CHAPTER THIRTEEN Mike
Ilistened to every word breathlessly uttered by Mom’s dry lips, and then I listened some more.
In fact, I paid attention until six in the morning as my mother enlightened me with a tale so outrageous, an idea so flawed in its reasoning, that I was convinced she had once and for all slipped out of reality.
The woman before me in the rented hospital bed was an imposter, a stand-in for the mother who used to be of sound mind.
She admittedly had been a tad on the fringe of normalcy my entire life, but this story took the cake by a longshot.
“An exchange?” I asked myself, taking a moment to suspend my common sense. “You and Dad for Cooper? And lemme guess, Dad’s waiting for an answer?”
“Not waiting per se, but he’ll be open to the idea,” she explained.
“So we won’t know for sure until you evolve, is that the term you prefer?” I asked incredulously. “And then once you get there he has to agree with the plan?”
“Michael,” she admonished. “You said you’d listen.”
“I am,” I stated. “But this is some out-there shit, Mom. Even you have to admit that what you’re saying has zero basis in science.”
“And neither do miracles, virgin births, spontaneous combustion, alien visitation, or a whole host of supernatural occurrences,” she defended as she fortified her stance. “What do you really have to lose, dear?”
“How about my freedom when they lock me up for losing my mind?”
“You won’t be here, Michael. I already told you that.”
I stared at her dumbfounded. “I won’t be here?” I muttered to myself, gazing at the floor as if it could respond to my question. I looked up at her. “Yeah, okay, I forgot that part. I’ll be in a different universe?” I asked because I still needed clarity.
“Yes. Exactly right,” she confirmed.
“And you and this Madame Druzella know for a fact that I will be going to a universe where I already exist and Cooper is waiting?”
She nodded and raised her eyebrows. Even she knew it sounded like the rantings of a lunatic. “Bit much, huh?” she agreed.
“Yes, Mom. A bit much for sure.”
“But you’ll consider it?” she asked.
I nodded. Insane for sure, but why antagonize her about it? She knew how this all sounded. I went over the plan she’d laid out for the third time. “I wait precisely seven days. Drink the concoction at midnight and then . . . that’s it?” I asked. “Nothing more to do but those steps?”
“Just go to bed in your old room and be sure to open your mind. You have to believe and you have to want it to manifest. Other than that, you’ll be good,” she stated.
“What’s in the potion?”
“A few things, but dried marigold petals are the main active ingredient,” she answered. “You know, to attract the dead,” she added without hesitation. “And no,” she added after seeing my face. “Trace amounts of marigold petals are not toxic to humans. It can be to household pets, but not us.”
“So don’t give any to the cat across the street?” I asked, thinking of the creepy feline I’d seen three times now, wondering if it was cruel to think I might like to poison the fucking animal.
Mom had a confused look on her face. “The new neighbors don’t have a cat, Mike,” she corrected. “Marleen is allergic to cats.”
“But it was in their ho . . .” I stopped before saying house. “You sure?”
“Positive,” she said. “I haven’t seen a cat on our block in years. Come to think of it, that is strange.”
It was just after dawn and Mom’s eyes closed for several minutes, the quiet convincing me she was asleep.
I heard a car in the driveway and confirmed through the window that Mom’s doctor, Marie Hollister, had arrived for a house call.
I headed for the front door to intercept her so the doorbell wouldn’t wake the patient, but before exiting the room Mom called for me.
“Michael,” she began, her hand reaching for me. I turned back and took three steps to her bedside, grabbing her hand. “You have to promise me you’ll at least try. Please just humor me and give me that last wish. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Mom. I can do that,” I responded. And I actually meant to honor the request. She was right, what did I have to lose? “The letter with your instructions is in your safe, right?” I asked, confirming where the items needed were located.
“Yes, honey. And my will. Do what you want with the house, dear, but make sure I am not buried with your father. That is absolutely key to this working. Cremate me, but do not bury me near Dad. Do you understand?” I nodded and blinked back a tear.
She was getting ready to leave me. It was Saturday at eight A.M..
I leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? Marie is here. We’ll be right back.”
“I’ll wait for you, Michael. You promise me and I’ll promise you, okay?” she whispered, faintly squeezing my hand. “I love you, son.”
“I promise,” I whispered. “I promise,” I repeated. Mom smiled, but I noticed the grimace contorting her face. This was the first time I’d seen her express the pain which cemented everything I dreaded. Mom was ready to give in.
“What time is it, honey?” she asked.
I glanced at my watch and struggled to see the time through the tears. A knot in my throat clamped down and helped me keep the sob inside. “Five after eight,” I whispered.
“Sixteen hours, son. Make sure I last sixteen more hours,” she whispered.
I heard the expected knock on the door. I knew Marie was coming for a house visit because Mom had summoned her for the final time.
I met Marie at the front door and stepped aside so she could enter the foyer.
“How’s your mother, Mike?” she asked. She placed what I assumed was a medical bag on the floor and studied me carefully, most likely alarmed at the dark circles and dampness around my eyes. “And you. How about you?” she added.
“She says she’s planning on exiting at midnight,” I said. “The date is stuck in her mind, Marie.” I stepped to the kitchen and waited for Marie to join me so our voices wouldn’t carry down the hall and to Mom’s open bedroom door. “Can she do that?” I asked after Marie joined me.
“Knowing Kathleen, yes. I wouldn’t bet against her,” she said. “She’s outlived her prognosis, Mike. I’m sorry, but somehow she has lasted this long despite not accepting further treatment. Medically, it just doesn’t make sense. It’s as if she has something she needs to complete.”
“If that’s the case then what do you think her plan is? I mean she can’t pick a time to die can she?”
Marie opened a cabinet for a mug and headed for the Mr. Coffee coffeemaker.
Even though she was a visiting doctor today, she had been a guest many times before so she was comfortable helping herself.
“Here again, Mike,” she began, her back to me.
“This is not a medical explanation or based on facts, but folks decide when they want to expire all the time. Being an oncologist I see this quite often.” She turned around and faced me.
“People at the end of their life make the decision that they’re done and it simply happens. ”
“I’m not ready, Marie,” I admitted, sitting at the kitchen island and placing my face in my hands. I rubbed the tiredness away and then stared at her. “First Dad and now Mom? This hardly seems fair.”
“It isn’t fair,” she agreed. “Especially considering the type of folks your parents are, Mike. I don’t get it either.”
“Do you think my mother is rational, Marie?” I asked, seeking a professional opinion after the last few days of talking with Mom and listening to her outlandish ideas.
Ideas that did not seem like they could come from a sane individual.
“She’s not taking opioids for the pain, but could the pain make her delusional? ”
“I see zero indication that she’s delusional. Even with her microdosing and the small amount of THC she ingests in the form of edibles, they’d have no discernable effect on her mental abilities. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, I guess.”
Marie reached across the island and held my hand. “Kathleen is an extraordinary woman, Mike. If she seems a bit, shall we say, spiritual or contemplative about what might be on the other side of this existence, you’d be surprised how common that is. Besides, who are we to question?”
I glanced toward the hallway and lowered my voice. “She’s been talking about some unusual ideas concerning life and death,” I said. “I guess I’m worried about her mindset.”
“Don’t be. Her train of thought is quite common. And trust me, your mom is as sharp as she was the day I met her back when you and my daughter were toddlers.”
Her assessment of Mom’s thinking alleviated the nagging feeling that I wasn’t speaking with a lucid woman. “And she expects to pass at midnight or shortly after. What are your thoughts?” I asked.
“Well, then I expect she will. Your mother has lived a month longer than I would have assessed another patient in her situation. Of course, I’m not surprised.”
“You’re not?”
“Your mother is . . . how can I say this?”
“Weird?” I interjected.
Marie laughed out loud. “Different. Informed. Resilient. But weird? Not a chance. If Kathleen was offering me advice or insight into her beliefs, I’d drop everything and listen.
Your mother is connected, Mike. Don’t ask me to explain what the hell that even means but all of her friends sense that about her. ”
“Thank you, Marie,” I said, feeling better. I was still confused and questioning reality, but hearing an educated woman of science admit there could be more to life than scientific facts had helped.
“Let me end with this, Mike,” she began. “If there is something more after this life, I hope your mother is in my universe again.”
I was surprised by Marie’s word choice of universe.
Her kind words about my mother were the same as I’d heard for most of my life.
My mother was unique and well-loved among her friends.
Things she did that I may have found odd when I was growing up didn’t seem to faze her friends.
Marie was a doctor for Christ’s sake and she thought Mom was normal, so why couldn’t I accept my own mother’s views on our world, even if they did seem highly unusual?
“Are you going to leave something for Mom’s pain in case she needs it?” I asked, interrupting the silence.
“Yes, but I don’t expect that she’ll take it. She’s stubborn and insists she wants the full experience. But yes, I’ll leave you with morphine in case she changes her mind.”
“What’s next?”
“I’m sorry to say this, son, but your mother is going to pass very soon.
” Marie released my hand, placed her mug in the sink and then came around the kitchen island to give me a hug from behind.
“Her breathing will become shallow and there will be longer intervals between breaths. I can stay until then if you’d like. ”
“Please just check on her now and then set me up with the morphine. I’d like to be alone with Mom after that,” I stated. “One other thing, Marie. What do I do when she passes?”
“Call the funeral home. They’ll take it from there and I’ll forward the cause of death directly to them and the county.”
Her words seemed so clinical and unfeeling but I understood that Marie had experienced this many times in her career. Her presence was beyond the normal practice of medicine so I appreciated her and knew her directness came from a good place.
“The transition will be difficult for you, Mike, but keep in mind that Kathleen is suffering terribly. Personally, and I mean this in the best of ways, I’m relieved your mother will no longer be in pain and will be free to move on to her next journey, whatever that is.”
Her kindness was appreciated and her assessment of the end of life surprised me. “You believe there’s something after this life?” I asked.
“Let’s just say I hope there is,” she responded. “I can’t imagine a universe without Kathleen.”
She turned and headed down the hall. “Me neither,” I mumbled.