by Mia Villano
The nurse assigned to Lydia was an angel in disguise named, Hooty. Her skin was the color of coffee with a hint of cream, and she had her hair dyed, blonde. Her hair was short and stuck out everywhere like a porcupine, a contrast against her ebony skin and blue painted eyes. She had bright orange fingernails long and shiny with sparkles glistening in the sunlight. Without even trying, she made everyone feel good.
“Hey, how y’all doin’ today?” She asked as she walked up the porch, seeing them in the screen door.
When she walked up to the house, John and Marsha were eating breakfast at the counter. Jeannie was downstairs, helping Lydia get dressed, and Michael already left for school.
Marsha stood up and let Hooty in before she dropped her bags. “Hi, you must be from hospice?”
“I sure am. Are you Jeannie?” she asked, coming in sideways because she had three bags on her shoulder and a box.
“No, I’m Marsha and this is my husband, John. Jeannie, Lydia and her son, Michael, moved in with us so we could help her take care of Lydia.”
“Wow, you is real good friends. I need me friends like ya’ll,” she smiled, putting her bags down on the counter.
“Come on over here and give me a hug. You two deserve a hug.” Hooty put her arms up and waited for John and Marsh to walk into them.
They embraced this beautiful woman and knew she was someone special. A sense of peace and warmth enveloped everyone around her.
“We love them like family. This had been a little too much for everyone. Plus, Jeannie lost her husband last year, and I didn’t know how much she could take,” said Marsha.
“Oh, you can take as much as the good Lord gives you. He don’t do nothin’ without a plan. Where is Ms. Jeannie and Ms. Lydia?” asked Hooty, picking up her bags again.
“Oh, forgive me. Let me take you down to them. They have their own separate entrance downstairs so you can just use that one from now on so it’s easier for you. It’s like a little apartment down here. Watch your step, and please let us help you carry that.”
“Honey, I thank you. Them old bags is rough on the back. I’m totin’ them everywhere. By the end of the day, I can’t stand up straight. I look like I searchin’ for night crawlers at night, bent down.” Marsha and John both laughed.
“Jeannie? It’s me and Hooty. Are you decent?” asked Marsha, walking down the stairs.
“Come on down here, we’re dressed. What’s a Hooty?” she asked.
“Hooty, is from the at-home care office,” Marsha laughed. They didn’t like to say hospice in front of Lydia.
Jeannie went to shake her hand, and knew right away this woman was going to be a blessing for Lydia.
“Sweetie, you come here and give me a hug. I’m going to be here quite a bit. I ain’t goin’ for no handshake now, you hear? “Jeannie felt her put her arms around her and she smelled like Ivory soap and Bengay. Jeannie offered her coffee, which she accepted, and they sat at the little table in the kitchen area.
Hooty explained to them what to expect. She told Jeannie there are times when the patient knows there’s no hope, they accepted the fact they will die, and death and acceptance comes quicker than we want.
The worst part of the whole experience, and what brought Jeannie to her knees, was when Hooty showed her “the box”, or the “comfort kit”, as hospice called it. The comfort kit was not something she could discuss. Seeing the white box sealed up and labeled with Lydia’s name sent Jeannie in hysterics. She ran to the bathroom and screamed into a towel so no one would hear her cries of complete agony. When she felt she had conquered her misery over the situation, she walked back out to discuss the finalization of her daughter’s life. The box was the last step for a dying patient and when it had to be opened, the end of the road was right around the corner. The box was to be put somewhere not to be opened, or touched, until the Hospice nurse approved. It was needed in order for Lydia to die comfortably. Inside it was the liquid morphine, Ativan, drops used to treat wet respirations, also known as the death rattle, and valium in case she had a seizure. Hooty explained to them with Lydia, the chances she would need all or any of that was slim. With a brain tumor, she may have a seizure, or she may go in her sleep.
Lydia woke up and Hooty introduced herself. She didn’t mention hospice. To Lydia, she was a home health nurse.
“How many people have you watched die?” asked Lydia
“A lot. But, we ain’t here to talk about death today. Today, you are alive and it’s a good thing, Miss Lydia. I’m here to make sure you are feeling as well as possible. Are you feeling comfortable?” asked Hooty.
Lydia nodded her head.
“Are you sleeping well?”
Again Lydia nodded and said in a whisper, “Sleeping seems to be all I do.”
“That’s fine, baby. Sleeping is one of Gods great gifts to us. You sleep as much as you want,” said Hooty, smiling and rubbing her hand.
“If we have an emergency at night, like I get in a lot of pain or something, does my mom take me to the hospital?” asked Lydia.
“No, you use the hotline we have for our patients. We know people are better at home and that’s where we want to keep you, Miss Lydia. If it’s the middle of the night, I’ll be here, don’t you worry,” she said.
Hooty looked at Jeannie as Lydia fell back to sleep.
“Is there anything else we can do for you today, Miss Jeannie?” she asked. Jeannie was overwhelmed and couldn’t answer. It pained Hooty to see the young ones dying. Over the years she had been doing this, she never got over the young ones dying so soon.
“Can you come over here with me? I have somethin for you to sign, baby,” asked Hooty. They walked away from Lydia and over to another area where she couldn’t hear.
“I need you to sign this paper. The document states with hospice care, there would be no resuscitation. No medical recitation, no intubation, and no respirator. I know it’s hard, suga’. I know it’s killin’ you inside, but you have to remember when it gets to that point, Miss Lydia won’t know what is happenin’. She’ll be asleep and the only thing she’ll know is what she is dreamin.” Hooty rubbed Jeannie on her back as she handed her a pen. Jeannie started crying again. She took the pen and signed on the line, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she sealed her daughter’s fate.
“You know as dumb as this sounds, she is more worried about you. She wants to make sure you are going to be okay. Her fear is you’ll be sad, Miss Jeannie, and that scares her.”
“Of course I’ll be sad. I am going to be devastated. She’s always worried. When her dad died she was the one there for me. I don’t know where she gets this strength, Hooty.”
“She gets it from the faith that you done gave her, Miss Jeannie. That’s what keeps her goin.”
Jeannie nodded her head not wanting to go into a discussion about God and faith.
Hooty stayed for a while longer and checked to make sure everything was there. She made a couple of phone calls to the office and said she would be back the next day. If anything were to happen during the night, they were to call her.
They made it through a couple of weeks without anything major happening. Jeannie noticed Lydia was getting weaker. It took more effort to get up in the morning, and she slept continuously. Her speech was slurred and at times she didn’t make sense. This started to move along faster than anyone anticipated and faster than Jeannie could bear.
Chapter 8
Like an unexpected storm appearing out of nowhere, Victoria called to say she planned on coming down to visit. There was no preparing for her arrival happening the next day.
“Honey, I’m going to be there tomorrow. The remodeling is done with the house and I’ll be there for you. How’s everything going?”
“Well, they;re going, Mom. Lydia’s getting worse faster than we expected. Just so you know, she does not look like the Lydia you are used to seeing. She doesn’t act like Lydia. I want to prepare you for what’s happening.” Jeannie hoped warning her with how bad th
ings were would scare her into not coming. She was too busy a month ago when she needed her mom the most.
“What do you mean, prepare me for?” she asked.
“Lydia is dying, Mom. She sleeps all day, and is hooked up to oxygen. She has a hard time walking and has to take a wheelchair. There are hospice workers here and a lot of her friends stop by to spend time with her.”
“Okay. I can handle sickness, honey. Maybe she will be doing better when I get there,” she said, refusing to comprehend how serious things were.
“Mom, she isn’t going to get better. There is no getting better. She is going to die soon. You need to realize this.”
“We can talk about this when I get there. I don’t need to get upset right now.”
Victoria felt everything was about her. Somehow she found a way to make this her problem. That is how she was ever since Jeannie could remember. Victoria Bridgeport, fifty eight years old and not a wrinkle on her surgically altered face. Five feet eleven inches tall and rail thin, she modeled in the sixties for a local department store. To any one she met for the first time, she was more than happy to bring this fact up. Victoria had no tolerance for overweight people. If Jeannie gained a couple of pounds, she humiliated her to lose the weight. Victoria always fretted over her looks and didn’t leave the house without being made up and dressed to the hilt. She had no patience for sloppiness, and when Jeannie grew up, she forced her beliefs on her.
Fifteen years ago, Jeannie’s dad Max died of heart failure. He had a heart attack on the seventh hole of the golf course in Florida. No better place for him to take his last breath then his favorite spot. An avid golfer, Jeannie’s dad would have been a pro if he didn’t meet her mother and get her pregnant at nineteen. Back then, two young people getting pregnant before marriage was considered an unforgiveable scandal. With both of their parents being strict Catholics, their only choice was marriage. The two of them were not in love, and the marriage should have not happened. Jeannie considered herself a burden to her parents and the reason they were so unhappy. Their unhappiness showed throughout their entire marriage. Her father was a wealthy investor so she didn’t do without anything, except the love parents were to give their children unconditionally. They bought her everything she needed, sent her on vacations, and enrolled her in everything they thought would keep her busy. No one ever kissed her, hugged her, or spent much time with her like most parents. Jeannie couldn’t remember being able to go to her dad and talk to him like most father and daughters. She didn’t have a heart to heart with her mom about boys, sex, or life in general. Those types of talks made her mom uncomfortable and vulnerable. She didn’t let Jeannie see her cry, and she rarely laughed.
Jeannie’s mom, didn’t remarry, sat on a bunch of money, and she seemed to have even less time for her daughter and grandchildren as she got older. She traveled, shopped, or remodeled the house and didn’t have an interest in anything else. Her new obsession became Botox and she insisted Jeannie get work done before she turned forty. She also suggested it wouldn’t hurt her to consider a tummy tuck, since she had not gotten her figure completely back. Jeannie swore to herself she wouldn’t turn into her as she got older. Being with her at any time proved to be a nightmare for Jeannie. This time was going to be even worse.
When she arrived, she brought more gifts than Santa Claus. Victoria bought out the stores before she came. Not only did she buy gifts for Lydia and Michael, but Jeannie as well. Michael was ecstatic over a new video game system with at least, ten games included. She bought Marsha a gift certificate for a day at the spa. For Jeannie, Victoria bought her new clothes and a gift certificate to get her hair and nails done. Jeannie could have cared less. The biggest amount of gifts were for Lydia. Victoria bought her pajamas in different colors with matching slippers, books teen girls were reading, an mp3 player, and DVDs of the latest movies. All the gifts were a sure sign of Victoria’s guilt.
“I didn’t know what she could use, Jeannie,” she said, wiping her nose.
“It’s fine, Mom. I know when she wakes up, she’ll love them,” said Jeannie, sitting with her daughter while rubbing her hand. Jeannie didn’t want to argue with her. Victoria pulled up a chair and sat with them crying. Jeannie was in no mood to worry about putting her mom at ease. She had the strength to keep her daughter comfortable and not concern herself with anyone else.
As her mom wiped her nose, she asked about dinner plans. “What are you doing about dinner tonight, Jeannie?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t even thought that far. I’m sure Michael will eat with John and Marsha, and I’ll make a sandwich. If Lydia wakes up and wants something, I go get her whatever she asks for. The nurse said whatever she asks for, give it to her. Last night she asked for mashed potatoes and corn. It depends what she can tolerate,” said Jeannie, still staring at her daughter.
“Why don’t I get dinner tonight? I can order something from a restaurant, go pick it up, and bring dinner back.”
“Its fine, Mom. You don’t have to keep buying things. The gifts were enough.”
“I’m not buying to buy them, Jeannie. I love you and I bought gifts,” said Victoria.
“Loving someone, Mom is not buying them. Loving someone is being there with them when they need you.” Jeannie stopped herself and wished she wouldn’t have said anything. Her mom would get mad or have her feelings hurt at the drop of a hat.
“I’m not buying anyone. It’s the way I show love. I’m sorry if it’s not what I should do. I don’t know what else I can do. I thought you could use new clothes and a day at the spa.”
“I appreciate the gesture. What I could use, is for you to hug me, sit with me, and tell me everything is going to be okay,” cried Jeannie.
“I don’t understand you taking your anger out on me. I guess it’s okay. You wanted a punching bag so I’m it,” said Victoria.
“I’m not taking any anger out on anyone, Mom. I don’t see the need in buying them their love. What they need is love. They have adjusted to not having anything since Vince passed away.”
“I won’t do this again. I can see my generosity upsets you. Is this behavior because I can afford it and you can’t anymore?”
“That’s a cruel thing to say to me. No, that isn’t why. I can’t believe you said that.”
Marsha was listening from the upstairs vent where she heard everything. It took most of her strength not to go down there and punch the woman in her face. How dare she act like that? At least Jeannie gave it to her a bit. She was becoming stronger over the last month. If she would have been Marsha’s mom she would not set foot back in the house again, or let her see her grandchildren until she acted like a proper grandmother, and that would be after she punched her in the face.
Victoria sat with Jeannie for a while after staring off and pouting. Her usual response when she didn’t like what someone said to her. Dinner delivered by the local restaurant later that afternoon, and it was more food than anyone could eat in three days. The one thing she didn’t do that Jeannie asked for, was to hug her and tell her everything would be okay. When she boarded a plane home she promised to be back to spend more time with Lydia. She wouldn’t be back until the funeral.
Chapter 9
After Lydia fell asleep one afternoon, Jeannie took some time to clean out a closet and do laundry. Michael was at school, Marsha was shopping, and John was working.
While she was straightening her shoes she saw a box, opened it, and looked inside. Underneath some personal items, she saw Vince’s favorite carry bag he took with him on the motorcycle. She had not seen the bag since they gave it to her in the hospital. With everything going on, the bag was shoved in a box and forgotten about. She felt a shiver go through her when she touched the worn out leather and pulled it out of the box. Jeannie smiled when she remembered calling his bag a purse to tease him. She even put a tube of lipstick in there to mess with him. The lipstick was still there and made Jeannie laugh.
Inside the bag were the clothes he
wore that day. His jeans were splattered with his blood. His favorite black t-shirt was ripped and dirty. The leather coat he was wearing, also torn, and the biker boots he had on, scuffed up and the heel gone on one boot. The most important thing was, the headband he wore when he rode. The headband was black with skulls on it and he wore it the last day he made love to her. It made her heart hurt to see it as she held it to her chest and closed her eyes. She held up his shirt to her nose and tried to breathe in his cologne. There was a slight scent of him still embedded in the fibers. The realization those clothes touched his body was more than she could endure. One thing in his bag took her by surprise. Inside was a picture of herself, sitting on his motorcycle after they got married. She looked so young, innocent, and clueless what her life would be like in a few years. Smiling and blowing him a kiss, she remembered Vince taking the picture. The sadness of needing her husband, and the despair of watching her daughter die, began to send her into a tailspin. She knew she had to keep herself together for her daughter and her son.
Also inside his bag was his wallet, cell phone, keys, and pocket knife. Jeannie didn’t turn off his cell phone service, but of course the battery was dead. Buried in the bottom of the bag was his rope bracelet he wore every day. The bracelet that scratched her body at times when they made love, was on his wrist that day. She took the phone out and placed it on her nightstand. The charger she had for her phone worked for Vince’s phone, as well. She ran and grabbed the charger out of her purse and plugged Vince’s phone in. For what reason, she didn’t know. After the first six months, she stopped calling it twenty times a day to hear his voice.
One afternoon when she went to take a nap, she picked up Vince’s phone, scrolling through old numbers that called, Jeannie noticed many numbers called after his death. Other than hers, there was a number that had called repeatedly for the past year. A number she didn’t recognize or ever saw before on the home phone. It bothered her all day, and after taking care of Lydia, she planned on investigating.