“But you have to be able to do something. Can’t we send her to a specialist or something?” My mouth went dry and my heart started pounding. They had to be wrong. Of course there was something they could do, wasn’t there?
“Mrs. Ashford, I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid her chances aren’t good, at this point less than five percent. The cancerous cells have metastasized and the treatments we use to shrink the cells are no longer effective. At this time, we can only do our best to keep her comfortable while she gets her affairs in order.”
Those words chilled me. Keep her comfortable. Get her affairs in order. They kept people who were dying comfortable. Those who needed to get their affairs in order usually needed to do it quickly, before they ran out of time.
But she wasn’t dying, not my mom. She couldn’t be. We didn’t have enough time. We’d only just found each other. It wasn’t fair. No, this couldn’t be happening. They had to be wrong. They had to be mistaken.
“There’s some mistake, right? What do you mean ‘less than five percent’? What are you saying?” Even though I’d promised, my voice rose nearly an octave, and I could hear the panic lacing it. This wasn’t happening. It just couldn’t be.
“Mrs. Ashford, I’m terribly sorry. We’re going to try a few different treatments to try to slow the progress, but at most we can only give her another few months.”
I rested my head on the table and closed my eyes, unable to take this in, unable to comprehend what I was being told. Ryan nudged me gently; the doctor was speaking to me, but all I heard was a roar in my ears. Everything stopped. The hospital sounds that had been so loud and disjointed in my ears were suddenly silenced. The nasal voices paging doctors to various places had been put on mute. The beeping of the machines keeping people alive had been squelched.
She couldn’t have cancer. Not her. Not my family, the only real family I had, save the child in my stomach.
“Do you have any questions?”
I shook my head, feeling as though I was in a haze. Nothing felt real. I wanted to go to sleep and wake up from what had started out as a great day and ended up as a nightmare. But I wasn’t dreaming. I was wide-awake and I couldn’t just blink this away.
“Mrs. Ashford, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. The best thing to do at this point is to try to be with her as much as you can, and enjoy the time you have together. She’s been asking for you. She’s in room five, if you’d like to go see her.”
I nodded woodenly and stood up. I turned and left the room in a haze, not even thanking the doctor or saying goodbye. Ryan murmured something to Dr. Flynn, too low for me to hear, and followed me out into the hallway and into Mom’s room.
She appeared sallow, exhausted, but she still had a smile for me when I entered the room. Was I imagining the yellow tinge of her skin? Why did she suddenly look so ill? Did she look that way just yesterday? And if so, why didn’t I see it?
She held out a hand and I stepped to the side of the bed to take it. Her skin almost felt papery and very fragile.
She cleared her throat and said huskily, “Catie, Doctor Flynn says I’m free to go. Let’s get out of here, ok?”
“Ok, but when we get back to our place, we’re going to talk.”
She nodded. “Alright.”
I retrieved a wheelchair from the hallway and Ryan and I carefully loaded her into it and pushed her down the hall toward the exit. We put her in the car and drove to our house without asking her where she wanted to go.
When we arrived, Ryan picked her up and placed her gently on our couch. It was dark, and I busied myself turning on lights and putting on a pot of the jasmine tea she liked so much. I bustled around, picking up random stuff and putting it down someplace else. I felt the need to keep my hands, my mind busy, but I couldn’t avoid talking to her forever.
Ryan stopped me in mid-stride to tell me he was going to go get Benjie from Isamu’s house. I nodded and took a deep breath. I couldn’t put it off any longer. Once Benjie got home, we’d lose our chance to talk privately, freely. I walked back into the living room and sat down in a comfortable leather recliner adjacent to the couch.
“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”
“I didn’t want you to worry. It’s my job to worry about you.”
“Oh, yeah, like you did the whole time I was growing up,” I spat, then cringed at the way I was punishing her.
“That’s not fair,” she said quietly.
She was right, but I couldn’t admit it. I was too angry at her. “Neither is this. I can’t lose you now. I just found you. You can’t leave me.”
“Catie, I’ll never leave you, not willingly.”
“But you still will,” I said flatly.
“Let’s not talk about that right now.”
I stood up and railed at her. “Why not? When were you going to tell me? The day you died? The day of your funeral?”
“I was planning on telling you. I was just working on how.”
“Well, making me call 911 and race to the hospital was a creative way to do it.” I stormed around the room, furious, and it occurred to me that I didn’t really know who I was mad at. Mom? Doctor Flynn? Myself? God?
“Catie, sit down, please. Think about the baby. You’re supposed to be resting.”
I sat and faced her, wondering at her ability to be more concerned about me than she was about herself. And I was being such a brat, I didn’t deserve her concern. She looked at me with tired, loving eyes and my anger dissolved into sadness, deep sadness for what could be and what never would.
“I’m sorry,” I offered contritely, reaching for her hand and clasping it within my own. Her skin suddenly felt so brittle to me, her hand so delicate and fragile. I didn’t dare squeeze it for fear I’d hurt her. Why hadn’t I noticed any of this before? Had she been deteriorating this whole time, right before my eyes? Had I really been so wrapped up in my own feelings that I hadn’t really looked at her?
“Me, too, sweetie. I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“Mom, you’re staying with me. We have an extra room here in the new house, and I’m going to take care of you. I’m a physical therapist. I’m going to take great care of you and we’ll beat this thing. We’ll show them.”
She gave me a somber smile. “Alright, sweetie. Alright.”
She held out her arms and reclined back on the couch. I willingly lay down next to her and she wrapped her arms around me. We stayed this way on the couch for a while, just breathing together, thinking.
After a while, she spoke.
“I’ll hold on for as long as I can.”
“Promise?’
“Promise.”
Chapter 19
Mom moved in lock, stock, and barrel the next day. Ryan’s coworkers, after just moving Mom into her apartment less than a year ago, smilingly repeated the process. And they were so gentle with her, so absolutely sweet and caring, I had to wipe tears from my eyes for most of the day. It was a testament to the spell my mother could weave. She captivated everyone she met with the warmth and life in her violet eyes, with her smile that could light a thousand candles.
But my beautiful, vivacious mother seemed to be fading by the day. Was it our imagination that she was weaker, or was it just that the knowledge of her condition had suddenly made every ache and pain and health complaint all the more obvious? I didn’t know, but either way it disturbed me. She was in pain. I saw it, though she tried to hide it. She’d cover a wince in a smile, or gasp and pretend she was about to yawn or say something. She shuffled more than walked and I wondered what the hell had happened to the good health she seemed to enjoy a mere few months before and how the hell I had missed seeing her decline when it was so obvious now that she was ill.
I exhausted myself by Googling gastric cancer for hours every night. I found myself on various cancer support chat boards, talking with survivors and the families of those whose battle had been lost. Everything I read seemed to indicate a grim outcome for people whose
cancer was as advanced as hers was. I tried to hold onto hope, but it was extremely difficult.
Over the next few days, I found myself staring off into space, unable, or unwilling, to deal with what life had handed her. She was young, having just turned forty-seven at the end of October, and she should have her whole life still ahead of her. Forty was the new thirty, wasn’t it? She shouldn’t look so ill; shouldn’t have new, bigger white streaks appear so quickly in her dark, wavy hair; shouldn’t suddenly lose most of the flesh in her face and look at me with eyes that appeared sunken into her skull.
I was so angry. With her, with God, even with Shelly and Keith. Had they still been in my life, I wouldn’t have ever met my real mother. I never would have known she existed and I wouldn’t be going through this agony now. If Gran had been a more supportive parental figure to me, I wouldn’t have felt the need to reach out to a stranger, birth mother or not. And then I got mad at myself for even having those thoughts and spending time thinking about what her death meant to me when she was the one dying.
I struggled to get through each day. I felt like I’d been buried under a large pile of sand, and try as I might, I couldn’t claw my way up and out. I was being crushed by the weight of sorrow that rested so heavy on my shoulders. It was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other and move, to try to get through my day.
And Mom’s illness wasn’t the only thing I had to combat. Since the day I called 911, Benjie had started behaving badly. He was argumentative, difficult at home and at school. His teacher suggested therapy and we willingly scheduled visits with the school counselor. She reported to us weekly and let us know how confused he was and how upset he was that his Grammy wasn’t able to spend the time with him she did before. He made mention of his mother and even said once or twice that he’d like to go stay with her, which hurt Ryan deeply. The therapist assured us it wasn’t because of anything we’d done, but was rather because he sensed the tension and sadness that permeated our once-happy home. He longed to go back to some sort of normalcy, even if the situation at his mom’s house was less than ideal. At least he knew her and what to expect. We had many fights about it, and Benjie withdrew even further every time we told him no. He’d even given us a scare by attempting to run away. He’d laid down in his bed at naptime and waited until I’d fallen asleep, then left our new house and started down the road toward Isamu’s place. I’d woken up and torn the place apart looking for him when I realized he was gone. I placed a frantic 911 call and every officer in Pittston hit the streets, looking for our lost boy. Danny finally found him about four blocks from home, and when he was delivered back to us, he explained he wanted to go live with Isamu so he could be happy again. Apparently, our home had become a depressing place filled with sickness and sorrow instead of holiday cheer.
He wasn’t the only one who desperately wanted what once was. I longed for Mom’s company, the fun we had when we went shopping, and the many meals we shared where we exchanged confidences and laughed for hours. But every time I thought of the times we shared, a stab of pain hit my heart that she couldn’t share with me her most important secret. As a result, our time at home was strained. She tried, and so did I, but there was too much between us to for our relationship to ever be the same.
The day before Christmas, I was met with organized confusion as I entered our house from a doctor’s appointment. I was going weekly now, and even though Ryan wanted to go, Benjie gave us such a hard time when we took him, it was easier for Ryan to stay home with him. Mom was too weak to watch him herself and Isamu was busy with a new batch of pupils and an upcoming karate tournament.
I put my coat in the closet and slipped off my boots, frowning as I heard the ruckus coming from the living room. I walked in and smiled at the sight of the living room, fully furnished at last, down to pictures on the wall and flowers in vases. Ryan and Benjie were struggling to move a huge antique chest I’d picked up at a yard sale. Christmas music was blaring and they were singing along at the top of their lungs.
“Watch it, little man. I got it,” Ryan told him, ruffling Benjie’s hair and gently moving him out of the doorway that led to the breakfast nook. “Thanks for your help. That was heavy.”
“What’s going on in here?” I shouted above the din. They glanced at me and smiled.
“Hi, honey,” Mom called from her spot on the recliner.
Ryan smiled and came over to enfold me in a hug. “We wanted to give you a proper homecoming. It’s almost Christmas and I had a feeling you’d want things put in some sort of order before Santa and the baby came. And Benjie needed this too. Some semblance of normalcy, you know?”
“It’s wonderful. Thank you so much.” I was touched by his thoughtfulness and struck anew with love. He’d actually picked up on my need to nest before I had. What a wonderful man. “What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing. Just hang out. We’ve got this. No heavy lifting for you, remember?”
“I’m pregnant, not sick, remember?” I admonished him and smiled. Then what I said struck me and I regretted my choice of words. I’d almost forgotten for a moment that my mom was sick, that this would be, most likely, her last Christmas. The smile left my face and Ryan pulled me closer.
“Honey, life has to go on. We have Benjie and the baby to think of. She’s sick, but she’s still with us. Let’s thank God for that and enjoy what we have while we have it, ok? She doesn’t want you to be so upset. She’s so happy we’ve got this place and we’re finally settled. Let her see you happy. Let her think about how much we wanted this place and how she helped us get it.”
I smiled wistfully. “You sound like her and Isamu.”
“That’s a huge compliment. Thank you,” he said, giving me a tender kiss.
“Cut it out, Daddy. We’ve gotta get this stuff done so Santa comes.” He scowled up at us with an adorable expression on his face and added, “And the baby, too, I guess.”
“Thanks, my buddy. I love you.” I reached down to hug him.
“Love you, too, Catie.”
That would have to do for now, and I was surprised to feel my mood lighten as my men nested for me. It really was enough.
Chapter 20
In the blink of an eye, it was Christmas, and Mom and I exchanged olive branches and tried desperately to make things seem normal. There was a peace that seemed to settle over the house, which, thanks to Benjie and Ryan, was finally completely unpacked and settled. They had worked wonders on the mountains of boxes and now our house looked like something out of a Dickens novel. Swags of pine decorated our banister, wreaths hung from every window and door, and the glow of candles shone brightly, welcoming visitors who wished to carol or eat, drink and be merry.
My ankles were swollen to the size of elephant legs, so my doctor cautioned me to avoid doing much of anything and essentially placed me on bed rest. I was so large now that everything was a chore, so it was a relief to relegate myself to the sofa and stay there with Mom while Ryan and Benjie went to the Christmas tree farm and found the biggest tree they could find. The thing had to be ten feet tall and fourteen feet around. When they dragged it inside, I had to laugh. I had a feeling I knew who was responsible for such a behemoth.
“Catie, do you see our tree? Daddy let me pick it out!” Benjie bounded over and rubbed my head with his gloved hand. “Hey, baby? Do you see it?” he asked my distended belly. The baby kicked and I laughed.
“I think he likes it, Benj.”
“Grammy, do you like it?” Benjie looked Mom in the face and gently patted her leg. It hurt, I could tell, but she hid her wince and rasped gaily, “It’s beautiful. The best tree I’ve ever seen, sweetie.”
It took up a majority of our living room. We let it settle a bit and as it warmed up, the branches relaxed and looked even fuller than they had when my men first brought it in. I wasn’t sure we had enough ornaments to fill even half of it, but Mom suggested stringing up popcorn and having Benjie color some ornaments if we needed them, an idea Ry
an and I loved.
Ryan unearthed our tree trimmings from behind a bunch of empty boxes in the attic and brought them down while Benjie bounced along beside him singing “Jingle Bells” at the top of his lungs. Mom glanced at me and smiled and I smiled back. We might have still been a mess underneath all this holiday cheer, but at least we were together.
Ryan and Benjie did a passable job of decorating the tree, even though Benjie liked to put four ornaments on one branch and leave other branches completely bare. It looked a bit lopsided, but it was so sweet I insisted that it be left like it was.
“Benjie, be careful with this one. It’s glass.” Ryan handed him a delicate glass ball and he hung it on the tree with due gravity, beaming when it stayed where he put it.
“Grammy, do you wanna hang one?” he asked her seriously, holding out a reindeer ornament in his chubby fist.
“No, thanks. I have more fun watching you, honey. You’re a great decorator.”
The smile he shot her melted us both and we sat back and enjoyed his childish enthusiasm.
Afterwards, we sat down for a late dinner of lasagna and ham, made by Ryan with Mom’s recipes. Ryan poured eggnog all around and we toasted each other with limericks we made up on the spot. Christmas music blared from our stereo and we played board games, watched Benjie act out his favorite scenes from Frosty the Snowman and laughed at his antics. He was quite the little actor.
Mom had insisted that there be no maudlin speeches or tears this Christmas and no reference to her illness, and we had honored her wishes. It was difficult, but we all struggled to make this a merry Christmas, one without stress and fear. We all needed a break from it.
Isamu came over later in the evening and brought a special gift for Benjie: a chocolate-lab puppy named Mo, son of Isamu’s dogs Eenie and Meeny, and brother of his other dog, Miney. Benjie squealed at the sight of his new pet, and while I couldn’t quite figure out how we’d manage with me and Mom out of commission, I needn’t have worried. Mo was an intelligent puppy who had spent a lot of time being trained by Isamu in preparation for his adoption. He was adorable and smart, and even if he’d been a little puppy nightmare, I would have loved him just because of the look he put on Benjie’s face.
Holding On (Hooking Up) Page 13