His snores sound as good as the
music he arranged on the IPod. Sunlight is filtering through the Oaks and a
warm breeze crosses over my body like it’s being guided directly to me. “Here
is another day for you,” it says.
“Here Comes the Sun” plays softly. Those
Beatles did provide some great music. I
remember how we downed rum and Coke and sang “Judy in the Sky with Diamonds” at
the tops of our out-of-tune voices, lined up with friends, arm in arm, swaying
back and forth. Was that really forty
years ago? What was the name of that bar? Oh, what difference does it make?
He’s been sleeping in that chair
for several nights now, won’t leave my side. If I could sweep him in my arms I
would, but I can’t. I wonder if my
thoughts get into his brain. There’s
still so much I’d like to say to him, like, “It’s all good. I am okay, in fact,
I‘m great and feeling almost like air.
And, remember to wear clean socks each day.”
“Honey, are you awake?” He smiles stroking my head. “How would you like a sip of ice?”
“Ummm. That is good,” I say in my mind hoping he
gets the message.
“Good morning,” says our hospice nurse,
Becky, peaking in the door. Leaning
over me while taking vital signs, she says, ” I think today might be her day.” She looks at Bob, “ Is there anything I can do
for you?”
He shakes his head still rubbing my
brow. “I want her to be
comfortable. Do you understand? Very
comfortable.”
“Mrs. H., we will keep you feeling
good all the way. Just like we talked about,” says Becky in a clear slow soft
voice. She pulls my eyelids open, flashing a tiny light, testing my reflexes. She smells like lavender and starch.
Don’t they know I can hear like an
elephant? I noticed this yesterday. I think it was yesterday. Time doesn’t make much sense now that I don’t
have any left. I only know it’s passing
because of the sun. “I AM FINE”, I want
to scream but my voice doesn’t work and my eyes will barely open. But my ears, they can hear a gardener
clipping hedges three houses away. If
I’d had this hearing all my life just think what I could have overheard. At each of those thousands of lady lunches
and office parties I would have gathered news worthy of my own TV show.
“Hi Dad. How is she doing this
morning?” says my daughter entering the room arms filled with flowers, ribbons,
vases and such. Judy always has to have
the surroundings look like a magazine picture.
She leans over and joins in the brow stroking, then takes my hand and
rubs it. Can she feel me rubbing
back?
Nurse Becky motions to both of them
and they go into the hallway. Of course
I can hear every word they say and now, funniest thing, I can see them. It’s kind of foggy, but there they are,
standing in a circle, Bob holding Judy’s hand.
“Her vitals are slipping, her
breathing is shallow, temp is low and her circulation is beginning to
slow. Now is the time to say your good
byes,” Becky tells them.
I just hate this. Seeing them cry over loosing me. It’s more than
I can bear. I escape through my window, soaring over the trees and the rose
garden. What a glorious day. A young boy is pulling his wagon along the sidewalk,
a little brown terrier jumping alongside.
It’s Charley when he was about six, with Trixie. I float over him and
circle around our neighborhood, the old neighborhood, the one where we lived
when the kids were in elementary school.
My IPod has changed to Frank singing,
“Come
fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away
If you can use some exotic booze
There's a bar in far Bombay
Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away
Once I get you up there where
the air is rarified
We'll just glide, starry-eyed
Once I get you up there I'll be holding you
so near
You may hear angels cheer 'cause we're
together.
“Beautiful. Yeah, Frank let’s fly. I‘m smiling.
They’re standing over me again. I
wonder if they see it, that I’m smiling?
Judy is patting my hand and grabs
an Emory board from her purse and begins filing my nails. I guess they’re a mess after this past week’s
neglect. Bob has pealed the blankets off
my feet and is massaging.
“Her feet are
looking blue. What do you think?” he
says to our daughter.
“You know she can hear us. Mom, can you hear us? Blink your eyes if you can hear us,” says
Judy.
I try as hard as I can but I have
no control of this body anymore. I wish
I could tell them I don’t hurt. I don’t
feel a thing.
“Mom, we know
you want to go on, but please wait for Charley.
He’s on his way.”
Oh, Charles. I will wait for my Charley. But look at that sky, the clouds. I smell chocolate cake baking as I look over
our old house. The yard needs mowing but
is beautiful. I am holding a baby. It’s Judy and my mother and dad are laughing
and pointing to her red hair. I’m at the
high school stadium. There’s Charley in
his uniform, helmet off and he’s being congratulated by his teammates. Judy is jumping up and down in her red and
white cheerleader outfit. Bob and I are
hugging. We are young and thin. I soar like
an Eagle over fields of tulips. It’s like a bright rainbow beaming purple, red,
yellow, pink as far as I can see. While I float, the terrain changes to white
peaked mountains, I immerse myself in warm clouds turning over and over,
darting up and down like a circus performer. I glide over an immense emerald lake sparkling
like it’s sprinkled with gold coins. A
school of white Dolphins jumps in unison as they play in the warm gulf
waters.
Taio Cruz’s piano music fills my
soul. Bob is back in his chair and Judy
is arranging flowers. They both jump
up. I already saw his car pull into the
driveway and his nimble body sprint across the lawn, in the front door and down
the hall. Charley leans over and
whispers into my ear, “I love you Mom. I
know I didn’t say it enough, but you knew.
I could always tell it in your eyes.”
My eyes open and I smile. They see it.
Wonderful! They see it this
time. I focus on each of their faces. They smile back and laugh making music that
surpasses the IPod’s offerings.
I slip out the window like a
bubble, sailing far above the Oaks, orbiting into billowy clouds, singing and giggling
as I pass the towering Cascades, the endless Pacific, the vast African plains. My
essence, the “me only I know”, is embraced by the stratosphere. Textures, fragrances,
colors and light connect like a boundless work of art fusing with the echo of
continuous tones, and limitless melodies, a million voices overflowing, resonating,
powerful. We all combine into a massive vibration that is all, is nothing, is everything,
united, eternal.
“She has gone,” says Judy sobbing. Bob cradles her and Charley puts his arms
around both.
“Did you feel it? The warm breeze? Just as she took her last breath?” says Charley
softly.
“Yes, it was
her last kiss,” Bob closes his eyes as his breath caresses the air.
The evening of haunting tales to set the mood for Halloween includes Butch Engle (at right) performing Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart.”
