Suicide By Death

by Mark Anthony Waters

  “Clair, I want to talk to you.”

  “Oh boy, here we go.”

  Then braced herself. Clair could feel her neck tighten, and her heart pumped a little harder.

  Slight defensiveness was in her voice, then asked, “What is it, Moooom?”

  Rae ignored the sarcasm.

  “Your father loved you very much.”

  Clair lightened up and thought, “That wasn't too bad.”

  She dropped a cube of sugar for each, and stirred in a little cream for her mother, then handed over the cup.

  “Be careful, it's hot—trust me. Let's go back to the living room and visit.”

  Once both settled in, her mother asked, “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Well?”

  Clair snapped, “That's wonderful. You should put it in the paper.”

  It was still difficult to not be flippant with her mother.

  Rae stayed calm and replied.

  “Clair, you may know a lot of things, but you don't know everything.”

  Clair blew on her tea and listened.

  “Your father was a kind and decent man. He worked hard to support us. I bet you never knew this, but when you were born, your dad was working two jobs and sold insurance at night.”

  “You're right… I didn't know.”

  “He also took care of his mother and sister. Both were disabled and lived together. He did all this and got his degree. His perseverance with the insurance company paid off, and he got a job at the corporate office.”

  Clair, in a white-flag-waving moment, said, “All I saw were the trappings of his success.”

  Rae reached for Clair's hand.

  “It took a long time, but now I understand why you were angry with him.”

  Clair brushed her mother's hand aside, and with more condescension.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I'll also let you in on something else. Your father was not aware of what Edward did to you, and neither did I until your friend's mother told me. I kept it from your dad because he had enough on his plate, so I handled it the only way I knew how. They don't teach that stuff in parent school. I was wrong how I treated you. I apologized once before, although not very heartfelt, I'm apologizing now,”— then placing her palm on her chest — “from my heart. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Clair stared at her for a moment and saw her mother's eyes showing signs of a tear. Rae stared back waiting for a reply. Clair's eyes also moistened. She got up and took a seat next to her mom and placed a comforting arm around her.

  “Mom, I forgave you way back then. I know it was a hard time for you. I didn't realize it until now.”

  Her mom started to cry.

  “We had something special. I miss your father so much.”

  Rae continued to weep, and Clair continued to hold her.

  “Maybe I'm the one who needs to apologize.”

  Her mother stopped crying and snapped at her.

  And in the firmest of tones, said, “Now, you listen, Clair. You are a good girl and have nothing to apologize for.”

  She lowered her head and said, “I think the world owes you one.”

  Clair patted her mother on the leg and said, “Mom, I'm doing good, and have been for a while. I feel great. Better than ever.”

  She saw her mother's glances at her arms, but never got a close look.

  “Honey, you have been a fighter since the day you were born, and I know for a fact you have had many battles. Did you ever win the war?”

  Clair knew what she meant. She was wearing an artist's smock that covered most of her arms. To ease her curiosity, she pulled up her sleeves, turned them over, and showed clean, uncut, and healed scars. Clair displayed them like they were trophies. In a way, they were — but more so to Clair; they were a badge of honor.

  She readjusted her sleeves, sliding them down the full length of her arm.

  “I wish I knew more about Dad.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair and let out a forced breath.

  “I missed out on a lot.”

  “So did your father, but every once in a while, he'd take you fishing. Do you remember?”

  Clair folded her hands together and placed them under her chin, then rested her elbows on her knees. Her eyes wandered up and tried to recall the time. Rae sat and didn't say a word, then reached into her purse and pulled out an old photograph of Clair and her father. It was the two of them standing side-by-side with Clair holding up a small fish still on a hook. After a few moments, and studying the picture, a single tear ran down her face.

  “I remember this.”

  Her mother again reached into her purse, this time for some tissue and gave it to Clair, keeping one for herself.

  In a relaxed moment, Clair glanced at her purse and teased her.

  “Do you have a car in that thing?”

  “Lord knows I've got the room.”

  Clair dried the tear with hers and held it. Rae blew her nose, folded it and placed the tissue back in her purse.

  “I do own a trashcan, mother.”

  “This is good; it's my excuse to get a new handbag.”

  Rae readjusted her seating and straightened her dress.

  “Clair, I want you to know how proud I am of you.”

  “For what?”

  “I read in the paper last month how wonderful your exhibit in New York was.”

  “Yeah, I cashed in on that one.”

  “It's not the money; it's about you. All the hell you went through growing up, and now, just look at you; all pretty and perky.”

  “I had a lot of help getting here, but thanks.”

  Almost like an unwarranted warning, Rae said, “I know this isn't very ladylike.”

  She blew her nose as loud as a fog horn, soiling another tissue. This time she shoved it between two sofa cushions instead of her purse.

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem… it's just me. I'd rather it be the sofa instead of my shirt. That's my excuse to get a new sofa.”

  Between sniffles, her mother chuckled.

  “You always had a sense of humor.”

  “I suppose so. Now tell me about this new boy you are seeing.”

  “His name is Thomas. Next to your father, he is the greatest man you'll ever meet. I think you'd like him.”

  “Mom, if he's good enough for you, he's good enough for me. Hell, maybe I should ask him out.”

  “You keep your paws off my boyfriend!”

  Both had a big laugh.

  “We spend a lot of time together. He lost his wife several years ago. Neither one of us dated until we met. He's a retired RAF pilot, and now he is a contractor with the Navy working as a flight simulator instructor for young pilots over in Pensacola.”

  “He sounds like a wonderful man. And yes, I'd like to meet him someday. Does he have a pension?”

  “Clair! My word! I don't know about his business.”

  Rae leaned in close to her and said, “He ain't poor.”

  She sat up and continued.

  “And it's getting serious. Thomas stays at my place quite a bit.”

  Seeming somewhat parental, Clair asked, “In separate rooms I assume?”

  “Why of course.”

  Rae giggled like a teenage girl on prom night and said, “But we sneak around and meet in the guest bedroom.”

  The two laughed and couldn't stop.

  “Oh my God, Mother! That's way too much information!”

  Her mother got serious and said, “Don't worry, Clair, we just cuddle.”

  “I'll bet.”

  “Seriously, that's all we do.”

  In an instant, her mother jumped to her feet, threw both arms in the air, and said aloud, “Then we do it!”

  “Mother!”

  “Clair, I swear to God, he's a madman in the sack!”

  “Enough already. I'm getting ready to throw up. Can we please change the subject?”

  “Don't you do i
t?”

  Clair glared at her mother right in the face and said, “Obviously not as much as others.”

  * * *

  Clair and Rae spent many hours together for the next year, and it seemed neither one of them could let the other out of site. Rae invited Clair to her house one day. When she arrived, the coffee table was set with tea and cupcakes. They sat side-by-side and enjoyed the refreshments.

  Clair licked the frosting clean from her cupcake, took a big bite and shoved the rest of it in her mouth.

  “My God, Clair! Did you eat anything today?”

  “Yeah, right before I came over.”

  Then grabbed another one.

  “Mom, these are delicious! Can I have the recipe?”

  Rae handed her an envelope.

  “I've already got it ready for you.”

  “Thanks. So, what's the occasion? You want to go out?”

  Her mother took a sip of tea and said, “No, Clair, I want to sit and visit with you.”

  Clair took the final bite of the second cupcake.

  “OK. Whatever you want. Are there any more cupcakes?”

  “Yes. I'll wrap the rest and send them with you.”

  Rae reached for Clair's hand.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  Clair knew something was wrong and could see it in her mother's eyes.

  She had been relaxed enjoying her snacks, but concern replaced the relaxation, then sat up and asked, “What is it, mother?”

  Rae held her hand even tighter… squeezing it.

  “I have cancer.”

  Clair jerked her hand away and scooted to the other side of the sofa.

  “What do you mean you have cancer?”

  “And they think it has spread. It's not good.”

  Clair said nothing and could not believe what she heard, sat for a few moments, then crazy arrived.

  “This is a joke! Ha, ha. And you said I was the one with a sense of humor.”

  “Listen, Clair…”

  Clair stood up and crossed her arms like a pouting child.

  “No! I won't listen! This isn't true!”

  “Clair, sit down.”

  She did, and a dose of hard reality hit her smack dab in the soul. She collapsed on her mother's lap and cried.

  Gently caressing her face, Rae said, “Honey, it will be all right.”

  “How? You even said it wasn't good. That in itself doesn't sound good. Are you going to die?”

  “They've been taking excellent care of me at the hospital. I've been taking chemotherapy, but there doesn't seem to be any noticeable progress. To answer your question… who knows?”

  Clair tries to make sense of this news. She raised from her mother's lap and sat up.

  “I can't believe this is happening,” then thought, “first it was Stanley, now my mom. This death and dying stuff is too much to handle.”

  Clair grabbed her mother's hand one more time and with tears streaming down her face, asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Take care of Thomas.”

  “What about you? What can I do?”

  “There is nothing you can do. It all seems like a waste of time and money, but I have a few more rounds of chemo. They think it may buy me some time. You can go with me if you'd like.”

  “Yes, I will. When?”

  “What time is it?”

  Clair got dressed, put on a little make-up and the two went out the door.

  * * *

  The evening Clair got the news of her mother's health, she revisited an old friend; her butcher knife. Her emotions were on full alert, and thoughts from the past ran through her. She was desperate, scared and alone. All the pills and booze were thrown out years ago, and couldn't turn to them—for now.

  Clair was in a panic and shouted, “I need to call someone! This is more than I can take!”

  She ran to the phone, picked it up and dialed a number. Before anyone could answer, she hung up.

  “It's time for me to deal with this,” then rummaged through her “tool box” as Glenn referred to it. Clair sat with the knife still in her grasp, studied it and noticed blood stains left behind on the wooden handle. She flipped it from side to side as before, and took the dull side of it and placed it on her arm, then made little sawing motions back and forth.

  “This is nuts! This is the old me, not the new one.”

  She gathered courage then sat it down.

  The questions of Clair's past caught up with her.

  “What did I do?” And, “Why do I deserve this?”

  She repeated the questions again, then it came to her. It was never two questions; just one.

  “What did I do to deserve this?”

  Yes, many things were done wrong to her, and as a result did many things wrong to others— including herself.

  Clair had recited the Serenity Prayer thousands of times but never understood its meaning until now. She knew there were things that can never change, and some that can. For the first time, Clair was aware of the difference, and her mother's illness helped find the answer.

  Clair picked the knife back up and gazed at it and recalled the days gone by, but this time pleased at its reflection. She smiled, got out of the chair and placed it back in the drawer. An instant later reopened it, reached in and grabbed the blade and spoke to it.

  “You'll never hurt a chicken or me again. Oh, you know what I mean,” and tossed it into the trashcan.

  “Well, Colonel, it's just you, me and all those herbs and spices from now on.”

  * * *

  Clair had learned many lessons over time, one of them was sharper focus and a deeper understanding of her depression. She also knew this was Rae's challenge and not hers; she was just invited to the dance. All Clair could do for now was to love, support and comfort her mother.

  Clair was with her mother night and day for the next several weeks, then Rae's health took a sudden turn and was admitted to the hospital. As soon as Clair got the word of her mother's failing health, canceled the final day of an art show and returned to be with her. When she arrived, the hospital room was crowded with machines and other medical equipment. Clair noticed the IV's stuck in her mother's arms and the heart monitor echoing its endless beeping. Other tubes and a respirator were nearby, and the smell of antiseptic cleaner filled the air, and Thomas was the only one with Rae.

  “I'll leave you two alone.”

  He kissed Rae on the forehead and gave Clair a hug.

  Clair went to her mother's bedside. She was weak and short of breath, and her words were labored.

  “I don't want you to see me this way. Would you grab my wig?”

  “Mom, you look all right.”

  “Then please get me my hat. I'm cold.”

  Clair got her hat and placed it on her head.

  “Do you like it? It's a Nike.”

  “It's nice. You look like a golfer.”

  Clair stood by her side for several minutes trying to hold back tears.

  “Clair, since meeting Thomas and reuniting with you, I am the happiest I've been in a long time.”

  She held Rae's hand, and not able to hold it back, a single tear rolled down Clair's face.

  “Me too, mom. Me too.”

  “Both of you have brought me so much joy.”

  “I know. Save your strength.”

  A nurse entered the room.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, it's time for your medication.”

  Rae was growing weary of this twice a day routine, and it showed.

  “What is it this time?”

  “This will help with the pain and make you sleep.”

  The nurse gave a single injection into the IV port.

  “I'll check back in later.”

  As the nurse left the room, Rae elevated her voice a notch or two.

  “I can't wait. Next time, could we make it a double!”

  “Mom, they're just doing their job.”

  “Clair, I swear to God, these people are turning me
into a dope fiend.”

  “I wouldn't sweat it. When you get out, I'll help you find a support group,” — then giggled — “I have a Rolodex full of them. It's been a long day, and I'm tired. It's nappy time.”

  The hospital made sleeping arrangements for Clair, it wasn't the most comfortable, but it would do. She unfolded the blanket, ruffled her pillow and laid down.

  “How was the exhibit?”

  Clair let out a big yawn.

  “I sold a few pieces. The mayor of Atlanta wants me to paint a portrait of him.”

  “Are you?”

  “I'm not sure, but I think he was hitting on me.”

  “That's not so bad.”

  “Mom, he's about eighty years old. I'm going to sleep.”

  Rae knows Clair is tired and upset and wanted to give her some reassurance.

  “This is all part of God's plan.”

  “I wish He'd give me a heads-up every so often.”

  Clair had grown a lot the past few years, but unlike before when something went wrong, it was easy to blame herself. Now the question of 'what did I do to deserve this,' was never a thought anymore, instead rational thinking took over. Whatever pain and suffering her mother was going through was only the tragic circle of life, but even with the justification, it didn't make it any easier… for either one.

  Clair was half awake but dozed off. Rae got out of bed, rolled the IV pole along and knelt beside her. The safeness of the sound of Clair's breathing and soft hands against hers gave Rae comfort. She hadn't a clue if Clair was asleep or somewhat conscious, but needed to talk to her.

  “Honey, whatever happens, I want you to know how much you mean to me.”

  Rae continued but heard a quiet snore.

  “You couldn't have known, but the first time I ever held you, I wished you a happy birthday.”

  Clair shifted position in the recliner, and its squeakiness woke her.

  “I remember like it was yesterday. It makes me sad that I missed so many of your birthdays.”

  Still groggy, Clair said, “Don't worry about it, I missed plenty of them myself.”

  Rae stroked her hair.

  “I suppose you have. I love you so much. Go to sleep.”

  Awakened, but still half asleep, Clair said, “I love you too, mama,” then let out another loud yawn.

  “You have a big day tomorrow. Go back to bed and rest. Do you need any help?”