“What are you doing here, you twerp? Get out of my sight!” she shouted, in keeping with her reputation as the big bad wolf of the department, the one professor everyone feared. Sticking her head out, she looked both ways down the hall before pulling him in by his collar. Over the years, Ammon’s banter and his witty attitude had propelled him past her wicked-witch facade. When he didn’t laugh at her charade, she asked, “What’s wrong?” in a gentler tone than he’d ever heard her use. He broke down and told her the bad news first.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When he’d finally made it home and announced the unexpected news, the word cancer set off a red alert in my mind, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard him translate his particular diagnosis into non-scientific English. “It’s the most lethal form of skin cancer, causing seventy-seven percent of all skin cancer related deaths.” Or perhaps it was Mom’s terrified face, frozen with confusion, that frightened me most. His cancer was potentially on the move and being the knowledge sponge he is, Ammon didn’t need to be told what the consequences could be. If the cancerous cells decided to get up and travel around their little Ammon world, it would be the end of him. They were like a bomb’s detonation timer counting down the days, and they had to be fought as aggressively as possible.
Prior to the actual surgery, thick green dye was injected into the cartilage of his outer ear. With evident sympathy, the doctors had warned him, “We’re so sorry. We’re not going to lie to you. This procedure is going to be nothing less than excruciating.” But that wasn’t the end of it. In addition to removing the required portion of the ear, they also had to slice into his neck to determine whether or not the cancer had spread to his lymph nodes. While we waited for the results of the lymph node biopsy, the trip planning was put on hold. And we waited.
We found it really hard to watch a healthy, twenty-five year old man face some of the harsher realities of life. Ammon had far fewer answers than he had stitches. The first day and night after his surgery were tremendously difficult, especially for someone who was always in tip-top condition. Watching Ammon deal with this terrifying, painful disruption to the life he had planned made me realize I wasn’t the only person learning the life lesson of how abruptly the ground can fall out from beneath you.
Even the short journey to the bathroom was painful for him and a struggle for Mom and me. We first transferred him from the couch in Mom’s bedroom to the computer chair and then wheeled him across the wood floor to the bathroom, Harrison following dutifully to show his support. He paced from side to side wanting to help and make his presence known, even though the last thing Ammon wanted was a dog hanging around.
“Not now, Harrison,” I had to tell him every time. Head low, he sulked over to the corner where he could sit out of the way but still keep a watchful eye.
Giving Ammon some privacy in the bathroom, we waited for him to shout, “Ok.” On each return trip, despite our best efforts, clearing the bump at the doorway made him groan miserably.
“Oops, sorry,” was about all we could say about that as we wheeled the pale-green, almost corpse-like patient back into Mom’s room, parked him next to the fireplace, and tucked him up in a blanket.
Regardless of all the drugs, surgery, and stress, he was utterly determined not to vomit. It was simply mind over matter for him. Have I mentioned what a strong will Ammon always demonstrated? Even unbalanced and physically weak, he was devoted to maintaining his resolve not to puke. I always thought it strange what boys will do and the bizarre games they play, but he actually managed to come out of this ongoing competition without breaking his personal record of eight years.
Thankfully, the trip was put on the backburner until we felt that our designated leader would be, not only still alive, but healthy enough to survive a year on the road. We don’t want him to drop dead in the middle of the world and leave us as live bait for the locals! With my luck, they’d be related to the heart-eating tribe from Indiana Jones. It wouldn’t take long before we’d wind up in the same state as him. DEAD! They’d gobble us up in pieces. The days of waiting seemed to take weeks, and I felt somehow responsible for Ammon’s condition because of all the negativity I’d been putting out. I felt guilty because, on a very basic level, I was torn between the conflict of losing my brother or losing everything else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The house was silent, a rare state of affairs with three children still living at home, not to mention hosting varying numbers of home-stay students and the ever-intrusive business phones ringing off the hook. With the fluffy duvet tucked snuggly under her chin, Maggie-the-Mom sat contentedly with her arms folded across her tummy. It was here, nestled in her warm bed, that she took advantage of the precious quiet. A few minutes were wisely spent in calmly pondering the many arrangements involved with making a smooth exit from this stage of her life. There was so much to be done, so many nagging concerns. She didn’t know how she would manage everything in her set time frame, especially with the preparation time Ammon’s cancer had lost her, but she was taking it day by day and doing her best to ensure she would not be overwhelmed.
The only sound she heard was the soothing hum of the minibar fridge she used as a bedside table. Sensing that rhythmic vibration, she promptly reached down, opened the door and picked out one of many Dr. Peppers. Sitting back, the “spisss” of the can opening brought her a calm release, like a smoker’s first puff after a long, red-eye flight. One or two soft drinks a day was the only addiction she had developed in her forty-five years.
Mom looked across the empty bed, big enough to host her six-member family in a pinch. Gathering together at the end of the day to chat one-on-one with her was something of a nightly ritual, but these days it happened less and less. Unaccustomed to the luxury of space to herself, she inched towards the centre. She rarely had any personal time and, like most mothers, sacrificed herself for the benefit of her loved ones. Reaching over to what had been “his” side of the bed, she took an extra pillow and, laughing to herself, she inwardly noted that he certainly wouldn’t be using it anymore! That simple act epitomized a whole new concept to her as she slowly began to identify the first signs of selfhood – If she wanted a pillow, she’d take a pillow, dammit! Sitting back with her fizzy drink, she thought, Maybe I can get used to this solitude. It might be nice. She was always hopeful there was a way to get past the hardships, and this realization was the first step towards mending her heart.
Everyone was out of the house. Now that he was cleared of cancer, Ammon was once again busy writing exams, I was off with friends trying to escape the trip’s fast-approaching reality, and Bree spent every waking hour with Fernando. Her mood changed abruptly. It began to seem very lonesome as she imagined getting old alone in that bed, the kids grown with families and homes of their own. She flinched slightly from that thought, and her heart fluttered as she instinctively thought of Skylar, her second oldest child and the first to leave home.
The only offspring born in his father’s homeland, he felt his country calling and had unexpectedly declared that the U.S. Marine Corps was the place for him. When he and his father had first walked into the enlistment hall three years earlier after visiting other branches of the military and learning about their various signing incentives, he’d been asked who had recruited him. His sincere explanation that no one had actually approached him and that the challenge of becoming one of the toughest and joining the best of the best was incentive enough for him, surprised them. It may also have got him off on a positive note with the Marines, as the recruiting agents rarely had people walk in on their own accord. The day after his twenty-first birthday, he left for boot camp at the MCRD (Marine Corps Recruit Depot) in San Diego, California. Within six months, he graduated as one of the few recruits who were able to survive the gruelling marine training.
As if in recognition of that train of thought, her reverie was broken by a phone call from Sky. Shortly after our parents’ separation and the announcement of Mom’s plans to travel
the world, Sky was being deployed to Iraq for his first tour of duty, so he would not be joining his family on the trip.
“Oh Sky!!! It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you? Where are you? North Carolina?”
“Yep, just in my barracks at Cherry Point. I’m … I’m ok, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Well, I’m just trying … I need your help, Mom. I just can’t do this,” he broke down, “I’m trying to fill out a form.”
“Well, what are you doing?” she asked gently.
“I gotta make my will and fill out funeral forms,” he said, trying to sound calm.
“What? Your funeral? You’ve got to make funeral plans? How awful. Why would they make you do that?”
“Yah, I know. The military just doesn’t want any worries for us or you if something happens to me in Iraq, but it’s really hard.”
“Oh, lovely! That’s so good of them,” she said sarcastically.
“We have some things to fill out.”
“Like what?”
“We have to choose our songs and our pall bearers, a whole bunch of stuff like that.”
“I can’t believe you have to do that. No wonder you’re having a hard time!” she sympathized.
“We have to get everything in order before we go away,” he paused, reluctant to upset her but needing her help to do what was required of him, he continued, “in case we don’t come back.” And there it was. The awful, stark reality of it all. Her son may not return home alive to her, and they both knew it all too well.
Mom’s throat tightened. Her chest was burning, but she wouldn’t let that affect him any more than it had to. He needed her to be strong. He needed her guidance and support, so she could not let herself crumble. And she wouldn’t. The most important thing was making sure she made it as easy as possible for him. Tears would not help the situation, so she struggled to ignore the excruciating dread.
“So, I need your help ’cause I can’t get through this. It’s just too darn real.”
“Okay, Sky. We’ll do it together. Let’s start at the top.”
“I’ve already been working on it a bit.”
“What part are you stuck on?”
“Ummm …” She could hear papers rustling at the other end of the line, “What kind of casket should I get?”
“Well, yikes, what do you like?” her lips tightened before the words were forced out in a calm tone.
“I don’t like any of it! I don’t know if I want to be buried at all,” he confessed.
Since he was an impressionable kid, he’d had his mind set on having his bones dipped in adamantium (regardless of the fact that it’s a fictional metal from the Wolverine/X-Men comic books) so his indestructible skeleton could be displayed in a glass cabinet, like the also fictional Terminator, for all his future kids and grandkids to see. That way he could “live on” forever. She thought this might explain why he didn’t want to be buried and his inability to choose a coffin.
“I have this ridiculous fear of being buried alive, you know? Like in that movie, what was it called? Oh yah, The Serpent and the Rainbow. What if they put me in before I’m really dead?” Surprised that this could be his biggest worry with all the more likely challenges he was about to face, she could sense his emotions faltering. Instead of drilling him about the unlikelihood of such an eventuality, she sought to allay the fear he’d given voice to. If this was his biggest concern, she was determined to help him work through it.
“Ok, then, let’s just see what we can do,” she started. Putting herself in his place, fearful of being trapped underground, she instinctively chose her approach, “We’ll just have to make sure that you have a way to get out if you wake up. ‘Cause the worst that could happen is you can’t get out, right?” She paused to give him time to acknowledge this. “So you’ll need an axe in there with you so you can escape.”
“Can you really do that?!?!” he asked.
“Of course! We can do whatever we want. It’s your funeral. And if they won’t do it, I will.”
“Aw, thanks Mom. I guess I’ll only have a short time to get out, I mean, the air supply will be limited.”
“Then you’ll need a small oxygen tank in there, too. That will give you some time to break your way out.”
“Yah, yah. That’s a good idea,” he agreed, oddly beginning to calm down. Like Bree, Sky was always up for a “mission.” “And an axe seems a bit bulky and heavy, I think I’ll just keep my Marine K-Bar. I want to have that with me,” he added.
Mom felt his mood lightening as it became a game of logistics, even breaking into some unexpected laughter as potential scenarios unfolded.
“But you’ll have to make sure it’s a pretty thin coffin so it’s easy to get out of.”
“Oh, yah. For sure! That’s important, so I’ll tell them I want a soft pine one.”
“So you’ve got your knife and an oxygen tank, and I’ll put in a flashlight, too, so you can see what you’re doing.”
“Can you do that for me, Mom?” he said, back on a more serious note now.
“I’ll absolutely put it in there. I promise. If you want it, I will put it in,” she vowed, fully intending to follow through with that if the time came. With one problem solved and out of the way, they continued to fill out the form.
“Well, I put you in as my beneficiary for the insurance. It’s doubled if I get killed in combat,” he informed her.
“Thanks, but I’ll take you instead,” she said unhesitatingly.
“And I need a number for someone if anything goes wrong. I already have Aunt Pam and Grandma on here, but what about you? How am I going to reach you if you’re all out travelling?”
“I’m going to take a phone with me for emergencies and for if you need to call me,” she said. She was not entirely sure how she would manage it, but she had every intention of figuring out the billing, SIM cards, and reception abroad so she would be available to him if he needed comfort through the hard times coming.
“Oh, that’s good. I’m really glad,” Sky said. “And for songs, I like this one. Do you know it, Mom? It’s by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men, “One Sweet Day.” Do you think you could play it?” he asked. Mom quickly found it, and they sat together listening to the lyrics over the phone – “Shining down on me from heaven like so many friends we’ve lost along the way.”
Her eyes closed as a single tear trickled down her cheek. At the same time, she strongly felt the song would not be necessary – that he was going to come back. In one piece or not, he would return home to her and the family. She would take him up in her arms as she so often had when he was small and helpless. He was still her baby, a part of her being.
“Don’t you worry. We are not going to need this song,” she said firmly.
“I really hope not, Mom. I miss you.”
“I miss you too. We all miss you. When do you leave?”
“In a few months. How is everything up there? How is Ammon doing?”
“Yah, he’s okay. Everything is alright. It was pretty scary for a bit, but the results came back and it looks like he’s good to go. Nothing spread. He’s lucky he found it in time, but he’ll definitely need to have follow-ups.”
“Ok, good. Are you sure? ’Cause I’m so worried about him. I’d die if anything happened to him!” Sky said sincerely.
“I’m sure. Don’t you worry about that! You just make sure you take care of yourself. We are going to be fine. Do we get to see you before you go?”
“Well, I wanted to surprise you, but I’ll be home to say goodbye just before we ship out.”
“Oh, that’s so exciting!! I can’t wait to see you. I love you, Sky.”
“I love you too, Mom. Thanks for your help. I’ve got to get in to the mess hall for lunch in a minute, so OUT from Cherry Point!”
“OUT from Vancouver,” she replied, reaching for tissues as she placed the receiver back on the hook.
Chapter 5: The Shells of Life
Over the hu
m of sizzling bacon, a ringing startled me into cracking the eggshell in my hand. The sound echoed into the empty spaces of the high ceiling. Glancing down, I saw the devilish white remnants marring the beautiful yellow egg in the centre of my pan. Frustrated, I swirled them around with my much-too-fat spatula without gaining any headway. I’d need a better tool.
“Hey, it’s for you,” Terri said, grabbing my attention away from the stove.
Spinning around, spatula held out at my side like a wing, I saw what she meant. Though only a banal, solid object in her hand, it was more than just the black mass she held. To me, the telephone was now usually the bearer of bad news. Giving her a childish glare, my expression said it all. Can’t I just not be here for once, for heaven’s sake? Preoccupied, I turned back to my task. I was certainly not going to let my newly complicated life get in the way of enjoying my breakfast; I was determined not to let that little bit of shell ruin my morning. A snapshot of my dad’s absolutely debilitating fear of crunching egg shells flashed into my mind. A giggle worked its way up into my throat only to be cut off abruptly by the reality of the past few months, a reality that cast a shadow over that image and everything else these days, for that matter.
I hope every egg he eats for the rest of his life is filled with eggshells. How could he just walk out on us and start this whole travel mess? A gentle “Eerrr, hhrrmmm” from behind me interrupted my thoughts as I poked and prodded at the little pieces of shell. With the sympathetic lift of a delicate brow and her characteristic, gentle persistence, Terri held the phone out to me.
“Nuh uh!” I grunted, shaking my head at her. My lips were tightly sealed to show I wasn’t there. To make sure she understood, I added a peevish demonstration of wide eyes to demonstrate how deadly serious I was. She inhaled a slow, unnervingly quiet breath and tightened her full lips together as if to say, Don’t you make me! She shook the phone at me.
Unwilling to budge are the best words to describe the girl – the most stubborn kind of the most stubborn breed there is. That is Terri, and she is proud of it. Had I ever won a “fight” with her in the entire history of our friendship, I might have stood my ground, but this was Terri I was challenging. Muted argument or not, she would eventually overpower me. I had a vision of us in a tangled mess on the floor, with her holding me down with one hand and tightly gripping the phone in the other as she prepared to tie it to the side of my head, like Steve Irwin might tackle a wild croc. Given she was my best friend and all, I selflessly thought perhaps I shouldn’t put her through all that hassle. I smiled feebly at my food one last time.
Five Bestselling Travel Memoirs Box Set Page 87