Palliative Care
*
Treating the pain
I sank into the weathered couch as my dad groaned, easing into his recliner. My mother had been home for a week, sleeping off the opioids prescribed for the pain.
At sixty-four, Dad looked a hundred. His once-brown hair had turned a stubborn gray, clinging to the sides of his head. Wire-rimmed glasses drooped on his nose, and his long white beard rested on his stomach. When I spoke, he looked ready to fall asleep.
“What time is everyone else supposed to be here?” I asked.
He sighed. “Jason’s flight lands in an hour. Matt and Glenda should already be here.”
I nodded. “What about Jean and Louisa?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose—a subtle warning that arguments were coming.
“Jean said she won’t come until Jason leaves. Louisa’s on her way—with all four kids. She plans to move in.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“She wants to be here for your mom. We’re going to let her.”
I scoffed. When I’d offered to come, I was told no. But Louisa could uproot her life and move three states away—apparently, that was expected.
I swallowed my frustration. “All right. What do you need from me?”
“Just…avoid fighting. Help everyone decide before Eddy gets home from school.”
“That’s going to be impossible.”
He opened his mouth, but the front door cut him off. I heard Matt and Glenda bickering in the hallway.
If only Robert wasn’t in class, I could argue with my spouse as well.
“You and Bree need to put your foot down,” Glenda snapped.
Matt fired back, “When your mother’s dying, then you can have a say.”
They entered the living room, both red-faced. Matt had put on weight lately, and his already large build looked even more substantial. I nodded slightly. He nodded back. Glenda plopped onto a mismatched chair across from Dad’s recliner. Matt disappeared into the kitchen.
The next hour was uncomfortable.
Dad turned on a World War II documentary and immediately fell asleep. Glenda tapped furiously on her phone. I texted Matt.
Are you okay?
No. But there’s nothing I can do about it.
Do you want me to say something?
Don’t you dare, Bree. Just chill until Jason arrives.
K.
I felt like a scolded kid, but I knew Matt’s anger wasn’t about me.
We’d talked for weeks about what came next. We’d agreed to suggest palliative care. It wouldn’t be easy. No one would be happy. But Mom would be comfortable. It was the least we could do.
Then, the new narrative started—of course—with slamming doors.
“I was specifically told you wouldn’t be here!” Jean screamed from the foyer.
Jason’s deep laugh answered her.
“This isn’t fucking funny,” Jean hissed.
Matt groaned and marched out. I stayed put, listening to the chaos.
Jean and Jason were from Mom’s first marriage, while Louisa, Matt, Eddy, and I were from her second. We never used the word “half”—just “siblings”—unless we were furious.
“Mom is sleeping,” Matt said through gritted teeth. “If you want to fight, do it outside.”
Dad remained asleep, snoring softly in his chair. I almost laughed at the absurdity.
Jason’s smirk entered first, his close-cropped blond hair contrasting with Matt’s thinning scalp. “That’s right, J. Let it go.”
Jean scowled, tugging at her lip ring, clearly debating whether she hated Jason more than she loved our mom.
She relented. “I’ll behave for Mom. But Jason—you still owe me seven grand.”
Jason scoffed.
That was a lot of money, especially for Jean. Her world was beautiful but not profitable.
Jason sighed. “Dad left me in charge of the estate.”
Oh. So, this was about Jason and Jean’s dad, who died eight months ago.
I tried to retreat, though part of me wanted to eavesdrop. My oldest sibling’s father was never really around. Mine was always present—but a crappy stepdad.
A loud snort from Dad startled the room into silence. He blinked awake as Matt, Jason, and Jean shuffled in.
“Hey, kids,” he said with a sleepy smile.
Jean sat next to me. I braced for her usual emotional distance, but she pulled me into a hug. It startled me.
Jason then took a seat on the opposite side.
“Hey, Dickey,” he said.
“How was the flight?”
“Eh. Getting out of Fort Irwin is never easy.”
Dad chuckled. “I hated that damn I-5 traffic.”
They slipped into a conversation about California freeways.
Then came the shrieking. A stampede of children poured in, followed by Louisa’s tired voice: “Please stop, you guys.”
Matt snorted and perched on the arm of Glenda’s chair.
Louisa burst into the room, dragging three duffel bags and four children under six. Predictably, her husband was not with her.
She snapped her fingers. The oldest handed her a massive purse. She pulled out two tablets and handed them off.
“Go do something quiet,” she said. The baby stayed asleep in her arms as the kids scattered.
Louisa looked around and frowned. “No one saved me a seat?”
I tried to move, but Jean clung tighter like I was a human pillow. Louisa wedged herself beside us, squashing us together on the lumpy couch.
Dad began recapping Mom’s condition. Jean’s grip slackened. Frustration bubbled up inside me. Matt, Eddy, and I had been in the trenches. The others came and went. But watching their faces now, I knew that wasn’t fair.
“So, that’s it?” Jean asked. “She’s just dying? We’re not even going to fight?”
I closed my eyes. I wanted to argue, but I had no fight left. Matt took the lead.
“J, her organs are literally rotting. She’s in pain. We should let her be comfortable—”
“She’s not a dog, Matthew! You can’t just put her down.”
Dad stayed silent. I couldn’t tell if it was cowardice or discomfort.
“She said she wants to stop fighting,” I said quietly. “She refused chemo.”
Louisa burst into tears. Jason wrapped an arm around her. Jean crossed her arms.
“I want to ask her,” Jean said.
“She’s sleeping,” Matt reminded her.
“No, I’m not.”
Our mother shuffled into the room with a walker.
She had dissolved in the last week. Just days ago, she’d been eating breakfast and arguing with me. Now, she was a wraith. Her bald head caught the light, her amber eyes huge in her sunken face. Dad stood up quickly and helped her into the recliner.
Jean dropped to the floor beside her, red hair spilling over Mom’s lap. It was theatrical—but real for Jean.
“What do you want, Mom?” she whispered.
Mom looked around. Jason’s gaunt face. Louisa’s red, blotchy one. My own—tired. Matt’s stoic stare.
The only sounds were Louisa’s sniffles, Jean’s quiet sobs, and a distant shout of “Throw it!” from the tablets in the other room.
“I want to see Eddy graduate from high school,” she said. “I want to see him get married. I want to live.”
Jean lit up. “Then we can—”
“Jean,” Mom interrupted gently. “I won’t beat this.”
Jean’s eyes flooded. “There’s…research about flaxseed and cancer prevention.”
I glanced at Matt to keep from rolling my eyes.
Mom reached for Jean’s hand. “I know I’m dying. But I want to stay alive as long as possible. Here. Doing what I love.”
My eyes widened. “Wait—you don’t want hospice?”
She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid of what I’ll miss while I’m dying.”