fielding phone calls and the doorbell. Dad and Aunt Morgan and I are camped out in Mom’s room again. Mom fell asleep about an hour ago and seems to be in less pain. The doctor will be here soon.
9:05 A.M.
The doctor just left. He said Mom doesn’t have much time left. Of course, yesterday he said he didn’t think she’d live until the end of the day and she’s still here.
I don’t know what to think.
10:24 A.M.
I’ve just had an idea. Maybe Mom can’t read my diary, but I could read it to her. I could read my list of things I want to tell her, so that I don’t forget any of them. Why not?
10:30 A.M.
Now I know why not. I asked Mom if I could read something to her.
“Of course, honey,” she whispered.
So I opened the journal to the list. I read items 1 and 2, and saw that Mom was sleep. I don’t know if she heard anything at all.
1:10 P.M.
Boy, this day is just dragging by. I feel like I’m sitting in a chair with a collar around my neck and someone has fastened a leash to the collar and is pulling and pulling at me and I’m not moving.
Events of the morning:
-
Mom sleeping
-
Dad and Aunt Morgan sitting
-
Carol answering phone calls
-
Two more deliveries from the florist
-
Fruit basket from the market
-
Surprise visit from Liz, Mom’s best friend from childhood, I gather, although I haven’t
seen Liz since I was five. Mom couldn’t even wake up when Liz said her good-byes. Liz
left Mom’s room sobbing; Carol comforted her.
-
At noon Carol insisted on fixing lunch for Dad and Aunt Morgan and me. (A few days
ago, Aunt Morgan would have done that. Now she’s just like Dad and me.) We all tried
really, really hard to eat.
Events of the afternoon:
-
None
11:30 P.M.
It’s happened.
It’s over.
Now I’m going to try writing about it. Everything. I don’t care if I have to write for hours and hours and hours. I feel as if I have nothing in my life but time. A gaping hole of time.
It started late in the afternoon. Carol was in the kitchen, Dad was in the front hallway saying good-bye to two people from the bookstore who were just leaving, and Aunt Morgan was taking a shower. (When she had said, “Maybe I’ll go take a quick shower,” I realized I couldn’t remember when I had taken my last shower. Yesterday? The day before that?)
I was alone with Mom.
She had been asleep. Suddenly she woke up. She looked very alert, which was strange since she hadn’t had an injection in quite a while. She saw me in my chair at the foot of her bed.
“Honey?” she said.
“Hi, Mom,” I replied.
“Sunny, could you go get Morgan? I want to talk to her for a few minutes. Then I want to talk to you, and then I want to talk to Dad.”
I thought of all those times in the last few days when something has happened to make my heart pound or my palms sweat. Now I heard these words, and I knew exactly what they meant, and I felt … nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just terribly, terribly calm.
“Okay,” I said.
I ran from the room. I hoped Aunt Morgan was finished with her shower. If she wasn’t, I thought I might have to haul her naked out of the bathroom and rush her to Mom.
I knocked on the bathroom door. “Aunt Morgan?” I called.
“Yes?”
“Aunt Morgan, Mom said she wants to talk to you. Now. And then she wants to talk to me and then to Dad.”
The door flew open. Aunt Morgan stood before me with wet hair, but she was already dressed, thank goodness.
“Oh my god. Okay,” she said.
She flew downs the stairs and into Mom’s room.
(It just occurred to me. Isn’t it funny how we switched so quickly from calling our dining room
“the dining room” to calling it “Mom’s room”? It was the dining room for so many years. We’ll probably never be able to think of it as just the dining room again.)
As Aunt Morgan ran to Mom, I caught up with Dad in the hallway. He was closing the door behind Arlie and James.
“Dad,” I said breathlessly, “Mom said she wants to
9:05 A.M.
The doctor just left. He said Mom doesn’t have much time left. Of course, yesterday he said he didn’t think she’d live until the end of the day and she’s still here.
I don’t know what to think.
10:24 A.M.
I’ve just had an idea. Maybe Mom can’t read my diary, but I could read it to her. I could read my list of things I want to tell her, so that I don’t forget any of them. Why not?
10:30 A.M.
Now I know why not. I asked Mom if I could read something to her.
“Of course, honey,” she whispered.
So I opened the journal to the list. I read items 1 and 2, and saw that Mom was sleep. I don’t know if she heard anything at all.
1:10 P.M.
Boy, this day is just dragging by. I feel like I’m sitting in a chair with a collar around my neck and someone has fastened a leash to the collar and is pulling and pulling at me and I’m not moving.
Events of the morning:
-
Mom sleeping
-
Dad and Aunt Morgan sitting
-
Carol answering phone calls
-
Two more deliveries from the florist
-
Fruit basket from the market
-
Surprise visit from Liz, Mom’s best friend from childhood, I gather, although I haven’t
seen Liz since I was five. Mom couldn’t even wake up when Liz said her good-byes. Liz
left Mom’s room sobbing; Carol comforted her.
-
At noon Carol insisted on fixing lunch for Dad and Aunt Morgan and me. (A few days
ago, Aunt Morgan would have done that. Now she’s just like Dad and me.) We all tried
really, really hard to eat.
Events of the afternoon:
-
None
11:30 P.M.
It’s happened.
It’s over.
Now I’m going to try writing about it. Everything. I don’t care if I have to write for hours and hours and hours. I feel as if I have nothing in my life but time. A gaping hole of time.
It started late in the afternoon. Carol was in the kitchen, Dad was in the front hallway saying good-bye to two people from the bookstore who were just leaving, and Aunt Morgan was taking a shower. (When she had said, “Maybe I’ll go take a quick shower,” I realized I couldn’t remember when I had taken my last shower. Yesterday? The day before that?)
I was alone with Mom.
She had been asleep. Suddenly she woke up. She looked very alert, which was strange since she hadn’t had an injection in quite a while. She saw me in my chair at the foot of her bed.
“Honey?” she said.
“Hi, Mom,” I replied.
“Sunny, could you go get Morgan? I want to talk to her for a few minutes. Then I want to talk to you, and then I want to talk to Dad.”
I thought of all those times in the last few days when something has happened to make my heart pound or my palms sweat. Now I heard these words, and I knew exactly what they meant, and I felt … nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just terribly, terribly calm.
“Okay,” I said.
I ran from the room. I hoped Aunt Morgan was finished with her shower. If she wasn’t, I thought I might have to haul her naked out of the bathroom and rush her to Mom.
I knocked on the bathroom door. “Aunt Morgan?” I called.
“Yes?”
“Aunt Morgan, Mom said she wants to talk to you. Now. And then she wants to talk to me and then to Dad.”
The door flew open. Aunt Morgan stood before me with wet hair, but she was already dressed, thank goodness.
“Oh my god. Okay,” she said.
She flew downs the stairs and into Mom’s room.
(It just occurred to me. Isn’t it funny how we switched so quickly from calling our dining room
“the dining room” to calling it “Mom’s room”? It was the dining room for so many years. We’ll probably never be able to think of it as just the dining room again.)
As Aunt Morgan ran to Mom, I caught up with Dad in the hallway. He was closing the door behind Arlie and James.
“Dad,” I said breathlessly, “Mom said she wants to
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