At the hospital, we know the routine. I haul out my laptop, emailing students, writing papers no one reads. You stare at the same first page of the John Grisham you’ve carted here for weeks. An hour passes. A nurse finally walks you to the bathroom to pee in a cup. Another hour. The phlebotomist ambles in and pricks your arm. Blood fills the tubes, purple and thick. Three hours. No doctor, no saline drip, no reassurances of ‘soon, soon’. On the way out for coffee, I blast the woman behind reception. I should realize when she says pharmacy hasn’t received orders to prep your erlotinib. But I don’t. I fume through the hospital lobby, paging the clinical trial coordinator, rescheduling lectures and exams, scowling at my watch.
When I return, the doc stands over you scrunched in the arm chair. He taps an x-ray and shakes his head. You push yourself up, using the armrests for leverage. It takes three tries, but at last you waver on your feet, hand extended. You thank him. The doctor leaves, not recognizing me when he passes, and you collapse. What looks like tears on your cheeks is sweat.
I wheel you down to valet parking. It’s late afternoon, the ride home will be hell. You reach back for my hand, squeeze it. A fine cool mist falls from the opaque sky and splatters crystals in your hair. You smile and try to say something, but the car arrives.
***
Inspired by this week's 52-250 theme 'The Last Time', chosen by YT. Inspired by a host of other things as well, including the last line of a short poem forthcoming soon in Camroc Press Review. The last year of my father's life was full of many lasts, for him and for me. Looking back, I realize that waiting in the rain was when he told me goodbye.
Between work and getting into school routines (2 kids, 2 schools), life's been rather chaotic; I apologize for not blog-hopping as much as I'd like. Soon, soon...
Live well, love better. Peace, Linda
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You're killing me Linda. Touching, right down to the bone.
ReplyDeletePoignant, powerful, and full of truth. Bravo.
ReplyDeleteWhat a bittersweet memory.
ReplyDeleteMy heart was in my throat throughout your story and your addendum. I, too, was the caregiver for my father and we had many lasts in his final year...it was so hard for him/us.
ReplyDeleteI've been the guy in the chair often. Different condition, same condition, you know? I do smile at the end, and when I say something there, I make it funny.
ReplyDeleteI was right there through your writing, the thick hours crawling in the waiting room, the cursory treatment and then re-emergence into the outside world. Great stuff
ReplyDeleteMarc
Oh, now I'm gonna be crying all morning Linda. This is good stuff, per usual.
ReplyDeleteLove this line: "You reach back for my hand, squeeze it. A fine cool mist falls from the opaque sky and splatters crystals in your hair."
Deanna pointed out my favourite line. So much is said there. Poignant and beautifully written as always.
ReplyDeleteWow you write well.
ReplyDeleteAnd the subject matter... sigh.
Hugs to you. Big hugs.
And thanks.
This was so moving. Everyone's used the word 'poignant' but there really is no better one.
ReplyDeleteReminds me of certain times something like this happened in my family. She always came out with a smile and a grin. Somehow, she was the one who enjoyed life the most out of all of us. Still marvel at that, years after she's gone.
ReplyDeleteFirst time time a piece ever reminded me of that enough to brings tears.
I loved the feeling of stoicism, marked at the end with shimmering crystals from the sky.
ReplyDeleteQuite teary at moment after reading this beautifully sad memory.
ReplyDeleteOutstanding voice in this piece. I always love the clinical aspect you put into the deeper meanings of your writing - it is a nice contrast.
ReplyDeleteThat title is amazing with this piece! Excellent.
Thank you all for reading and your kind words. I'm glad mine moved you. We all mourn and sit shiva in our own unique ways -- this is yet another story on my wailing wall. Peace...
ReplyDeleteA poignant snapshot from your life. Thank you for sharing it with us.
ReplyDeletePowerful story. Very sad situation, but it makes for a moving story. Well done!
ReplyDeleteThis is like a clear and vivid snapshot. I love the title.
ReplyDeleteThis is so touching and I remember you posted something else about this subject that was similar. That touched me deeply too.
ReplyDeleteThe grief of losing a loved one is so universal. Even those who've never had to cope with it can understand.
Jai
Just beautiful and, yes, the overused word 'poignant'.
ReplyDeleteThis one hits close to home, while I wasn't the caregiver to my grandfather, all the last moments stay so sharp, even if I didn't realize they were our 'lasts' at the time.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful!
Linda... I'm late to the game here but what a sad (but beautifully told) tale... Really bummed me out ... But you did it so well.
ReplyDeleteThis is just so beautifully written and I recognized the scene instantly, because I've been there myself while my mom was undergoing cancer treatment. I realized immediately that this wasn't fiction. You wrote this too well, and with too much heart. Bravo.
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure how anyone could NOT feel that story all the way to their marrow.
ReplyDeleteThis line in your addendum made my eyes start to bubble:
'Looking back, I realize that waiting in the rain was when he told me goodbye.'
The last--last.
So final.
Good stuff friend.
You capture well here all the conflicting emotions, and in such vivid, rich prose. I'm always amazed. :)
ReplyDeleteThank you all for reading and taking the time to comment.
ReplyDeleteI promise, before the year is up, to write something with a happy ending. Promise. Peace...
This was very touching. As to happy endings, you have to write what moves you, be it happy, or not. Your writing always rings true.
ReplyDelete~jon