My Mother's Chamomile

by Finkbeiner, Susie;

  There, we comforted each other.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Evelyn

  Early morning, I drove to my mom’s house. The hospice nurse would be there, and I needed to help her. Charlotte had to open at the bakery and Don didn’t think he could handle being there alone. I volunteered.

  A yellow school bus kicked up dirt from the road in front of me. Not wanting to get stuck behind it at every stop, I decided to turn down a different way.

  I hadn’t gotten far when I realized that the road would take me right past the Bunker farm and the tree ruined by the girls’ accident. I’d driven all over town, avoiding that road, since the vigil so many months before.

  I slowed for the curve, seeing the make-shift memorial still resting at the base of the tree. Two wooden crosses, weathered gray by six months in the elements. Within a couple months, the snow would cover them over completely.

  Mrs. Bunker squatted by the crosses. Pulling up next to her, I rolled down my window. She glanced at me but didn’t stop gathering brown leaves in her hands. She tossed them into the ditch. A lit cigarette pressed between her lips, smoke puffed out one side of her mouth.

  “Hi, Mrs. Bunker,” I said. “I wanted to thank you for the casserole you sent over the other day.”

  “That’s all right,” she answered, her cheeks flushed. “I had extra.”

  She took a slow draw off the cigarette.

  “How have you been?” I tilted my head toward the crosses.

  “Still get me a few nightmares now and again.” She flicked a long ash off and into the grass. “But I make do.”

  Standing, shoulders rolled forward, she put the cigarette to her lips again. Staring out over the field next to her, cleared after the harvest, she pushed out a long line of smoke. She’d finished talking to me.

  “Well, thanks again,” I said. “My mom really appreciated it.”

  Driving away, I took a quick look at her in my rearview mirror. She stood at the edge of the road, arms crossed, facing the tree again.

  A blue car had parked in my mom’s driveway. I pulled in next to it. A blond-haired woman sat in the driver’s seat, writing in a notebook. Getting out, I walked toward her car. She saw me and rolled down her window.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Good morning.” I bent from the waist to look into her window. “Are you the nurse?”

  “Yes. I’m with hospice.” She pushed the notebook into a pocket of her tote bag. “Do you live here?”

  “This is my mom’s house.”

  “Okay, good.” After rolling up her window, she cut the engine and opened the door. “I just have a few things to carry in.”

  “Can I grab something for you?”

  “That would be great.” Her warm voice cut through the cold, November air. “Thank you.”

  She handed me a binder that had to have weighed fifteen pounds.

  “My name is Evelyn, by the way,” I said.

  “I’m Kathi.” Slinging a messenger bag over her shoulder, she took a step toward me. “Sorry. I should have introduced myself before weighing you down with stuff.”

  Switching the folder to my left hand, I put out my right to shake hers. “It’s nice to meet you, Kathi.”

  “You, too.” Her soft smile told me that she meant it.

  “Come on in. My mom will be so happy you’re here.”

  Kathi set up the table with a row of orange medicine bottles. She arranged paperwork next to them. It looked just like the table at the Eames house. At most every house I’d been to where hospice had been called in. Only, that time, it was for my own mom. It felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

  The thought of that made my throat lump up.

  Wrapping a stethoscope around her neck, Kathi knelt down next to the couch where my mom lay.

  “How has the pain been?” she asked.

  “On and off,” my mom answered. “But when it’s on, it is really bad.”

  “I bet.” Kathi touched my mom’s hands. “Let’s keep you comfortable, okay?”

  “But I don’t want to be doped up.”

  “I’ll make sure it’s under control. I want you to be awake when you want to be.” Kathi used a light to look into my mom’s eyes. “Have you been able to eat or drink yet today?”

  “Not today.” My mom let her head relax on the pillow. “I just throw everything back up, anyway.”

  “Okay,” Kathi said. “How do you do with water? Or broth?”

  “I throw up everything.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s not very fun.” Kathi pulled the blanket up to look at my mom’s feet. She touched her ankles. “How has it been getting to the bathroom? Are you able to do that yourself?”

  “It’s getting difficult. Especially at night.” A rose colored blush moved up her cheeks. “My husband has to help me a lot. Sometimes I don’t make it.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s really embarrassing.”

  “How about we talk a few options?” Kathi tucked the blanket back around my mom’s legs. “We can make this a lot easier for you. One thing we can do is get a commode for you.”

  “No. I don’t want to do that.” My mom shook her head. “That’s just one more mess that someone has to clean up.”

  “I wouldn’t want that, either.” Kathi rubbed my mom’s shoulder. “This is a tough spot for you to be in. But we all want your days to be as easy on you as possible.”

  “I need a hospital bed, don’t I?”

  “That was my next suggestion. It would make getting you up and down a whole lot easier. And I can get you a walker so you’re less likely to fall when you do want to move around.”

  My mom wiped her face with one of her thin, brittle-looking fingers. “Do you have an option that will make me magically healed?” She smiled. “That would be my choice.”

  “You know, I’ll have to check with my supervisor to see if I can do that one for you.” Kathi put her hand on my mom’s forearm and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

  “Me, too.” My mom looked at me. “More for them than anything.”

  “Don’t worry about us, Mom,” I said. “We’re here for you.”

  “But worrying about you has been my job for a lot of years. It’s hard to quit cold turkey.”

  “Kathi,” I said. “Are there any foods that she can eat? We’ve run out of ideas.”

  “Honey, the thought of eating anything makes me break out in a cold sweat.” My mom spun the wedding band around her finger, so loose I wondered how it didn’t fall all the way off.

  “Let me check with her doctor.” Kathi jotted on a notepad. “Have you tried ice chips? Sometimes that’s a good way to get water in.”

  “Oh, that actually sounds nice,” my mom said.

  “As far as solid food, I don’t think we should push it. At this point, if you don’t want to eat, Gretchen, we aren’t going to force you.”

  “What?” I asked. “But she needs to eat.”

  “Well, right now she might just be more comfortable without food.” Kathi pushed her lips to one side of her face. “I know that sounds counterintuitive. But it’s better than having her in pain from vomiting.”

  “I think the ice chips will be great.” My mom’s eyes smiled. “It sounds refreshing.”

  “Gretchen, from what I can see here, it looks like your family has been taking very good care of you.”

  “They’re great.” My mom beamed up at me. “I’m proud of them.”

  “I can tell.”

  “Can we talk about the hospital bed?” Mom asked. “Can it be right here in the living room? Do you think we could make it fit?”

  “We can put it just about wherever you want.” Kathi sized up the room. “It won’t be a problem at all to fit it in here. We’d just have to move a little furniture around.”

  “I’d like that.” My mom’s eye caught mine. “Ev, I have a few other things I’d like to talk to Kathi
about. Do you mind giving us a few minutes?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I tried to hold my face still so she wouldn’t see how her question had hurt my feelings. “That’s fine.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. Some things are too hard to talk about in front of you.”

  “No. Really, Mom. I understand.” I forced a smile and got up from my seat. “How about some tea or coffee?”

  “I never say no to coffee,” Kathi answered.

  My mom sighed, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked directly at me. Thank you, she mouthed.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Olga

  “Do you need another blanket?” I stood over my daughter. She shivered so hard, I worried she’d shake herself right off the couch. I couldn’t wait for that hospital bed to get delivered. At least then, she’d have more room.

  Looking up, she nodded at me. “Thank you.”

  Charlotte had a whole stack of clean afghans and thick blankets folded up in a wicker basket. I grabbed a bright yellow one. If nothing else, Gretchen would like the perky color.

  “How did you like the nurse, honey?”

  “She’s great. Really sweet.” Gretchen pulled the blanket up closer under her chin. “You know, it feels like I made a friend today.”

  “That’s nice, Gretchie. I’m glad you like her.” I checked the clock on the wall. “It’s getting close to bedtime, huh?”

  “Today went by fast.” She winced. “It makes me nervous when the days speed by.”

  Life sped. Her life did, at least. It seemed like just the day before I got my hands on her for the first time. I blinked and years had passed.

  She tried to turn her head far enough to get a look at me. The pillows behind her just wouldn’t allow for it. “Mom, can you sit somewhere closer so I can see you?”

  I shifted the rocking chair at a better angle and nearly dropped back down into it. I took her hand. The skin felt scratchy and dry. Good thing Charlotte had left out a tube of lotion.

  “How about I rub some of this on your hands?”

  “Yes, please.” She blinked slowly. “Just don’t make me fall asleep. This medicine does a good enough job of that.”

  “But does it make you feel better?” I rubbed the dot of lotion into my hands before smoothing it onto hers.

  “They don’t make me feel much of anything at all.” Swallowing, the tendons in her neck pushed out. “Well, except sleepy.”

  “I suppose that’s good.”

  “Maybe.” She wiggled her fingers inside my hand. “I’m not ready yet.”

  “Ready for what, Gretchie?”

  “To go.” She swallowed again. “Not yet, at least.”

  I stopped moving my hands. “Well, I’m glad to hear you say that, honey.”

  “I always thought that when the time got close like this, I’d be ready.” When she moved her head from side to side, her scarf fell back, showing her short hair. “But, right now, I’m just really scared.”

  “It’s okay to be scared.”

  “Dying isn’t the part that scares me. It’s the part on this side of it. That’s what terrifies me.” Her dry tongue touched dry lips. “Can you please get me an ice chip?”

  I spooned a few small pieces of ice out of a cup, slipping them onto her tongue. I thanked God for the sweet mercy of frozen water that wouldn’t make my girl sick.

  “Thank you.” She worked it around in her mouth.

  “Honey.” I went back to rubbing her hands. “You said that this side scares you. What did you mean?”

  The way her eyes filled up and her mouth turned down broke my heart to shards.

  “I don’t want to be a coward,” she said, her voice thick with sorrow. “I always thought I’d be brave until the last minute. But I’m not. I’m so afraid.”

  “You are the bravest person I know,” I said.

  “I’m worried that I’ll be weak at the end.”

  “If you are, it won’t change a single thing.” I held her hands. “We’ll love you just the same as always.”

  Her frown reminded me of when she was little. But this time, she didn’t pout because she hadn’t gotten her way or stubbed her toe. Oh, how I wished it could have been something simple like that. Every part of me wanted to fix her.

  “I wanted to see my kids get married. And I wanted to hold my grandkids.” She gasped from the crying. “There is just so much that I’ve wanted to do. So much, it makes me feel greedy.”

  “No, honey. Wanting to live isn’t greedy.” I fought the lump that tried to choke me. “And you aren’t dead. You’re alive. And nobody’s sitting here telling you when you have to go. You’re with us now, Gretchen. We’ll see how tomorrow goes. And the day after that.”

  She lay on that couch, her body still. Just the rise and fall of her chest. After a minute or two, I started to count those breaths, not wanting to waste a single one of them that she had left in her. I watched so long, I was sure she’d fallen asleep.

  But she opened her mouth, eyes still closed. She moved her lips for a moment before letting the words come out.

  “Wouldn’t it be something if I just drifted off?” Her voice lilted, dreamy. Light and full of air. “If I just closed my eyes and went without even knowing what was happening?”

  “I think that would be the best kind of death.” I had to let go of her hand to wipe the tear that had dropped to my chin. “That’s the kind of death I pray you’ll get.”

  “And I would like one more spring,” she said. “I’d like to get out into the garden just one last time. So add that to your prayer list, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all, Gretchie.”

  Her words slurred, and I couldn’t understand a one of them. But they carried her into sleep. Her breathing deepened. I got myself up, needing to hold on tight to the arm of the rocking chair.

  I wondered if spring would ever come again. The chill in my heart doubted it.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Evelyn

  Will handed me a mug of strong coffee. It warmed my freezing cold hands. He stood over me, head to one side.

  “You know, I’ve got a perfectly good couch in the living room,” he said. “You don’t have to sit on the kitchen floor.”

  “I’m too tired to move.”

  “You want me to sit with you?”

  Nodding my head seemed like it would take too much effort. So, I just sighed.

  He got down on the floor next to me, his shoulder touching mine. He wore an old sweatshirt and flannel pants. My funeral director suit still on, I wished for something a little more comfortable.

  “So, Ev.” He cupped my knee in his hand. “What’s going on?”

  “Good question.” I sipped the coffee. “This is really good. It tastes expensive.”

  “Evelyn, you know I love you, right?” He scratched his scalp, making his already messy hair stand on end. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong? Usually people don’t come banging on my door at four in the morning unless they’ve got something to talk about.”

  “I had to do a removal tonight. You know, pick up a body.” I pulled my knees close to my chest. “It was bad.”

  “What made it so bad?”

  “Suicide. Those are always bad.”

  Will shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Her husband found her.” I took another sip from my mug. “In the next room, their kids were sleeping. They woke up to his screaming. And they saw her.”

  Holding my eyes closed till I saw red splotches didn’t work to toss out what I’d seen that night. The horror of that bedroom. The red-faced, sobbing kids begging me not to take their mother away.

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Nope. It doesn’t.” The rage built up in me, lifting until I thought it would erupt. “And it makes me feel crazy that I can’t do anything. Not really. All I do is come after it’s too late to do any good. And I take it away. That’s it. I can’t fix it. I can’t keep it from happening. My en
tire life is waiting for the tragic end so I can swoop in and remove it.”

  He squeezed my knee.

  “Nobody gets to escape it,” I said. “Everybody has all this, I don’t know, this terror that they’ll have to face at some point.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I know. I don’t either.”

  We went quiet. The rage calmed to a low simmer in my chest, leaving me feeling near spent.

  “When I was a kid, my cousin drowned.” He let his head rest against the cupboard behind him. “He was just playing in the river and got pulled under. My uncle couldn’t get to him in time.”

  I shook my head. “You never told me.”

  “It made my uncle crazy to think that he couldn’t save him,” Will said. “So a couple years later, my uncle went back to that same river and just let the current take him.”

  “I’m sorry, Will.”

  “They lived really far away. We only saw them a few times before that. But it still messed with me a lot.”

  I dropped my head onto his shoulder.

  “This world is broken, Ev. That’s one thing I know for sure.”

  “When is it going to be fixed?”

  “I don’t know.” He shifted so his head could rest on mine. “I wish I could tell you.”

  “Well, I really wanted you to have the answer.” I let my eyes close. “A good one. Not like the ones Old Buster comes up with. But a real answer.”

  “Maybe there isn’t one.”

  We sat on that floor so long, my backside went numb. I didn’t care. I just liked being in the quiet with Will.

  “My mom’s dying, Will,” I whispered.

  “I know.” He lifted his hand to touch my cheek.

  “She isn’t going to be at my wedding. And that’s really bothering me.”

  His chest rose and fell as he inhaled deeper. “Do you think we should—”

  “No, Will,” I interrupted.

  He sat up.

  “Don’t ask me that right now,” I said. “I don’t want that to be the reason I get married.”

  “Okay.” He kissed my forehead. “Just so you know, I’d do that for you.”