A Well Staring at the Sky: A Death Foretold — Part 4

Read Part 8: A Tenor

Her siblings and I gather in her room on January 8th. Yesterday, we had met with hospice and she was now being treated for her pain and made comfortable for the inevitable. She seems more relaxed and happier than I have seen or heard in a long time. This is the calm before the storm.

It’s damp and cold outside and the few people she wants to see before she lapses into the sweet dreams of morphine’s lasting sleep have gathered to reminisce. My uncle Ricky is here having driven up from Houston in a hurry after mother called him and told him if he didn’t come now, there would be no second chance. Mary will spend every day and most nights here until Susan dies. Shawn, who lives the closest, drives over every evening for dinner. I sleep on a mattress in the living room. Mother has been here since last week. We sit together in her warm bedroom pretending that this is more like a reunion and less like a farewell. Hospice workers tell you that once the patient is released into their care, it is likely they will die within a month. Susan will be dead in 12 days.

The siblings sit around the bed where Susan lays and I sit. They have all known each other for over 60 years and they delight in telling the stories of their childhood. Their grandmother’s warm kitchen that always smelled of fried onions. The fights they had with each other and rebellions they perpetuated on their mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles. As they delve deeper into their adult lives, they speak of the hardships they went through and that it would have been difficult to survive those moments without Susan. I realize that each of us leaned upon her for support and guidance as we made our messy way through the world. What was lurking underneath the words we spoke was this: we aren’t sure how we will do it once you are gone.

When she gets tired and weary, we make our exit. We decide that Rick will stay in the guest bedroom and mom will go and stay at Mary’s house. I am asked to be her nurse. Every two hours my alarm chimes and I get up to give her the medicine. The third time I get up, I do not go back to my bed, but lay down beside her at her behest. I am tired but cannot sleep. I try very hard not to cry as I lay awake staring at the dark ceiling listening to her deep breaths.

Read Part 10: A Vampire