“Fine, but I am not helping with any of it, so do not come crying to me about medications or hospice,” he said while crossing his arms.
I thanked him for his permission, and I hate that I thanked him, but I was conserving my energy for the person who was dying.
My mother cried the first night I stayed with her and told me that I shouldn’t have to do this because I had my own life to lead.
“I am doing my own life right now, and you are my life,” I told her while we both sat there and wept together.
The next year became a blur of pill organizers and insurance calls as I learned how to time nausea medication and make a bed with a body still in it.
I learned how to smile in front of her and then sit in the garage afterward with both hands over my mouth so she would not hear me breaking apart.
Russell came and went like a resentful tenant who complained that the shower pressure was bad and that the house smelled too much like medicine.
He wanted dinner waiting and a television remote within reach, as if my grief were something impolite that I was tracking in on my shoes.
His parents were even worse because they visited twice and managed to make both visits feel like they were conducting an official inspection.
Brenda walked through the house with a look of disgust and Don stood in the kitchen complaining that the property had no resale value while my mother sat only ten feet away.
At night, I would sit at the kitchen table and write down medication times while realizing that I was completely alone in my marriage.
The last winter of my mother’s life was the hardest because she deteriorated in steps and eventually could no longer manage the stairs.
“I am so sorry that I am such a burden and that you have to see me this way,” she whispered one evening.
I sat on the edge of her bed and told her that she was my mother and that she should never apologize for needing me.
She held my wrist and told me not to let anyone make me small just because I knew how to endure the hard things in life.
She passed away five days after being admitted to the hospital, and I was grateful that my brother and my children made it in time to say goodbye.
Russell was there too, but he was absent in every way that matters while I was trying to choose a casket in a room full of beige samples.