It's a Wonderful Death

by Sarah J. Schmitt

  The drive seems to take forever with neither one of us talking. And when we pull up next to the freshly dug grave, Daniel opens the door and is gone without a word.

  Flipping the mirror down, I touch up the flakes of dry mascara sitting on my cheeks. Someone could have told me my face was a mess.

  Slowly, I reach out and squeeze the door handle. With a deep breath, I step out into the autumn sunshine and the smell of falling leaves and fresh cut grass fills my lungs.

  A gentle squeeze on my shoulder alerts me to my parents’ arrival. I resist the urge to move away from them. Instead, I wrap my arm around my mom’s waist and fall in step with her. The truth is, I need her to keep me from crumpling to the ground.

  She leads me toward the mound of brown dirt with a fake grass topping. Who are they kidding with that cover? We all know underneath it is the earth that will top the remains of an angel. The weight of my grief is staggering and I stumble over my feet. My dad catches me by the elbow and leads me to a seat in the back row. Protectively, he and my mom take the flank positions, each holding one of my hands.

  The Indian summer wind rustles my hair, lifting it gently. I stare across the acres of gray tombstones and all I can think of is running away. But I don’t. Eventually the murmur of the minister’s words stops and around me people begin to move, each person taking a yellow daisy from a pile and tossing it lightly onto the coffin. When did they lower it into the ground? How did I miss it? Oh God, I can’t do this. I can’t be a part of this. It can’t be real. But, of course, I can and it is.

  I dutifully stand in line until it’s my turn. As my flower descends in slow motion, I see a red rose petal peeking out among the sea of yellow. For a moment, I wonder if Daniel brought it or someone else.

  And then my chest tightens and I feel like I’m going to explode. I find Daniel and squeeze his hand, forcing him to look at me. “Let’s get out of here,” I wheeze.

  Like someone waking up from a deep sleep, he nods. The next thing I know, we’re racing toward his car and jumping in. I look up to see the shocked expression on everyone’s faces. Well, not Madeline’s parents. They look envious. I bet they would trade places with us in a heartbeat.

  “Where are we going?” Daniel asks, shifting the car into gear before pulling onto the busy road just outside the cemetery gates.

  I shake my head. “No clue. Just drive.”

  He turns toward downtown Indianapolis. “What do you think she would do?”

  I notice he doesn’t say her name. I understand. It’s too soon. Too painful. Too raw. “Something nice,” I say, filling the void of silence.

  He snorts. “Turning limes into limeades.”

  That was Madeline. She was always thinking of other people and how to make their lives better. “Maybe we should take lunch up to the nurses on her floor?” I suggest.

  Daniel shakes his head. “Her parents did that yesterday. Besides, I don’t think it would be good for morale if we showed up with our red eyes and sad faces, do you?”

  He’s right. “We still need to do something. What about taking coffee and snacks to some random floor at another hospital. You know how Madeline was always going on about how the nursing staff at the Children’s Hospital was lucky because so many people would bring treats in for them. What if we pick some other floor?”

  Daniel nods thoughtfully. “I think she would like that.”

  Now we’re on a mission. Instead of trying to get through the day, we have purpose. Sure, it’s only coffee and pastries, but on days like today, you take what you can get. “Where should we go?”

  “There’s a coffee shop up ahead. Maybe they could call a floor and get an order for all the nurses. Then we’ll grab some food and take it over. Oh wait,” he says, the glimmer of life starting to fade. “We need money.”

  “Never fear,” I say, tapping my purse. “I have a credit card. I’m pretty sure I can get Mom and Dad to cover this one without too much hassle.”

  “You sure?” he asks, knowing how much trouble I’ve been in before for using the card without permission.

  I shrug. “I can always plead insanity. After all, I have the ‘my best friend just died’ card.”

  He’s silent.

  “Too soon?” I ask.

  He stares straight ahead, saying nothing.

  “Well, then,” I say, attempting to get us back on track, “to the coffee shop.”

  The place is empty when we arrive.

  “Good morning,” a barista says from behind the counter. Her brown hair with a pink streak down one side of her bob haircut swishes with each movement.

  “Hey,” I say in return.

  “Cute dress. Very bold choice for this time of year.”

  I instantly cover my chest with my arms as goose bumps pop up on my skin. “Thanks. Um, we were wondering if you could help us out with something.”

  “Sure,” she says, looking at me with intrigue.

  I glance at Daniel and he just nods for me to continue. “We’re going to take drinks to the nurses at one of the hospitals but we don’t know what drinks they might like.”

  “Okay,” she says, waiting for me to continue.

  “I was wondering if you could call the nurses’ station and see if they can get an order together?”

  She glances over at her manager who is listening to everything. After getting the okay from her, she turns back. “No problem. What floor?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Well, then, what hospital?” she asks.

  Daniel and I just look at each other. Maybe we should have done a little more planning. “We don’t know that either. Any suggestions?” The last part I say as a joke, but she just smiles.

  “Actually, my boyfriend is a nurse on the Brain Injury Unit at Community. I bet they would love something like this. I can ask him to organize it if you want.”

  Wow. This might actually work out. “Sure,” I say. “That would be great.”

  Within twenty minutes we are out the door armed with a specialty drink for the nursing staff and regular coffee and snacks for the family members visiting on the unit.

  “You know,” Daniel begins, “I feel closer to her now than during almost any part of the funeral.”

  “Almost?”

  His face reddens. “I really liked it when you read her letter. It was classic Madeline. Humbling but not preachy.”

  As we turn back onto the road, a nagging sensation begins in the back of my mind, like I should be doing something. Have I forgotten something else? And the closer we get to the hospital, the stronger that feeling becomes. I spin the ring on my finger as the humming starts up again.

  Chapter 35

  The only sounds I hear as we march down the hospital hall are the echo of our footsteps and the steady rhythm of the wheels on Daniel’s wooden collapsible wagon. After my ring catches on the metal handle for the third time, I slide it off and slip it into my pocket. I don’t want to dent it or knock out one of the stones. I need to ask Mom where she bought it. It’s a really cool ring.

  “I thought you were going to burn this,” I say, casting a glance back to make sure the coffee isn’t sloshing all over the place. The wagon was handy for today, but it also carries memories, too.

  “Couldn’t,” was all he says.

  I get that. When Madeline was sick, Daniel would cart all the flowers and cards that came to her house up to the hospital. At first, he could do it by hand, but eventually he was making several trips and spending most of his visits riding the elevator. One day, he arrived at the nurse’s station and the wagon was sitting there, complete with a bow. Sometimes it’s hard to let go of the little things when you lose everything else.

  I push the handicap button and wait for the doors to swing open, granting us access to the Brain Injury Unit. Suddenly, the feeling that I’m forgetting something changes. Now, it’s more like déjà vu. Grams used to say that’s the universe’s way of telling you that you’re exactly where you are meant to be. Thanks, Gram
s. My place to be is another hospital ward. Super.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the java angels,” a voice booms as we near the nurses’ station. “When my girlfriend called and told me some random strangers were bringing us coffee, I thought she was joking. But here you are.”

  “Here we are,” I say, smiling and holding up the bags of goodies. “I don’t think the customers who were waiting to get their afternoon treats at the coffee shop are going to be happy. We cleaned them out.”

  He waves his hand through the air. “They should have gotten there sooner.” He looks down at the red wagon and his eyes grow wide. “Wow. That is way more than we ordered,” he says, looking back at Daniel. “You didn’t have to do this, but I can’t tell you how much it’s appreciated.” Daniel’s face turns bright red. He still hates it when people single him out, even for praise.

  “We thought some of the family members might want a snack, too,” he mutters.

  The nurse’s smile widens. “That’s cool, man.”

  It doesn’t take long for the rest of the nurses to claim their drinks and return to their duties.

  “You want to take the coffee around?” I ask Daniel.

  He shakes his head. “Why don’t you? I’ll set up what’s left of the food.”

  “Okay.” I pick up the metal handle and make my way down the hall, peeking into any open room I find and offering family members what’s left of the drinks. By the time I reach the last door, I have a half-melted frappé and a regular coffee.

  Except for the patient, the room is empty. He looks like he might be a couple years older than me. His skin is pale, almost gray, and his cheeks sink down below the bones in his face. There are tubes going into his mouth and nose and several wires running out from under his hospital gown.

  “Can I help you?” a tired voice asks behind me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, turning around. “I was checking to see if anyone wanted coffee.”

  The woman’s features brighten slightly. “That’s very kind.” She walks past me into the room and sits in the chair near the bed.

  “Uh, do you want some?” I ask, trying not to look at the man laying in the bed.

  She nods. “That would be lovely.”

  I tug the almost empty wagon in behind me. “We have a frozen drink, but it’s more like a barely frozen drink,” I offer.

  “Do you have regular?” she asks, her eyes never looking up at me.

  “Actually, we do. Do you want cream or sugar?”

  “Black.”

  “That I can do.” Not wanting to disturb her, I place the cup down on the side table next to her.

  “How old are you?” she asks as I turn to leave.

  I turn back slowly. “Me?”

  She nods.

  “I’m seventeen,” I answer.

  She smiles. “That was the same age my son was when he left for college.”

  I look back to the man on the bed. “Is this your son?” I ask awkwardly.

  She nods. “Would you mind sitting with me for a few minutes?” The look of surprise on her face makes me wonder if she meant to ask this question.

  I want to say no. I should make up some excuse and pull the wagon down the hall and out the front doors, away from this hospital and especially away from this room. Which is what I’m telling myself as I lay the wagon handle against the wall, pick up the melting frappé, and pull up a chair.

  We look at each other, neither knowing what to say. Finally, she glances back at her son and says, “This is James.”

  Okay, now seriously, what do you say when someone introduces you to their coma patient son?

  “Um, hi, James,” I manage, knowing how stupid I sound. It’s taken me this long to almost master small talk with strangers. No one ever told me I might have to do it with a coma patient.

  She smiles and I get the feeling she wasn’t actually introducing us but looking for a reason to say his name. “He was hit by a drunk driver almost ten months ago. His girlfriend, well, I guess she had just become his fiancée, was killed.”

  Her story shakes something loose in my memory but it’s still foggy and the humming sounds louder than ever. I try to remember but it only gets worse. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to remember my manners and not gasp in pain at the same time. Instinctively, I reach into my pocket for the ring. The humming grows softer and even though it’s still there, at least I can hear what the woman is saying.

  She smiles at me and for once I think I’m actually fooling someone. “What made you bring in coffee today?” she asks.

  I shrug. I don’t know how honest to be. I mean, her son doesn’t look too far from death’s door. How can I possibly tell her it’s because my best friend died and we’re trying to find the silver lining in it? But that’s exactly what I do. Before I can stop myself, the words are tumbling out.

  “My best friend, Madeline, died a few days ago. She spent the better part of the last few years in the hospital. Daniel, that’s Madeline’s boyfriend, and I didn’t want to be around everyone after the funeral. We wanted to do something Madeline would like.” I stop to take a breath.

  “Did she come here for treatment?” the woman asks.

  I shake my head. “She went to the children’s hospital for treatment. We thought about going to her old unit, but there are kids there still fighting. We didn’t want to take even an ounce of their hope away from them with the reminder that Madeline lost her battle.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  I sit back, taking a sip of my drink. “We just needed to do something. And when we went into the coffee shop to order, the barista said her boyfriend was a nurse on this unit, so here we are.”

  “How very lucky for us,” she says. We sit there for a while, each of us lost in thought, when suddenly she asks, “Did your friend fight up until the very end?”

  “I’m sorry?” I ask in surprise.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just meant, did she continue seeking a cure?”

  My head is telling me I should take offense. But I don’t think the woman is being insensitive. The way she’s talking leads me to believe this isn’t her real question anyway. “Uh, no. I guess not. She did a bone marrow transplant. It didn’t work. She’d tried an experimental treatment, but that didn’t work either. So, she stopped. She told everyone she wanted to enjoy the time she had left. She didn’t want to waste her life hooked up to machines.” I look at her son. I can’t believe I just said that. “I’m so sorry,” I say, almost falling out of my chair.

  She doesn’t even flinch. “That takes a lot of bravery.” There is admiration in her voice.

  “It did,” I agree. “She’s the bravest person I’ve ever known. But Madeline wanted to live her life, not just be kept alive. She believed there was something out there that was bigger than this. Something better. I think what made it easier was that she had time to say goodbye. To do everything she could with every second she had. In the end, it was less about being brave and more about being afraid of leading a life that wasn’t worth remembering.”

  The woman nods thoughtfully. “We’ve been thinking, or rather I’ve been telling James’s father, that it’s time to let him go. I wish he was here right now so you could tell him your friend’s thoughts about death. More importantly, I wish he could hear how she looked at her life.”

  “It can’t be easy to let go of someone you love.”

  “He is our only child,” she says. “If he’s gone, who are we?”

  The humming grows intense. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I try to focus on what Madeline would say if she were here. “You’re still you. Even if it wasn’t as much time as you wanted or thought you should have, you were blessed to know him.” I look back at James, “I can’t tell you what to do. I don’t even know what I would do if I had been in Madeline’s shoes, but I can tell you that, once she was gone, in that moment she stopped being here on Earth, she was at peace. And I knew she’d made the right decision.
She lived life on her terms.”

  “Then what do we do?” the woman asks, her eyes pleading with me to deliver some monumental words of wisdom.

  Is she crazy? What in the world is she doing asking me for advice? I’m seventeen. I’m not even sure what I’m going to wear tomorrow. So I say the only thing I can think of. “Today, when we were leaving the cemetery, we didn’t know what we were going to do either. We thought about what Madeline would do. I’m starting to ask myself that a lot now. Maybe you and your husband should ask yourself the same thing: what would James want you to do?”

  She turns away and looks out the window. The blue sky is full of white puffy clouds filtering the sun’s rays. A moment later, the clouds part and a stream of sunlight shines on her face. I see her back straighten as she takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” she says, still looking up at the sky. “Your words are exactly what I needed to hear today.” She turns around and takes my hand. “Thank you so much. You are like an angel.”

  “No,” I say with a sad laugh. “I am the furthest thing from an angel you will ever meet.” But I have an overwhelming sense of completion as I stand to leave and the humming fades away. “I didn’t do anything but bring in coffee.”

  Her smile, though still sad, also has a hint of hope. “You did so much more than that. You have the gift of wisdom.”

  I laugh, in spite of the situation. “Maybe you should tell my parents that.”

  “I’m sure they already know.”

  And with that, the sun darts behind the clouds and the room darkens. Our moment is over. Neither one of us knows what to say. I leave the room, wagon in tow, and just as I close the door, I hear her crying softly and telling James how much she loves him.