31. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-One
Jane
A s soon as the ER doctor allowed me into my mother’s room, I dashed to her bedside and clasped her hand between my palms. Her icy fingers chilled me down to my toes. “Mama!” I cried, blinking to better see her through my tears. Her eyes were closed, her mouth partially open, her face pallid as she lay atop the hospital bed. A white sheet covered her skeletal form, folded at her waist, and tucked in at the sides.
Oh, God.
“Can you hear me? It’s Jane!”
Mama’s lips quivered as if she did hear, as if she wanted to reply. A faint beep came from the heart monitor, the blue line indicating she was still here.
My mind raced with all the things I wanted to tell her—what a great mother she’d been, how much I loved her, how I admired her strength, her sense of humor, the solid foundation she’d established for me and my brother. “I called Roger and he’s making arrangements to fly out here,” I rattled as if there weren’t enough time.
Again, Mama’s lips quivered.
“The priest should be here any minute. I know that will make you happy.”
My mother drew in a long, hollow breath.
“You know I love you. You have always been my strength.” My body shook with the power of the emotions flooding through me. Yes, this day was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any easier to see her lying here, unable to answer me, unable to open her eyes and look at me. “You were the best teacher I ever had. Without you, I never would have survived all the trials of this life. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Gripped by sobs, all I could do was bow my head and clutch her freezing hands, kissing them. I didn’t even hear the curtain shift when the vicar came in and opened his prayer book. “ Almighty God, look upon your servant, lying in great weakness… ”
After years of battling Alzheimer’s, it was time to let her go. But I wanted my mom. I wanted the woman who was always there with a reassuring word and a loving hug. My mind filled with the happy memories—the best ones. When at the age of four she’d praise me for drawing her picture even though it was a stick figure. Driving me to every lesson imaginable, the two of us animatedly singing show tunes. My God, she loved to sing.
This woman nurtured me. Loved me. Gave birth to me.
And now she was leaving me.
By the time Mom’s funeral came, I realized that I’d been grieving for seventeen years. Her form of Alzheimer’s lasted so long, taking her away from me far sooner than it should have. Now, it brought me peace to know she was in a better place—happy and singing with the angels.
“Your eulogy was top notch, sis,” said my brother Roger, giving me a hug at the funeral reception. He and his wife Peggy had arrived yesterday. It had taken him over a week to clear his schedule, but at least he was here.
Finally.
I decided to push my resentment aside and welcome him with open arms. After all, I wasn’t the only one who’d just lost a mother. I hugged him back. It was hard to believe that only nine days ago I had the house decorated for Meg’s baby shower, and now we were all gathered in the drawing room, wearing black. The balloons were gone, the baby-blue streamers were gone, the banner bearing the word “congratulations” had been stowed away in the attic.
“So was yours,” I replied. “I liked that you added humor. Mom loved to laugh, and your trip down memory lane was priceless.”
Roger sidled to the table and took a tea cake between his pincers. “Well, I had to do something to top yours. I shouldn’t have let you go first. You hit all the most important parts.”
My brief tribute had centered on a celebration of our mother’s exemplary life. Most of her years had been amazing, why talk the seventeen that hadn’t? “I think we made a pretty good team—and we both cried.”
“Of course we did. Mom would have wanted us to.”
“Do you remember all the times you socked me if I dared to shed a tear?”
“Me?” My brother snorted. “Why would I care if you cried? ”
I stared at him, drop-mouthed for a moment before I shook my head. Roger had uncanny amnesia whenever it suited him. Why try to argue about how much he tortured me if I cried when we were kids? I turned out okay. Maybe I ended up being stronger because he was so hard on me.
Like all children, we had our good times, our not so good as well. Last night I’d told him about vEDS and gave him Moya’s number so that he could get his genes tested. Interestingly, he knew a little about the disease and expressed his concern for Meg—especially because of her high blood pressure.
Bob came around with a plate of finger sandwiches while Mike followed with cocktail sausages. I took a crust-less sandwich. “You guys don’t have to wait on us. Just put the food on the table.”
After a sardonic look from Bob, he nudged me with his elbow. “You kidding? We need something to do.”
As the guys headed toward the group of caregivers from Mom’s assisted living facility, Roger nabbed a sausage and pulled it off the toothpick with his teeth. “Have I told you how much I like Bob?”
I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him chatting with the ladies—charming them, of course. “If only I’d met him thirty years ago.”
Carrying a cup and saucer, Peggy slipped between us and looped her arm through the crook in my elbow. “Hey, you never showed me your office. You have a gorgeous piano in there.”
“I sure do—came with the house. It sounded like a rooster learning to crow when I moved in.”
Bob finally set the finger sandwiches on the table. “And you should hear her play it,” he said as if he’d actually been impressed with my fat-fingering.
I snorted. “Yeah, bad notes and all.”
Roger slung his arm across my shoulders and leaned on me. “Mom would have loved to hear you play.”
“Come on.” Peggy pulled my arm. “You have to play for us now.”
“No, no, no.” I didn’t budge. “I’m a closet pianist. I’m terribly shy. Terribly awful as well.”
“Come on, Mom.” Meg pushed me from behind. “You don’t have a shy bone in your body.”
“That may well be, but no one wants to hear me play.”
“I do,” said Bob, earning a scowl from me .
They all but harangued me until I had no choice but to slide onto the piano bench and fumble for the music to Pachelbel’s Canon in D , the only piece I actually knew by heart and hopefully wouldn’t butcher too badly.
The entire crowd stood around the piano. Roger leafed through my music books while I managed not to make an utter fool of myself.
As I held the last chord, I smiled at Peggy, relieved to have made it through the piece without too many sour notes. “See?” I asked, driving the attention away from my awful playing. “The tone is so mellow. They just don’t make them like this anymore.”
“We need to have a singalong.” Roger set a music book of tunes from the seventies in front of me. “For Mom’s sake.”
I cringed—I’d played about two songs in this book. My mother was a decent pianist, and always accompanied family singalongs, especially during the holidays. “How about Christmas carols?” I schooled my features into a pleading grimace. “I’ve practiced those.”
“In May?” asked Mike.
“Grandma would have approved,” Meg replied, God bless her. “She loved Christmas.”
I grabbed the book of easy carols from inside the bench, then launched into Hark the Herald Angels Sing and everyone held forth while I managed to only hit a few bad notes. Honestly, they were all singing so loudly, no one noticed.
As I turned the page to Joy to the World , I looked at Roger and we exchanged grins. I’m glad he twisted my arm because everyone in the house knew the words and with our numbers, no one was bashful. What we lacked in talent, we made up for in exuberance. We laughed and a few tried to harmonize, and if you ask me, this was the absolute best sendoff for our mother. I had no doubt she was in heaven singing right along.
We sang Jingle Bells and Away in a Manger but halfway through O Come All Ye Faithful , the singing abruptly stopped as Meg dropped into my desk chair. Her face was scarlet, and I swear the skin on her arms swelled before my eyes.
“Do you have a blood pressure cuff?” Roger asked, his words crisp and urgent.
“I’ll get it.” I flew off the bench and raced to the bathroom.
By the time I returned, Roger had my daughter lying on the floor with her feet up on the piano bench, doing breathing exercises. He grabbed the blood pressure monitor from me and wrapped the cuff around her arm. “Do you have the number for your doctor?” he asked.
Mike held up his phone. “We both have it.”
“Call now,” said Roger.
The BP reading popped onto the screen: 145/75, which might be passable for an old lady like me, but it was a medical emergency for a pregnant woman who had vEDS.
After Mike got a hold of the triage nurse, my brother took the phone. “I’m a medical doctor. I’m here with my niece, Margaret Corley, who is a patient of Dr…”
“Sandy,” Mike and Meg said in unison.
Roger efficiently took my daughter’s pulse and relayed all the information as if he hadn’t retired from practicing medicine years ago. He returned Mike’s phone and looked at Meg. “Do you have a bag packed?”
“It’s at the house in my closet,” she replied.
Mike pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “I’ll get it.”
“Good. Meanwhile, we’re going to take Meg to the hospital. How far is Rochester?”
I wrung my hands. “It’s a little over an hour.”
“An hour?” Roger scoffed.
Meg pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Because my pregnancy is high-risk.”
“I’ll drive.” I grabbed my purse as I followed Mike to the door. “Meet you there?”
“Can you wait?” he asked.
“No,” Roger boomed in an ominous voice, making goosebumps rise across my skin.