T Incorporated

Aagh, hmm, aagh, hmm, aagh, hmm…mechanical breathing apparatuses are so eerie. I’d spent the night at home. It’d been a long time since I’d slept at home. Work, school, friends, I’d find any excuse I could come up with to avoid spending a night there. It was too hard on me. She’d say she didn’t want me around, that if I just sat around being with her while she was sick it would be worse. Don’t let me hold you back she’d say. You’ve got to keep living. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to be there, to help, but knew there was nothing I could do. So I avoided home. I’d visit often, but avoid stops lasting longer then an hour. I couldn’t hold in my emotions when I was around and I didn’t want to let her see me cry. Occasionally on my visits I’d slip and she’d start to cry too. Then the coughing would start and it’d be ten minutes before she could stop. I wasn’t helping if I couldn’t be strong. I tried, but she was a lot stronger then I was.

I’d been told I had to be home now. She might only have a few weeks left. The day before my aunt, dad, and I had moved her from her bed to a temporary hospital one brought into the house. She felt so hollow, so fragile. Her skin had become pasty and she had a tube in her nose to help with her breathing. She barely said anything now, usually just sighs or grunts. When the cancer came back it was a rash where her breast had been. Later it started to attack her lungs and restricted her breathing. One lung would constantly fill up with fluid and for the past five months she’d been going to the doctors to get one of them drained. A few months earlier, doctors attempted to perform an extremely painful surgery where they scar tissue to seal the lung. Unfortunately, the cancer was too far along and they couldn’t perform the surgery. At the hospital when she heard the news you could see hope leave her face. It was the first time her not being around seemed real.

It was late July, a beautiful day, one where my mom should have been outside in her lawn chair, reading a book or flipping through a magazine. She should have had her big sun glasses on, an iced tea in hand, and her legs in the sun. When I drove up she should have waved at me with a big grin on her face and none of the cars should have been in the driveway. Instead tubes were in her nose, her skin was white not bronze, and no smile graced her face. Cars lined the street and driveway and people were standing around in the family room and kitchen trying to act busy, talking about nothing, and nibbling on the mountain of food that people had brought by to help. Mom had wanted my Aunt to take care of her—a woman to help her with all the personal and embarrassing things. Weeks earlier she said if she was going to die she’d do it looking good. My aunt made sure to do her make-up every morning and she didn’t like to be seen without being done up.

It was Sunday and my sister had a swim meet down in Corvallis. We got up early to make it for warm ups. We said our quick goodbyes to the kitchen crew and on our way out the door yelled into the bedroom to say goodbye to mom. Aagh, hmm, aagh, hmm, aagh, hmm was the reply. No one expected anything else. On the drive we talked little, and as we got further away it was easier to forget the situation back home. My girlfriend at the time was with us and helped keep the conversation going. Finding things to talk about seemed like a constant struggle these days. You’d try to keep talking, but inevitably your mind would wander back. Could I have been there more? Should I have been there more? Every time I was around she’d enjoy talking, but always push me to not sit around with her. Should I have been more forceful, ignored her wishes, and been there while she fought? Or, did I do the right thing? I know I avoided home because of the pain, but she’d always tell me not to hang around with her. Does that justify my actions? Do people think I avoided home?

She swam terribly. I’d have done the same. Afterwards, we stopped by Burger King to grab a snack before heading home, and while waiting in the drive-thru we used a cell phone to call and let everyone back home know how she did. Even if it wasn’t her best meet people were happy to hear about it. Her swim meet gave us something else to talk about, something everyone needed.

Our cul-de-sac was full of little kids ridding around on bikes, shouting and laughing. The trees in our neighborhood created a patchwork of shade with the late afternoon sun shining on the concrete. As we pulled up to the house I saw my aunt and dad sitting on the bed of the truck with the tail down chatting. My heart sank as I stepped out of the car. I just knew. They told me she’d stopped breathing shortly after we’d left this morning. Years earlier my mom took care of her best friend while she fought skin cancer. When Denise died she told me, “I think eventually you give up and you chose when to let go.” I believe it now. She’d waited until both my sister and I were gone until she left—never ceasing to protect us. They said she was still in her room if Annie or I wanted to say goodbye. My sister chose not to.

I pushed open the bedroom door. It stuck to the rugs my mom had set out to cover the tracks my dad had worn into the carpet. He liked to come in from outside and forget to take off his shoes. Memories raced through my head. I’d gone into this room countless times before to say goodnight to her. As my sister and I grew older she liked it if we tucked her into bed. She’d tell us it was her favorite part of the day. So, most nights we’d come in tell her about our days give her a kiss and head on up to our rooms.

I’d never seen a dead person before. The hospital bed was placed at the foot of her old one and the large sliding glass doors had the drapes pulled. A dull afternoon light was still coming through. She was so stiff, so rigid, absolutely no movement, and all color from the lips and cheeks were gone. Her mouth was just slightly open and her eyes were closed. I grabbed her hand. It was cold, clammy and startled me. I cried. I tried to mutter a goodbye but the silence seemed best. There wasn’t anything more to be said. There wasn’t anything more I could say. She was gone.

I didn’t go into the house for 3 months, and that bedroom for close to a year.