“It’s perfect.”
“Meg, were you upset yesterday? Tennyson seemed to think something was bothering you.”
I sighed and looked at his hands holding mine. “It’s just the poem I’m supposed to do for Landman. It’s about a husband and wife that lose a child, and about how their marriage is ending because of it.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. Do you want me to talk to Landman and get a different poem for you? I’m sure he’d understand.”
“No. I talked to him yesterday. I had every intention of getting a new poem, but he talked me out of it. He wants me to write what I know. So I’m going to do it. Last night I started and it felt really good to get things on paper.”
“Well, as long as you feel okay about it. I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to do. You know it means everyone will know. No more secrets. You can’t unring that bell.” His eyes searched my face for signs of uncertainty, but I was feeling confident that I’d made the right decision.
Henry got out and came around to my side to open the door. I locked the Jeep and we walked to Landman’s class together. Landman raised an eyebrow at me when I walked in, and I smiled and nodded. He smiled back, put his hand over his heart, and started class.
Two days later, I flew back to Pittsburgh. I’d emailed Mom to let her know I was coming for spring break, but I knew she wouldn’t be waiting at the airport. I just hoped she was where she was supposed to be this time…at home…in Canning Mills.
When we landed, I grabbed my bag from baggage claim, and caught a cab. Twenty minutes later, the cab turned down my street and I saw my mom’s black sedan in the driveway. I can’t explain how relieved I felt for that simple mercy. She was here and safe.
Maybe my relief was premature, though. I found her in her bedroom and, frankly, whatever I’d feared most, was mild compared to the reality when I opened her door. She’d been fighting demons in here. She’d lost so much weight since I last saw her that she barely made a bump in the sheet that covered her. Her beautiful hair had been cut short and hadn’t been washed recently. The room smelled like death, so I cracked open the window to let in some fresh air, and then found a candle on the dresser and some matches in a drawer. The candle’s soft glow lit the room enough for me to see the dirty clothes piled high on the floor. A stack of family photo albums lay next to the bed; the top one opened to a picture of the four of us on the beach in New Jersey. I swear I saw every book from Wyatt’s bookshelf spread out at the foot of the bed with In Cold Blood lying opened to a page in the middle.
I decided to give myself a moment to lose it, to mourn the loss of my mother. This woman was most definitely not my mother. I would let go for a second and then I would be able to pick up the mess she’d made. Right? I dropped to my knees next to the bed. I could hear her breathing very shallow, weak breaths. I cried, then, like I hadn’t cried in a while. I cried in anger, and frustration, and utter, utter sorrow. We had lost so much. I had lost so much. I didn’t think I had the skills or maturity to turn this particular corner. My mom was supposed to be there for me! Not the other way around. I wanted to punch a hole in the wall, lie down on the floor and kick and scream like a baby, pull my hair out until I could feel her gently tug me onto her lap and cover me with a quilt for comfort.
I reminded myself that she was sick—that she couldn’t help herself right now, and that I had to pull it together for her like I’d been doing for two years. I screamed, pointlessly, at God in my head. Do you see this room? Do you see this woman? Is she your child? Or is that a bunch of hogwash? Are you a bunch of hogwash? If you’re listening, I am begging you—no, demanding—that you put her back together. Breathe some life into her. We’ve had enough sorrow, God. It’s enough already. I’m sick to death of your stupid life lessons! You think you’re helping me grow? You’re just killing me slowly!
I sat still and let the shaking stop. I tried to breathe deeply and I rubbed my eyes until they were raw so that I could see clearly. Okay…focus.
I picked up the piles of clothes and towels and carried them down to the washing machine in the basement. I looked under the kitchen sink where we’ve always kept cleaning supplies and I grabbed a dusting cloth and some bottles of bathroom cleaner. I opened her bedroom window wider, enjoying the freezing air and hoping it would help my mom come out of her groggy sleep. Once I’d finished cleaning, and hanging up her clothes, I found a clean nightgown for her. Then I sat down on the bed next to her and rubbed her back until she stirred.
“Wyatt,” she whispered.
Yeah, why should I be surprised that she reaches back into life by asking for Wyatt? Hello, World! Where’s Wyatt? Wyatt who chose to die for Bailey. Wyatt who isn’t around to see the crap in this room.
“No, it’s me, Mom. Meg,” I said, hating the way my voice suddenly had no inflection.
She moaned and turned over to look at me. “Say his name, Meg. I want to hear you say his name.”
“Mom…”
“Say it, Meg. It’s music.”
“Wyatt,” I bit out through my unwilling teeth.
I saw the pain in her eyes when I said it. A tear snaked down her cheek, and her face twisted with fresh grief.
“Isn’t it a good name?” she moaned. “People have stopped saying it.”
“It’s a great name, Mom. It was your name. You gave it to him. Adele Wyatt Kavanagh. You did good, Mom.”
“Close the window. I’m cold,” she spat the words out angrily. Her breath could kill a cat, a herd of cats.
“No, Mom. You need the fresh air. Now I’m going to get you up and put you in the bathtub. I’ve already got a warm bath ready.”
“I told you not to come, Meg.” She opened one eye and managed to glare at me. “Your dad’s not here is he? I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“You didn’t tell me not to come, Mom. You haven’t told me anything in weeks! Now sit up and I’ll help you walk to the bathroom.”
She closed her eyes again and ignored me, but by that time, I was angry enough to get rough with her. I rolled her over and pulled her thin legs out until her feet touched the floor. She pushed at me, but in her state, she was too weak to make much of a difference. I held her wrists together and pulled her up to her feet. She stumbled and her knees went out from under her, but I was ready for that, and I caught her with my arms under hers. She fought and muttered hateful things to me under her breath, but she gave up the fight. I tugged her gently toward the bathroom and sat her on the toilet. While she was going to the bathroom, I pulled her gown over her head. Thank goodness, she remembered how to wipe herself, and then she stood and let me help her into the bath water. I’d added some lavender bubble bath that was on the counter, and I think the smell relaxed her.
With a plastic cup, I poured warm water over her head and shoulders. Then I washed her hair and brushed it while she sat in the tub. She used a bar of soap to wash and I handed her a cloth for her face. Neither of us said a word.
After ten minutes, she stepped out and I dried her with a thick, fluffy towel and helped her into a clean gown. While she brushed her teeth, I grabbed clean sheets from the hall linen closet and put them on her bed. I fluffed her pillows, set them up for her, and turned on a couple of lamps. Her room smelled much better now so I closed the window. She climbed back into bed like she was exhausted again, like the mere effort of cleaning up had taken everything out of her. I found her lotion in the bathroom and rubbed her hands and face with it. I put Vaseline on her chapped lips, and I found a nail file and worked on her nails. Then I made her some soup and fed her by small spoonfuls.
She didn’t complain, but she didn’t have much of an appetite, either. I forced her to eat all of the soup in the mug and drink all of her juice and by the time I’d put the dishes away, she’d fallen asleep. It occurred to me that this drowsiness might be more than depression so I started looking through her drawers and her bathroom for prescription bottles. I found Valium, Ambien, Prozac, and a few other thin
gs I’d never heard of.
While she slept, I called Dad and he picked up on the first ring. “Meg, how is she?” He fought a sob that escaped when he spoke. I didn’t realize he’d been expecting the worst. He could’ve warned me. What’s with my parents thinking I can handle these outrageous episodes?
“It’s worse than I was prepared for. I don’t think she gets out of bed anymore, and the house is trashed. Piles of old food and dirty laundry are everywhere. The whole place reeks. I just finished cleaning up her room and getting her bathed. I forced some soup down her, but I bet she doesn’t weigh more than one hundred pounds right now. I can’t tell if she’s overmedicated or just so depressed. I’ve got to figure out when her meds were prescribed so I can count the pills that she has left and see if she’s been taking too much. She’s spaced out.”
Maybe I should’ve been gentler with him. After all, how much could he handle being so far away? But I was just so tired of tiptoeing around everyone’s feelings. We had a problem and the only way to fix it was by being honest.
He sniffed and swallowed. “Okay, Meg. I think we’ve let it go as long as we can. Catherine has been calling me to let me know she seems to be slipping again. It’s beyond just a simple disagreement about how I grieve, and how she grieves, and all that psycho-babble nonsense. I think we have to consider putting her in an in-patient treatment center where they can force her to be in therapy and get her on the right combination of medications. I think it’s the only way.”
“Like an institution? Like One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest? No way. We can’t do that to her. What would people say about us? I’ll move here and take care of her. I’ll enroll in an online school. I can help her get better.”
“No, Meg. She’s a grown woman and she’s sick. If we don’t do everything we can for her through proper medical channels, then we’re not helping her at all. These in-patient facilities that I’m talking about are nice. They don’t look like what you’re picturing in your head. They have a very residential feel, I promise.”
All the tears I’d been fighting the last eight hours rolled down my cheeks, and I literally felt my backbone stiffen. This was so not happening. “No, Dad.”
“This is the only way, Meg. I’m going to hang up and buy a plane ticket. I’ll fly in tomorrow and we’ll make preparations.”
I hung up and walked, dejectedly, back upstairs to check on Mom, who was still sleeping deeply. I didn’t know what to do with myself so I stayed in the hallway, leaned against the wall. The wracking pain in my stomach that had started when I’d first seen her got unbearable and I slid down until I was crouched outside her room. I had a direct view now of Wyatt’s empty bed. How did we get to this place? How did we go from being that perfect family to a complete train wreck? I rested my forehead on my knees and closed my eyes against the regret and disappointment boiling in my system. When my cell phone buzzed in my pocket, I almost didn’t answer it. I figured it was Henry, though, and that he’d worry.
“Henry?”
“Hey, beautiful. What are you doing?”
“Oh, just sitting in a dark hallway thinking. My mom’s kind of in her own world right now. Not a great day for the Kavanaghs.”
I heard him sigh heavily. “Do you want me to come to Pittsburgh? I could be on a plane tonight, honey.”
“No, Henry. I don’t want you to see all of this mess. And you’ve got so much work to do this week. You stay there and get it done. I never see you as it is, so please just catch up on work so we can spend more time together.”
“If you change your mind about that, call me. Anytime. Day or night. You call and I’ll get on a plane, Meg.”
“Okay, Henry. I guess I should go sit with my mom in case she wakes up.”
He took a deep breath and blew it out. I could tell he wasn’t convinced about staying in Chapin.
“Okay, sweetie. I’ll have my phone on me. Leave a message if I don’t pick up. Things are pretty loud out in the fields and I don’t hear it sometimes. I love you, Meg. I’m praying for your mom.”
After I hung up, I unpacked my suitcase in my room, amazed at how different I felt about being home this time. Last time, Henry was here and we were happy. This time the world was falling down around me.
I took a bath, grabbed a book, and went back to my mom’s room. I planned to be right there if she decided she wanted to talk. Maybe I would find that she was doing better than I thought. I dozed off and when I woke up at midnight, Mom seemed more peaceful so I moved to my bed.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I heard a crash from her room, and I stumbled out of my room and ran to her. I found her on the floor, a broken water glass lay next to her and water had pooled on the wood floor. To my complete horror, an empty pill bottle lay next to her. I couldn’t make sense of what I saw. I picked up the bottle—Valium—all gone.
“Was this a new bottle, Mom?” I yelled, trying to get her to give me some details, and I barely kept myself from slapping her to get an answer.
Calm down, Meg. I squinted into the dark room to get a closer look at her. She was white as a ghost and not moving at all. I grabbed the phone next to the bed and called 911. Then I called Uncle David and asked him what I should do. I put the phone on speaker and tried to do exactly what he told me.
“Use your index and middle fingers and feel for her pulse in her neck, Meg,” he said calmly.
“I feel it, but it’s weak and slow.”
“Okay, put your ear to her chest and tell me what her breathing sounds like.”
I lay my head on her chest, like I’d done so many other times in my life, under completely different circumstances. “She’s breathing. It’s really shallow, but I hear air moving.”
“Meg, you need to roll her to her side and bend her knees. Be ready to clear her throat if she starts vomiting. How long ago did you call 911?”
I got her situated on her side and then glanced at the clock. “I think I called them about ten minutes ago. I hear the siren now. I need to unlock the front door.”
I carried David with me on the phone and I could hear him struggling to pull his clothes on with one hand. I felt bad that I’d called him in the middle of the night. He gets so many of these calls for work and I hated to add more stress.
“Okay, Meg. I’m going to hang up and get in the car. I’ll be there in ten. Call me on my cell if they transport her before I get there. Give them the empty bottle of Valium and gather up all her other meds and put them in a bag. Tell the paramedics about her depression and what you found when you got there today.”
“Okay, David. Thank you. I’m so sorry I had to call you.”
He didn’t hear me because he’d already hung up and was speeding toward me. I left the front door wide open and ran back to Mom. Within a couple of minutes the ambulance turned down our street. They’d turned off the siren but left the lights running. I heard a voice call and I ran to the top of the stairs and motioned the two paramedics up.
Dazed, I watched them take her vitals and start an IV. I explained what happened and they listened impartially. As they carried her downstairs on a gurney, I heard David squeal around the corner. He jumped out and talked to the paramedics for a minute, and then he hopped into the back of the ambulance with Mom and looked her over. When he joined me in his car, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was two-thirty in the morning.
“I checked on her before I went to bed at midnight,” I told David. “So she had to have taken the pills in the last hour or so.”
“Then I think she’ll be fine,” he said, patting my hand. “There usually aren’t any long term issues with Valium overdoses. What made you go back to her room?”
“I heard her fall. I heard a glass break.” I sounded like a robot—no emotion whatsoever.
They took her to Mercy Hospital where David sometimes does surgery, so he knew the ER attending doctor and we got rushed through. They asked me to wait outside so they could pump her stomach. I paced up and down the cold, white hallway, wa
iting. The waiting room filled and emptied and filled again with sick and hurt people. Babies cried and older people moaned. One woman lay on the floor, asleep. At least I hoped she was asleep. I remembered the security video that was on the news of the little old lady who was ignored in the ER for hours until finally they realized she’d died.
A little girl with dark curly hair, probably five-years-old, sat by herself in a chair. She looked kind of like me as a child. She had a horrible, croupy cough and dark circles under her eyes. I watched her for a while and I decided that she was alone. I struggled with an overwhelming urge to sit by her and rub her back. What’d her parents do? Drop her off and go back to a party? Can we say “jail time”? I sighed, loudly, and bought a can of apple juice from the vending machine. I popped open the can and handed it to her. She took it without saying a word, and I sat next to her quietly for a minute, giving her a chance to trust me.
“I’m Meg,” I said, with as much of a smile as I could muster.
“I’m Lizzy.”
“Are you here alone, Lizzy?”
“Yeah. My mom had to go back home because she left my little brother there alone. She’s coming back here after her boyfriend gets off work.”
“Do the nurses know you’re here alone?”
“No. Mom told me to say she’s in the bathroom.”
“Okay. I’ll sit with you as long as I can.”
“Okay.”
I pondered how open she was with details that really should remain private. What if I’d been a crazy kidnapper? What if she got called to see the doctor and her mom wasn’t back? Would they call Child Protective Services? Maybe they should. Maybe I should.
Lizzy and I sat, quietly, and stared at the muted television which was playing an I Love Lucy marathon. When she finished her juice, I bought her another one, and some peanut butter crackers, too.
This had to be what hell would look and sound like. I was hyperventilating because I was so worried about Lizzy here all alone, on top of the panic I felt for my own family.
Glass Girl Page 23