Chapter 23
I stared at Aunt Addy as she slept. I’d arrived in Chance a little after two o’clock in the morning. As soon as Monica said that Aunt Addison had declined significantly, I’d thrown on a pair of Lamar’s sweatpants and a T-shirt before speeding out of town.
“Jazz, earlier, I—”
“We’re good.” I interrupted, knowing I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with the fallout of my admission. “Please forget I said anything. I was caught up in the moment, and right now, my mind is all over the place.” My voice broke. “I can’t.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Drive safely. Call me when you get there. Let me know what you need. I got you.”
I replayed that painful conversation with Lamar in my mind to drown out Monica’s explanation of what was going on with Aunt Addy.
Broca’s aphasia … continued decline … suspects a ministroke …
I repeated the words, trying to make sense of it all because I’d just talked to her.
Thursday evening, we’d talked for only ten minutes, but she sounded okay.
She sounded tired, weak, but okay. She asked me about the last portion of my book.
I asked her about her party. There was no indication that the last time I’d heard her voice would possibly be the last time I’d ever hear her voice.
“She was napping, and she woke up and said your name,” Monica had explained upon my arrival.
“She picked up her phone, and … there was a panicked look on her face, and she was making noises instead of words. She tried speaking, and the words wouldn’t come.
She got upset, so I took the phone. That’s when I talked to you.
I gave her something to calm her down. Your dad ate soup with her and sat with her for a while, and then she went back to sleep. She’s been sleeping since.”
I hadn’t cried since I’d laid eyes on Aunt Addy. Even though she was sleeping, actually seeing her made me feel better.
Maybe this is what she meant by making peace with losing her.
“Get some rest,” Monica suggested about an hour after I’d arrived. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
I got out of the chair in the corner of my aunt’s room and followed the nurse down the hall. When we got to the living room, she turned and looked at me. “She’s comfortable. You had a long drive. Try to get some rest, and if anything changes, I’ll wake you up.”
“What happened?” I asked, getting worked up. “Between you and my parents, I thought I knew everything that was going on. And I know she’s been spending most of her time in bed. Does she need to get out more and get moving, or does she need activities—”
“Jazmyn,” she interrupted. Walking over to me, she placed her hands on my shoulders.
“There is nothing that can be done. She hired me to care for her at the end of her life, and I am here. Your parents are here every day to sit and talk with her. She allows Rose to visit. She doesn’t get out of bed because she can’t tolerate activity.
But there is no correlation between her being in the bed and her symptoms now.
” She searched my face for understanding.
“This is just what her condition is. We’re approaching end of life. ”
Blinking rapidly, I shook my head. “I just … I talked to her yesterday.”
She hugged me, and I hugged her back tight.
“I know. I know. It’s hard to watch someone you love die.
” She took a step back and grabbed my hands.
“But hear me, nothing has been out of the ordinary. When she takes her medication, she’s not in any pain.
The only day she experienced some discomfort was the day she postponed the pain medicine to stay up late to read your book. ”
I knew she was trying to make me feel better, but that made me sad. I didn’t want my aunt to be in pain. I also didn’t want her to die without me completing it.
She hates a cliffhanger, I thought with a quivering lip.
“Please be real with me, Monica,” I pleaded tearfully. “What do you think? Not as a nurse to a patient’s family, but as two people who love her. Just between me and you, what do you think is going on?”
“Addison is dying,” she said gently. “As I tried to explain to you on the phone, her aphasia could be from a ministroke, and it could be Broca’s aphasia.
She was having difficulty speaking, and when she did speak, she wasn’t finding the right words.
I believe that upset her, and she stopped trying to speak. ”
“You think she’s not speaking because of the difficulty and not because she can’t?”
“We won’t know for sure. But I’ve been with Addison for a long time now, and I’m speculating based on her personality. I’ll assess tomorrow and follow up with the doctor on call.”
“So there’s a chance.”
“Only God can have the final say. So, if He sees fit, she could very well wake up in the morning and say something. But from doing this work for as long as I have, I think you should prepare yourself for the fact that she may not speak again.” She took a step back and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“Now get some rest. She’ll be happy to see you in the morning. ”
I nodded. “Thanks, Monica,” I mumbled as I headed to the room I always claimed as my own.
The reality of Aunt Addy dying hit me like a freight train. I’d had months to prepare. I’d spent the summer with her. But as I collapsed onto that bed, I realized I wasn’t ready.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
I didn’t dream that night. But when I woke up to the smell of bacon wafting through the air, I was pulled into a childhood memory of a six-year-old me waking up like it was Christmas morning because Aunt Addy was coming to visit for the weekend.
My whole life, I’d looked up to her for support, for guidance, for inspiration.
She had been the first person to truly see me.
And I’m losing her.
Opening my eyes, I stared at the ceiling for a while before I grabbed my phone.
Lamar Anderson: Just checking on you. Give me a call whenever you can. We’re flying out in a couple hours. If I miss your call, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. I just want to hear your voice.
My emotions swelled.
That message pulled at me, but I didn’t text him back or call him. Instead, I put my phone in my pocket and went directly to my aunt’s room.
“Good morning,” I greeted her as I walked in.
Her eyes widened when she saw me. She didn’t try to speak, but she dropped her piece of bacon and reached out her hand. I rushed to her side and gave her a squeeze.
She’d lost more weight. I’d noticed it last night, but seeing her sitting up with pillows propped up behind her and feeling her frail body, I found it was even more noticeable.
I sat down in a chair next to the bed, then put my hand on hers. “Aunt Addy, I just needed to come and put my eyes on you. Monica told me that you’re doing okay but you’re having trouble speaking, so I just wanted to see you for myself.”
She nodded and pulled her lips into a crooked smile.
“I’m going to take a shower and get dressed for the day while you finish your breakfast. Then maybe we can watch a movie. Does that sound okay?”
She gave a singular nod.
“Okay.” I squeezed her hand again. “I love you, Aunt Addy.”
She squeezed my hand back as if to say she loved me, too.
By the time I returned to her room, my aunt was taking a nap with Monica monitoring.
My dad was in the living room.
“Hey, Dad,” I said after our hug.
After I sat down on the couch beside him, he asked, “How are you?”
“I’m okay. How are you?”
“I’m okay.” He shook his head. “No, I’m not okay.”
I reached for his hand, and we sat quietly on the couch for a few minutes.
“Your grandparents had me in their early twenties and had Addison ten years later,” my father started. “I looked after her while they worked. I was her protector. I made sure she was okay.” He let go of me to reach for his coffee. After taking a sip, he continued. “But I couldn’t make this okay.”
“No one could make this okay. What matters is that you were always here. Getting on her nerves like big brothers do.”
He smiled. “Did she tell you what happened when I cut the grass?”
I twisted my lips to keep from smiling. “She might have mentioned it.”
“She was hot about that! I didn’t do it on purpose. I was trying to help her out!”
I laughed. “I know. And she knew it, too. But she had put in work on that garden.”
“Yeah, she did. Before your mom and I went to Florida, we helped with the garden every other weekend. We’d come by to see her, and she was out there, and she put us to work.
I knew what the layout was. How was I supposed to know you two planted some more stuff this summer? Who plants flowers in the summer?”
I snickered. “She planted them a few days before I got here, and she did it at night when the forecast called for cloudiness the next day. The perfect conditions,” I said, quoting her exact words.
He threw his hand up in faux exasperation. “You sound just like her.”
“Because that’s how she explained it to me when I asked the same thing!”
We let our amusement fade out. He drank his coffee, and I stared at the pictures on her mantel.
“As much as I worried about Addison, I envied her,” Dad admitted quietly.
“She had a spark and a fearlessness that allowed her to do whatever she wanted. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life.
Some of the things she did, I couldn’t imagine doing.
” With a scoff, he stared into his coffee cup.
“Some of the things she did, I wouldn’t do even if I could imagine it.
But I always envied her spark.” He turned to look at me, holding my gaze.
“You remind me so much of her because you have that same spark.” He paused, his lips pulling down slightly at the corners.
“But instead of fearless, did your mom and I make you fearful?”
It was the first time he’d ever said anything like that to me, and it caught me off guard.
Seconds later, the front door opened, and my mom walked in.