut off the conversation, her smile more of a grimace. “We need to carry on here.”

  Stacy and my mom kept eye contact for another few seconds.

  “Anyway, on a happier note,” Debbie continued. “I thought we’d discuss the cancer walk coming up next month.”

  Debbie went on and on about times and locations and what everyone should bring along. She reminded them to bring water and healthy snacks. At the end of her talk, she folded her hands and put them in her lap.

  “Remember, this year we’re walking for Shonda.” Debbie’s face looked more human in that moment than in the whole time we’d been there. I read grief in her eyes. She turned to my mom. “Shonda was part of this group. She lost her battle a month ago.”

  “I’m very sorry.” My mom touched the hollow spot between her collarbones.

  “She fought with everything she had.” Debbie’s face relaxed. “And that’s why we decided to walk this year. For her. To remember her, but also to keep the fight going in her place.”

  “Shonda told me the cancer was the best thing that ever happened to her,” Stacy said. “That was the last time I talked to her.”

  “Why would she say that?” A woman from across the circle scowled. “That’s terrible, Stacy. She wouldn’t have said that.”

  “She did, though,” Stacy said back.

  “Well, she must have been on something.” The woman glared at Stacy as she pushed the words out of her mouth. “It’s the worst thing I can imagine, having cancer.”

  Stacy wrapped her arms around her middle. Her bare eyebrows lowered, and she stared at one of the tiles on the floor. Her lips pressed together.

  “She said that she didn’t really love life until she got cancer,” Stacy mumbled. “It made her realize what was important.”

  “I don’t believe you,” the other woman said.

  “Now, friends.” Debbie snapped her lips up over her teeth, forcing a smile. “Shonda wouldn’t have wanted us to argue. She’d want us to remember her and all the great things we did with her. And that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to remember her and smile.”

  The way Debbie held her lips, wide and gaping, didn’t convince me at all. Apparently, it didn’t get to Stacy, either. She kept her arms crossed, holding herself.

  “Cancer isn’t cute.” Stacy’s eyes closed. “I’m sick to death of everybody trying to make it cute. Pink ribbons on teddy bears and boxes of cereal. It’s not cute, and it isn’t fun. And I don’t always feel like smiling, you know? Some days I just feel like sleeping all day after I’ve been barfing my guts out. And, as not cute as that is, it’s real.”

  “Sometimes we all feel a little weak. We let our negative emotions get the best of us,” Debbie said with, I thought, a tone of scolding. “We can’t push our negativity off on other people, though. It’s not fair.”

  A few of the women in the seats nodded their heads. Stacy did not. Neither did my mom.

  Stacy caught up to us after the meeting. She moved faster than I expected her to. The three of us stood on the sidewalk outside the church building.

  “Hey.” She wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “Don’t let that meeting bother you.”

  “I’m fine,” my mom said. “I didn’t know what to expect anyway.”

  “It’s just hard for them to hear about people with stage four.”

  “That’s what I wondered.” My mom sighed. “I guess I’m their worst nightmare.”

  “Not you. It isn’t you. It’s just what’s happening to you that scares them.” Stacy looked over her shoulder at a group leaving the building. “See, they’re all trying to learn how to live with cancer. Stage four is more about learning how to let go of life.”

  “Well, and they’re dealing with their friend’s death.” Mom wiped her nose with a tissue. “That’s difficult for all of you, I’m sure.”

  “It has been. Shonda was everybody’s best friend. You know? Her death made some of us realize that this isn’t some little party we’ve got going on.” Stacy yawned, covering her mouth. “Sorry, I’m worn out.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Stacy.”

  “You, too.” Stacy held my mom’s hand. “Are you coming back next week?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, then. I’m glad I got to meet you.” She took in my mom’s face with her eyes. “I hope it goes well for you.”

  Stacy walked away from us, the ends of her scarf flowing behind her.

  As soon as I pulled off the highway on the Middle Main exit, my mom rolled down her window, letting fresh air into the car. Her face turned away from me, toward the breeze. I imagined her with eyes closed, breathing in the good country air.

  “I need to figure out how to tell Charlotte that I’m not going back.”

  “You don’t have to tell her.” I pulled onto the road that led to her house. “We could just pretend we’re going to the meeting and get coffee instead.”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  We came to a stop in her driveway. Neither of us moved for a minute or two.

  “I think I want to go for a walk.” She pushed her door open. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “Would you like a little company?” The thought of her walking away, by herself, made me anxious. I wanted to be with her. To hear her talk to the flowers and watch her smile at the singing birds. “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

  Turning toward me, she smiled. Her real, full faced, easy smile. “You know, I think I’d like having a little more time with you.”

  Together, we walked to the garden by the Big House. Her arm held tightly to mine. Not because she stumbled.

  I had. And she held me up.

  Chapter Thirty

  Olga

  It seemed I blinked my eyes and September had come. Even though the air still warmed my skin like summer, the breeze whispered fall. A couple of the trees had a crimson kiss on the edges of their leaves. Soon enough, I told myself, they’d all be ablaze.

  God’s artwork. I thanked Him. The prayer seemed thin, but, I figured it was better than
nothing. And for weeks, I’d given him a whole lot of nothing in my prayers. But I felt Him waiting for me. Like the gentleman He’s always been.

  I let myself into Gretchen’s house. Donald stood right up to the kitchen counter, staring down a loaf of bread like he’d never seen such a thing before. When the screen door creaked behind me, he looked up. The skin around his eyes sagged.

  The first three weeks of Gretchen’s chemotherapy swirled past us. Drives out to the clinic for treatments. Trying with all our might to keep her comfortable through the shooting pain in her gut. Searching for something she could eat without getting sick. Filling all the spots she occupied. None of us had an idea of all she did until we had to take over.

  That girl of mine did more for the people of Middle Main than I ever could have guessed. My three weeks had filled up fast with pushing people in wheelchairs all over the grounds of the nursing home, delivering meals to sick folks, and teaching the toddlers Sunday school class at the church.

  Being Gretchen just about wore me out.

  But Don wore the weariness I felt. In his stooped shoulders and the purple half-moons under his eyes.

  “Let me make you a sandwich.” I nudged him away from the counter. “You want ham or roast beef? Or both?”

  “Oh.” He looked back at the bread, surprised to see it there. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking of taking something to work for lunch.”

  “I could wrap it up for you.”

  “No. I don’t want to put you out. I’m not hungry anyway.” He rubbed the meat of his hands into his eyes. “Gretchen’s still sleeping. The chemo wiped her out.”

  “I know, Donald.”

  “If it makes her so sick, why is the doctor still making her go through it?”

  “Because it should help a little, I guess. I hope.”

  “It’s too much for her.” He looked at the treatment schedule stuck on the fridge with magnets. “I mean, look at this. As soon as she has time off to get better, they’ve got her coming back in for more.”

  “I know. She’ll get a break soon.”

  We stood next to each other in that kitchen. Donald leaned back, resting against the counter.

  “Sorry about the mess.” He nodded at the sink piled high with dirty dishes. “I’ll get to it later.”

  “Don’t you worry about that. I can do them up lickety-split.”

  “Thank you.” He checked his watch. “I need to get to work. I hate that I’ve got to leave right now.”

  “No. It’s fine, Don.”

  “I have to keep the insurance.”

  “We all understand that.”

  “Thank you.” His voice thickened so that I thought he’d start crying. He hadn’t. I wondered if it wouldn’t do him some good. “Can you please make sure Gretchen eats something today? She isn’t doing so good with getting food into her.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Just broth. It might be good on her stomach.” The keys clattered against each other as he grabbed them from the counter. “I never thought this would happen to us. Not so soon.”

  “I know it, honey.” I patted his back. “Maybe pick up some flowers on your way home? That might help her heal up a little.”

  “Yeah. Maybe I’ll do that.”

  He walked out, not saying another word. Got into his car and drove away. How his heart must have been torn in two.

  Right away, I set to work on that sink. It took a whole lot more scrubbing than it would’ve the day before. Oh, how milk could stick to a cereal bowl. By the time I got to the stainless steel bottom of the sink, my hands ached and fingers had turned to prunes. But, soapy cloth in hand, I kept going, making my way through the fridge and all the counters. If I’d stopped, I would have had to deal with my thoughts. I wiped down the windows and got to dusting the bookshelf. My last stop was the bathroom. After I finished swirling the brush around the toilet, I heard somebody in the living room.

  Gretchen had got herself to the rocking chair without me even knowing she was awake. There she sat, moving that chair back and forth, real gentle. She’d already picked out a book to read, holding it in her hands. She always had loved a good book. She could sit and read for hours on end. So lost in the story, she’d jump like a jackrabbit if she got startled. I thought I’d warn her that I was in the house.

  “Gretchie?” I called, nice and easy. “Honey, I didn’t want to scare you.”

  She turned and looked over her shoulder. “Hi, Mom.”

  As much as I knew she tried, her voice just didn’t have its normal pep lilting through it.

  “How are you doing?” I made my way to the living room. “Donald said you were having a bad morning.”

  “Oh, well, now I know what it feels like to be run over by a tractor.” Closing the book, she shut her eyes. “Especially my head.”

  “Can I get you something for that? Maybe a little tea?”

  “I don’t know.” One of her eyebrows pushed up. “Sorry, Mom. I’m having a hard time thinking. My brain would rather be sleeping.”

  “Don’t worry about it, honey. You just let me know when you’re ready for something.”

  “I think tea might be nice.” Two of her fingers pressed into the side of her head. “Maybe the peppermint one? It’s in the pantry.”

  I set to work getting the tea ready. For the first time in years, the electric kettle sat empty and unplugged. I’d have to heat the water the old-fashioned way. That didn’t bother me at all. Not until that old copper kettle screamed at me, sputtering water out its spout. I nearly jumped right through the ceiling. Was I ever glad nobody saw me.

  As for Gretchen, she’d fallen asleep, her head tipped back on the rocking chair. Sleeping so hard, she hadn’t heard the kettle.

  Pulling the afghan off the back of the couch, I let it drape over my arm, the soft yarn rubbing on my skin. Gretchen complained of being cold next to all the time. That old throw blanket had been her comfort most days.

  When I pulled the book from under her hands, she opened her eyes halfway. The twinkle that sparkled from the corner of her eyes did my heart a lot of good.

  “I was just about to put this afghan on you.” I held it up to show her. “I thought you might be a little chilly.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She lifted her hands to let me cover up her legs. “I’m cold all the time.”

  “I know it. I’m sorry, honey.” Walking to the kitchen, I tried to think of what else I could do for her. “You still want this tea?”

  “Yes. Thanks, Mom.” She let her eyelids fall again, real heavy. “I’m not going back to sleep, I promise.”

  “You can if you want.” The ball full of the loose peppermint leaves clicked against the inside of her mug. “I’ll help you get to the couch if you think you’d be more comfortable there.”

  “No. I don’t want to sleep the rest of my life away.” Pretty green eyes peeked out from under her lids. “Maybe I’ll just drink that tea and it’ll perk me up.”

  I carried the hot mug to the living room. Our hands touched when I handed it to Gretchen. Oh, but to have the power to remember all the times I’d held that hand or kissed those cheeks. Every hug or tickle. And the ability to erase the memory of days I fell short as a mama. Just knowing that a day crept up when I wouldn’t have her to touch made me long for more contact.

  She sipped her tea and made a sour face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything tastes funny.” Her breath huffed out of her with a small groan attached. “Maybe it just needs to cool off a little.”

  She lifted the mug back to me. That time, our hands didn’t touch so I bent over and kissed her forehead before putting the cup on the side table.

  “I love you, Mom.” Such sweetness.

  “Do you need me to do a load of laundry for you?” Looking out the window, I tried to hide the saltwater tears that pooled in my eyes. “I don’t mind doing it.”

  “No, thanks. Charlotte’s been really good about that.” She pulled the
afghan up to cover her stomach. “Why don’t you come keep me company? I need that more than anything.”

  “I don’t mind that job in the least.”

  It seemed every sore spot on my body decided to tense up when I lowered myself into Donald’s recliner. They reminded me that old ladies should take the housecleaning a little slower.

  “Oh, nothing makes me feel more feeble than when I’m getting down into a chair,” I said.

  “I’m beginning to understand what you mean.” Her laughter sang sweet water into my soul.

  Jesus, I prayed, thank You for her laughter.

  The prayer came without effort. I thanked Him for that, too.

  “Did you get to Bible study yesterday?” she asked.

  “Only for a minute or two.” The truth was, I couldn’t sit with those ladies for more than a few minutes without crying my eyes out. I didn’t want her to know that, though.

  “I wish I could have been there.”

  “Well, honey, you were certainly missed. The ladies wanted me to tell you that they’ve been praying for you.”

  “That’s nice,” she said.

  “Well, except for Bev.” A grin forced its way onto my face. “She asked me to tell you that she forgot you were sick. That’s why she isn’t praying. She keeps forgetting.”

  “At least she’s honest,” she chuckled.

  “She’s something else.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if a few of them came to visit. Can you tell them that, please?”

  “Sure thing, Gretchie.”

  “I’m just lonely sometimes.” She tried her tea again, forcing herself to swallow. “Well, at least it feels good on my throat.”

  “Honey, does it hurt your feelings that nobody’s been over?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “I wonder if they’re just wanting to let you rest up a bit,” I said. Then I winked. “You want me to ask Old Buster to come on over?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, heavens no.”

  “Now, Gretchen, why ever not?” I teased.

  “Did you know that when I was a little girl, I thought he was married to Deirdre?” She giggled, shaking her head and holding her stomach. “Oh my goodness, it hurts to laugh.”