Mother was on the porch in her bathrobe, having a cup of tea. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”
“All things considered, I slept well enough. You?”
“I have a hard time staying awake! Get yourself a cup of tea then come out and join me. I’m just watching the birds.”
There was a container of green tea spiced with orange on the counter. I was an English Breakfast kind of gal, loving my caffeine, but I thought, Oh what the heck, green tea is supposed to be so good for you, so why not? It was aromatic and tropical and tasted delicious without a single thing added to it.
I went back out and sat in the chair next to her. “So how are you feeling, Miss Josie?”
“You want the truth or what you hear on the news?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Okay, here’s the straight skinny. When I wake up, I feel like a poopy doodle.”
“Mother? Is that a tired snack food or is it related to actual poop?”
“Both. As I move around, have my tea, and force myself to make something to eat that I don’t feel like eating…”
“Appetite not so good?”
“Yes. Because I am nauseated all the time and nothing appeals to me.”
“Maybe we should switch to vegetable juice. A small glass. What do you think? Carrot and apple? Maybe a thin slice of twelve-grain toast with a dollop of jam?”
“Ugh. But I’ll try it.”
“Listen, I decided I’m staying.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as you need me.”
She got very quiet and I knew she was thinking that I thought she would be gone in only a few weeks and she was still holding out hope against hope that she still had months or years.
“It doesn’t matter how long it is, Mother. What did I leave in New York anyway? And if you’re doing well, I can make a fast trip to check on things and come right back here, right?”
“Really? Would you really do that for me? What about your house and your bird?”
“Charlie and Priscilla are going to stay there and they’ve got Harry covered. Besides, Priscilla’s not happy with their neighborhood, so I’m sure she’s thrilled. Anyway, Kevin’s there, too, and Liz will be back soon.”
“Poor Liz. How’s she doing?”
“Liz is something else. She and her mother had a terrible relationship, as you know. I think she mourns the relationship they never had more than the fact that she’s gone. She said they reconciled and I hope she believes it.”
“Still. Whether she was a witch or a saint, she’s lost her mother. I remember the day I buried mine. It was the worst day of my life.”
“Well, unless I get hit by a truck, it will no doubt be the worst day of mine, too. But I don’t want us to have a lot of morbid talk, Mother. Let’s just take one day at a time.”
“Mol-asses. When did you turn into such a grown-up?”
“Me? Honey, I’m just like everybody else. I grew up when I had to. And I’m taking over your kitchen, with you still in command of course. I just don’t think cooking is the best use of your energy.”
“Well, Dr. Mellie? What do you think would be the best use of my energy?”
“I just want you to talk to me. We’ll take a walk every day. I’m going to start a journal. I want you to give me your recipe for yogurt. There are a million things, Miss Josie. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Are you going to tell the children?”
“Unless you want to. I mean, I don’t think it would be fair to tell Charlie and not Dan.”
“And you have to tell Charlie right away.” She was quiet for a minute or two and then she said, “You can tell them. No point in keeping secrets now. They might want to visit before I drop. This stinks, right?”
“It stinks in the extreme. I’m going over to Whole Foods and stocking up on organic whatever they have.”
“Do you trust them? I mean, there’s organic and there’s organic, you know.”
“Yes. I do know and I trust them.”
“Well, then get me a chocolate cake.”
We laughed at that and the many things it meant.
I came in later with bags and bags of groceries and it was plain to see Cecelia needed attention, which meant the eggs were probably still there, too. Mother was dressed in her farmer clothes but asleep in her chair by the fireplace. She stirred when she heard me unpacking and putting away all the things I had bought.
“Need a hand?” she said. Her voice was so weak it frightened me.
“No, that’s okay. I can handle this.”
“I was going to go milk Cecelia and gather the eggs, but I just don’t have the strength.”
I looked to the ceiling, hoping it would open and somehow I would be delivered by a miracle. Seeing none, I took a deep breath and said, “Don’t worry about it. I can do it.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
I put on my oyster-roast sneakers, a pair of jeans, and a long-sleeve denim shirt. I got a basket and gloves to avoid pecking and went outside to try and figure this out. Inside Cecelia’s shed was something that resembled a small stage. A bucket was there and a stool was on the ground next to it, so I figured it must be the scene of the crime. There was a trough at the end with a kind of a guillotine contraption to hold her head still but not hurt her neck. If I put some grain in the trough and led Cecelia up there, she might be distracted enough by the food to let me do the foul thing I had to do.
Suddenly the egg gathering seemed like the more desirable party to attend.
Mother had smartly designed her chicken yard so that it was movable. When a patch of yard had been grazed to bits, she could move the fencing to another spot. And the coop wasn’t so big and heavy that two healthy men couldn’t lift it and reposition it. She had wire mesh over the top to keep out the hawks and the other predators and to keep the chickens in. It seemed to me that the whole enterprise was more trouble than it was worth, but I knew Mother would have sternly disagreed.
I stood there with my basket, looking at the chickens for a minute or two. They didn’t seem so horribly threatening, so I opened the gate and slipped inside. They were pecking around the yard and didn’t attack me, so I thought things might go well. I opened the small door on the side of the coop that concealed the nesting box and looked inside. There were several eggs there that I reached over and took as quickly as I could. I did not see the hen that flew at my arm with her dagger beak. Well, she didn’t fly but she sure came out of nowhere and stabbed me. I pulled my arm out of there as fast as I could. My arm wasn’t bleeding but my heart was racing. I had three eggs. Okay, I got out of there alive with mission one accomplished.
Cecelia was staring at me. She was smart enough to know that the person who dealt with the chickens would most likely be the same person who dealt with her. I thought about it for a minute. Compared to Harry and that pack of wild birds I had just visited, Cecelia was downright docile.
“Come on, girlfriend, this is our big moment.”
She actually followed me and I put the egg basket on the table in her shed. She looked at me and I looked at her. I filled her trough with feed and looked at her again. She did not appear to be any happier about this than I was.
“Okay, onstage! This is your cue.” Nothing. “Let’s go, Cecelia!” No movement.
I noticed that she had a collar and approached her slowly. Cecelia wanted the feed but she was as unsure of my abilities to perform this dastardly assignment as I was. This was not a dumb goat. She began to retreat and back out into the yard. I knew I had to catch her. She had somehow intuited that I had formula-fed my sons. Additionally, in her Nigerian-dwarf-goat brain she calculated that her own udder relief—another bad joke—would come at too high a price. The chase began and for the next fifteen minutes she escaped every attempt I made to grab her by the collar. I was sweating and out of breath and I wondered how Mother had the stamina for this, all for some milk and yogurt.
“Not wor
th it!” I said out loud.
“Sure it is.” I turned to see Harrison standing outside the fence, laughing so hard I thought I might have to kill him. “I wish I had a camera.”
“Harrison?” I was not laughing. I returned to the shed, picked up the egg basket, and stomped over to the gate where he stood. “This is not going to work. We have to hire someone today. I can’t do this. End of story.”
“Oh, Lord! I’m sorry to laugh but watching you chasing that goat was about the funniest thing—”
“Just stop, okay? I’m a failure. I can’t even get a couple of eggs without being attacked and the goat doesn’t want to know me.”
“Let me show you how to do this, Mellie.”
He went to the shed, got a leash that I didn’t know was there on the hook, cornered Cecelia, clipped on the leash, and led her to the milking stand. He led her up the step, pulled her head through the holder, secured it, and rubbed her nose or snout or whatever you called it.
“Good girl,” he said.
“Waaaah!” Cecelia bleated, and began to eat.
He sat on the stool and milked her like he had done it a thousand times.
“How’s our Miss Josie today?”
“Not worth two hoots. Maybe we should call the doctor and ask for a house call or something. I can tell she’s in pain and she doesn’t want to eat.”
“That’s not good.”
“No, it’s not good at all.”
It was the beginning of the end and we knew it.
I called Charlie and had spoken to him, telling him everything I knew. Priscilla called me and asked if there was anything they could do. Should they come? What were her symptoms? When I told her she was very quiet. I did not ask her how much time she or Charlie thought Mother might have left. I did not want to know. And besides, who could really say? It was all in God’s hands.
When I told Dan and Nan, they cried. It surprised me, but apparently they had fallen in love with Mother all over again at Charlie’s wedding and their children were completely infatuated with her. How much longer did she have? I could not answer them either.
When I called Liz, she was incredibly sad to hear the news. She was still in Alabama and intended to return to New York. But she had good news. She was pretty smitten with James, spending a lot of time with him, and each day it was more difficult to see herself in Manhattan anymore. She promised to be there if I needed her. She said she understood how I felt. All I had to do was whistle and she would drop everything and come. I thanked her and told her I would call.
Harrison found someone to care for the chickens and for Cecelia. He was a student from the College of Charleston who’d grown up on a farm near Orangeburg.
One day I said to him, “How do you keep the chickens from pecking you?”
“Ya gotta show ’em who’s the boss. Plus I use a garbage-can lid as a shield.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?”
I spent my days seeing to Mother’s comfort and adjusting myself, or so I thought, to how life would be without her. I asked her every day how it was going for her. Was she afraid? No, she said she was not afraid. Afraid of terrible pain, perhaps, but she was not afraid to die. I spoke to her doctor and he said that whenever she felt she needed serious pain management, we only had to call and he would be there.
Kevin called almost every day to check on Mother and then one day he said, “Listen, I’m a little worried about Harry.”
“Why?”
“I went downstairs to check on him yesterday and he’s losing feathers.” Kevin said he had asked the vet and his reply was that Harry missed me. “So I’m thinking I might put the old boy in his cage, rent a van, and drive him down to you. What do you think?”
“He’s not happy with Charlie and Priscilla?”
“Of course he is but he’s attached to you! That’s how these birds are!”
“Then bring him on down.”
Kevin arrived with Harry on Saturday and unfortunately had to leave the next morning.
“Duty calls, Petal. How are you holding up?”
“Okay. I mean, I’m incredibly grateful to have this time with her, but it’s so sad to see Mother, you know, just fading away. Harry? What’s up?” Harry looked like he’d been plucked.
“Pretty Miriam,” he said, and I knew he was happy to see me.
“Everything’s okay, baby.” I let him crawl out of his cage and onto my fingers and nuzzled him.
“It’s worse than having kids,” Kevin said.
“Close. At least kids become independent or useful at some point.”
“True.”
Harrison came to sit with Mother, and Kevin and I went over to the Water’s Edge on Shem Creek for dinner.
“So what’s up with you and Harrison?”
“Zero. Look, romance is the last thing on my mind right now.”
“Understood. But do you think that at some point there might be something?”
“Who knows? I think he’s got commitment issues. And to be honest, I don’t know how I feel. I mean, he might be the most wonderful man I’ve ever met—besides you, of course—but I wouldn’t trust my judgment about that kind of thing at this point.”
“So, tell me how it’s going with Miss Josie.”
I told him that Mother and I would walk a little each day for the first few weeks but then it was less and less until now it was all I could do to get her to bathe and dress. She was drinking small amounts of my vegetable juices and chicken broth and occasionally she would ask for ice cream or some chocolate. On a rare day I would manage to get her to eat the yogurt she had taught me to make or a soft-boiled egg from one of the chickens.
“Loss of appetite is a bad sign.”
“I know that. She doesn’t even want her marijuana anymore. She says the pain lets her know she’s still alive and she wants clarity so she can tell me things. She’s told me stories about her parents that I had never known and things about my father that I had forgotten. She showed me her favorite book of poetry and read her favorite lines to me. I mean, Kevin, it’s like trying to stop the tide. It’s going to come and go just like we are. What can I do?”
“She’s so sweet, Mellie. She really is. Just do what you’re doing. And you should probably call hospice.”
“I agree. I think it’s time.”
Harrison was always nearby if I needed him and I did. All the time. I was in this weird place where all I wanted to do was talk to my mother and then I wanted to run to him to repeat what she had said and to cry that I had not known this or that.
Finally, when we had hospice nurses and volunteers coming and going and Mother had agreed to take morphine injections, things fell into an organized routine.
But soon it seemed to me that Mother was sleeping almost all the time and refusing all food. She drank water but that was all. Basically, she was starving to death while she slept and I couldn’t stand it. I felt wretched and horrible guilt about it, but I couldn’t stand to see her this way and I wanted it over. At night when I would pray I would ask God to be merciful and to let her suffering end. And mine. Then I would beg forgiveness for my selfishness and cry myself to sleep.
One evening around seven I was on the porch reading the newspaper and the hospice nurse came to me.
“Your mother is out of the bed and asking for you,” she said.
“What? How could that be?”
I raced upstairs to find her on the balcony, staring at the sunset, the time of day she loved most.
“I wanted you to watch this with me,” she said as though she were perfectly fine.
I put my arm around her waist and she leaned into me for support. We stood there for the fifteen minutes or so it took the sun to go from glaring, screaming white to that fabulous red orange that was so sensual and undulating.
“I love you, Miss Josie. You know that, don’t you?”
“And I love you, my precious girl. Don’t ever doubt that for a moment. And I am so proud of the woman you have bec
ome.”
“Mother. You’re the one who saved me. How will I get along without you?”
“You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Every time you see the sunset like this, you think of me and I’ll be thinking of you.”
“Okay. That’s a deal.”
When the sun was all gone I put Mother back in her bed with help from the woman from hospice and she drifted off to sleep. I sat alone in the room with her, next to her bed for a long time. Around nine or ten the nurse came in to say that Mr. Ford was there. I went downstairs, looked at Harrison, and knew that Mother had died the second I walked out of the room. I could feel it in every cell of my body. Then a tail of light raced right through the living room, in the space between where we stood facing each other. We both watched it go through the open sliding-glass door, out and up into the sky.
“Mrs. Swanson?” the nurse called out to me.
Harrison put his arms around me and I began to sob. No one had to tell us what we had just seen and what we already knew.
EPILOGUE
It seemed that my world came to an end the day we buried my mother, and part of it did. But now it had been almost a year. For the first six months I missed her with a ferociousness that would have me convulsing in tears in an instant. All I had to do was look at a picture of her or hear a certain song. Or write a thank-you note for yet another donation that someone made to fight breast cancer or colon cancer. Mother had more friends who honored her life than I ever knew.
But as my mourning subsided I would smile instead of cry on her birthday or Mother’s Day or when someone, an old friend visiting the island from Charlotte or someplace else, stopped by unannounced and told me a wonderful story about her. I would invite them to have a cup of green tea spiced with orange that I had come to love. You see, I never left the island after Mother died, except for very short trips. As long as I stayed, people she knew might continue to drop by the house, and in my mind that kept Miss Josie alive.
Nan had delivered an eight-pound baby girl whom they named Josephine, and it thrilled me no end to hold that child in my arms when I went to the christening. After great discussions with Charlie and Dan, I made some powerful decisions. Charlie and Priscilla would continue to live in the town house. Rental income combined with their own earnings gave them more than enough money to maintain it. On my death, they would have it appraised and either buy Dan’s share or sell it and split the money. Priscilla was happy beyond words. So was Charlie. Priscilla and Charlie would have no trouble renting Liz’s apartment, as they knew many residents and doctors who would love to live in that house.
Land of Mango Sunsets, The Page 32