Evie Interrupted, page 24
“I’ve been afraid to pull at that thread because I don’t know. I’ve read tons of articles on the stages and life expectancy. I’ve tried to convince myself that Mom has been gone for a long while. But the truth is, I don’t know who I am without her. I don’t think anyone is ever truly ready to say goodbye to their heroine.”
Maine dropped the blanket she was holding and enveloped me in a hug. “I’ve got you, Ev. We’re going to get through this together.”
Maine held on and allowed me to cry out all my frustrations, fears, and heartache.
The hospital transport team got Mom home and set up in her new room. Once they left, I took her on a visual tour of the room, pointing out the collage of photos pinned on the bulletin board, the shelf full of her favorite picture books, a few knickknacks, and a dry erase board that had Welcome Home written in big, bright block letters.
For some weird reason, I was nervous. Suddenly feeling ill-equipped to take care of her. I was used to the mobile version of Mom. The one who could stand and shuffle walk. With the stationary, more vulnerable, version I felt like a new parent, not believing they actually let me bring this hundred-and-ten-pound human home without supervision.
“Our goal is to keep Miss Evelyne comfortable,” Judy, the hospice nurse, said.
I liked her the minute she walked into the house. She had a reassuring and calming presence, which put me at ease.
“I see your mom was sent home on oral antibiotics.”
“Yes. I’m concerned about her taking them because it’s like pulling teeth to get her to take her other medications. I’m forever hiding them in doughnuts, muffins, ice cream, things like that.”
“What else is she taking?”
I unfolded the list of medications I always had on hand. As Judy read over it, my hands fidgeted in my lap. Other than a low-dose blood pressure medication, Mom’s other pills were all for her dementia.
“She doesn’t have to take any of these,” Judy said.
“What do you mean?”
Her sincere bright blue eyes were aimed at me. “If it’s a struggle, a fight, to get your mom to take her medications, she doesn’t have to. The doctor will prescribe liquid pain medication and something for anxiety. Other than that, she doesn’t have to continue to take any of these meds on the list.”
“Really?” I was astonished.
“Really. Comfort and peace are the goals.”
It was a complete and total mind shift for me. As the years passed, it had become increasingly difficult to get Mom to take her pills. At first, she’d hide them all over the house. I found them in her purse, in her shoes, in the pockets of her cardigans. I even found them once in Linus’s food container.
Leaning toward Mom, I patted the top of her hand. “No more medicines. No more arguments…how about that?”
Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open for several seconds before words drifted out. “Ow. Bout. It.”
I smiled at Mom. “Exactly. Life just got a little easier.”
Stopping medication might look like a relatively simple thing, but to me it meant the world. It had always been such a head-butting part of our day—so much so that I dreaded it— more often than not, ending in an argument. I’d been programmed to believe we’re supposed to fix what’s broken. Getting permission to stop any and all medications both blew my mind and eased it at the same time.
“Today for lunch we have barbeque pork, mac n’ cheese, and green beans. It may not look appetizing, but it tastes pretty good,” I said to Mom, sitting down in the chair by her bed.
I’d become quite the pureed meal chef over the past two weeks. I was determined that Mom wouldn’t be subjected to only foods already in soft form like mashed potatoes and yogurt. The only restriction she had was that it had to be pureed, so I made the food processor my bitch. Pulsing up things like a hamburger, chicken, and even Gran’s spaghetti. I’d also become very adept at milkshake making and custard cooking for dessert.
Scooping up the mixture, I held the concoction in front of Mom so she could eat with her eyes first. Her lips pursed as she scrunched up her nose.
“It’s barbeque,” I repeated.
Mom’s glassy eyes looked at me for added reassurance before she opened her mouth, allowing me to spoon the “delicacy” in. A serene expression washed over her face the second the food hit her tastebuds. In addition to her physical state, Mom’s ability to speak had taken a blow since the hospital stay. Pre-hospital, she didn’t make sense when she spoke, but she still spoke. Now, even her nonsensical uttering had become a rare occurrence so I had to resort almost exclusively to visual cues for answers.
“I’m glad the meal meets with your approval,” I said, feeding her another spoonful.
As I waited for Mom to swallow, I stirred the mixture in the bowl, getting a whiff of barbeque sauce. The memory of Butler standing at his stove the first time I went to his house flashed across my mind, causing my stomach to spasm and twist in knots. Before I could put a stop to it, the images spiraled out of control.
Butler smiling.
Butler laughing.
Butler intensely focused on a puzzle.
Butler looking at me with love.
Butler looking at me with lust.
Butler holding my hand.
Butler holding me.
Butler kissing my lips.
Butler kissing my neck.
Butler kissing my shoulder.
Butler kissing my breasts.
Butler kissing my stomach.
Butler kissing my hips.
Butler kissing my thighs.
Butler kissing my everything.
A sharp cough pierced the air, slapping me back to reality.
“You okay?” I said to Mom.
Widened eyes and an open mouth was her only response. I blew out a sigh and fanned myself with the napkin before continuing to feed her. As much as I focused on my mom, and kept busy taking care of her, Butler still managed to invade my mind, heart, and soul. After that day in the parking lot at Porter, I held on to a thread of hope that he would forgive me and come back to me. Crazy and stupid? Sure. But that’s what love did to you.
Glancing at Mom, I noticed her staring at the bulletin board covered in family photos while her mouth hung open, waiting for more food. I loaded up the spoon and fed her while telling her the story of my cute nerd.
“Mom, guess what? I met my very own cute nerd. He’s the new football coach at Porter. Butler Thompson. Isn’t that an awesome name? Strong. Solid. Manly. Just like him. Not only is he the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on—I’m talking movie star handsome—he’s also a good man. Honest, loyal, caring, funny, smart. Butler is the whole package. You’d love him, Mom.”
I scooped up another spoonful and fed it to her.
“We met at Dough-Mates. He found me sleeping on one of the sofas. I know, so random. At least, I thought it was at first, but quickly realized it was fate. I think I started falling in love with Butler the second he pulled that red stir stick out of my hair. I won’t go into all the embarrassing details of that incident. You already know this hair is like a magnetic force field. Being with Butler felt natural. It was like our souls had already met, and the only thing left to do was fill in the details. Things like, what’s your favorite color? What’s your middle name? Do you share your Kit Kat bar? You know, important life questions. I never got a chance to tell Butler that he helped me connect, on a deeper level, with the epic love stories contained between the pages of great literary works. I always understood them intellectually, but I never truly felt the emotions until Butler showed me how.”
The clink of the spoon hitting the bottom of the bowl and a loud burp from Mom indicated lunchtime was over. After giving her a sip of Ginger Ale, I went to clean up the kitchen. When I returned, I found Mom reaching out her arms and staring up at nothing in particular.
Leaning one shoulder against the doorframe, I watched and wondered if she saw something different than what was physically in front of her, reaching out to another level or plane of consciousness. Dementia had robbed her of this physical world. In return, had it gifted her with insight into an ethereal world? A world that restored her memories. A world in which her body was no longer rigid, weak, and trembling.
Mom raised her hands higher, seemingly reaching for the picture of her parents. In her mind’s eye, were Papa and Gran smiling and waving at her? Giving Mom comfort and letting her know that it’s safe beyond the physical world? That those who she loved and who loved her unconditionally were waiting to hug her whenever she was ready? As Mom’s hands rested back down on her lap and she drifted off to sleep, I hoped all of that was true. It would have made all of this shit worth it.
“Okay, Mom, I’m going to need you to roll toward the wall,” I said, pointing my gloved finger in the desired direction.
With raised eyebrows, she looked at me as if I’d just asked her to scale Mount Everest. The infection plus lying in bed for over a week, had weakened Mom’s legs to the point that she could barely stand for any length of time. This meant changing her in the bed. She’d been incontinent for years and I thought I had a pretty good handle on things. But when she became unable to move herself and was, for lack of a better term, deadweight, an entirely different beast emerged.
“On the count of three, I’m going to roll you that way.” I pointed to the wall again.
Once again, Mom looked at me with unrelenting doubt. I smiled. During these awkward and most intimate times, she may not have understood my words, but deep down she understood the intent. It showed me that no matter how much dementia had stolen from us, the mother-daughter bond still existed.
Slipping one hand under her shoulder, and the other hand under her hip, I counted, “One. Two. Three.” Lifting, I pushed Mom onto her side.
“Oyi, oyi, oyi,” Mom grumbled.
Though, her discomfort was temporary and due to the slight movement, I cringed. The small bottle of morphine was within reach, but I had hesitated to give her any. I had such a visceral reaction when I was told Mom would be prescribed oral liquid morphine to manage her pain. It seemed like such an extreme move at this point. I told myself that my hesitation was due to the fact that she wouldn’t want to spend the rest of her days in a drug induced haze. If I were being honest with myself, it was me who didn’t want her to spend our time together sleeping.
I had to keep reminding myself that this point was extreme. Any discomfort was too much discomfort. With her verbal skills nonexistent, I had to take her pain cues visually: a wince, increase in breathing, tense muscles. Taking the bottle, I inserted the syringe, drawing it back to the dosage mark, and squirted the pain medicine inside Mom’s mouth.
I struggled over the years to hold on to her spirit, her soul, her essence. The deep-rooted intrinsic quality that made Mom who she was. Eventually, the dementia was too strong, and won out. In the end it would be the victor, but I was still in fighting mode. I needed to stop being selfish and accept that the battle needed to end.
Present
With Linus following close behind, Maine danced her way back into Mom’s bedroom, holding two refreshed glasses of wine as the smooth vocals of Michael Bublé sang, “It Had To Be You.”
I was so stressed out when Mom first went into hospice care that I’d stopped having happy hour. But as the days passed, my nerves calmed down and loosened up and I tried not to treat Mom like a fragile porcelain doll. Neither the hospice team nor I had any idea how much time Mom had left on this earth. She was the only one who could answer that question, and she wasn’t tipping her hand. So, I made the executive decision to reinstate happy hour. Mom’s Cheetos were off the list, but not her wine. I stuck the straw in the glass and held it up for Mom to take a sip.
“I’m so happy happy hour is back,” Maine said, sipping wine and swaying to the music.
I chuckled. “Yeah, it’s been too long. Mom and I needed some happy happy hour in our lives.” Facing my mom, I said, “Right?”
Letting the straw drop from her lips, Mom said in a low gravelly voice, “Right.”
Maine took a seat across the room. “Ev, how are you holding up?”
“I’m doing okay,” I blurted out the words without a single thought.
“Honestly?”
This time I paused and thought before giving my real answer. “I’m happy Mom’s home, and I get more time with her.”
“I take it you haven’t heard from Butler,” Maine said.
My head shook. “I thought for a brief moment he might consider forgiving me, but…I don’t blame him.”
“He comes into the café a lot hoping to see you. The man is miserable in his current state. He still loves you, Ev.”
“But he doesn’t trust me, and without that there’s no point.”
Maine wrinkled her nose. “It can’t end this way. In every great romance novel, there’s always a happily ever after.”
“News flash! Not everything gets resolved at the end and tied up with a pretty little bow. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go pee.”
After taking care of business, I washed my hands while looking in the mirror. Visions of Butler danced in my head, which wasn’t anything new. The more effort I put into not thinking of him, the more the thoughts occupied my mind. Like everything else with Butler, I’d never experienced this before. I was over Ben in record time. But Ben wasn’t my person, my cute nerd. Ben wasn’t Butler.
The love I had for Butler surrounded me, pulled me in, and consumed me. There was no moving on from feelings that intense. I saw his gorgeous face everywhere I looked. I fantasized about how he made me feel on a daily basis. I figured it was my penance for lying to him. I wallowed in self-pity for a few more seconds before getting back to the girls. I was just about to take a sip of wine when the doorbell rang.
Maine and I shouted in unison, “Pizza’s here!”
“Peepa,” Mom said.
I swallowed my last bit of wine, hopped out of my chair and headed to the door. Opening the front door, I was surprised to see who was standing on the porch. “You’re not Jeremy,” I said to the tall, cute girl holding my dinner.
She nervously giggled. “Hey, I’m Sandy.”
“Nice to meet you. I was concerned when I didn’t see our regular pizza guy.”
“Jeremy’s in the car. He’s training me this week.”
“First job?” I said, taking the pizza box from her.
“Yes, ma’am. Frankly, I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the week. Jeremy is so-o-o hot.”
“Are we talking about the same guy? Lanky, big head, and pale?”
“That’s him.” She grinned scrunching up her face. A short horn honk caused both of us to startle. “I better get going. I don’t want Jeremy to give me a bad grade.”
“Good luck with the job and Jeremy.”
An excited expression overtook her face, accompanied by a high-pitched squeal through a gritted-teeth grin. Sandy bounded down the steps. I was just about to close the door when I heard her talking to someone.
“Wow, you’re really…wow.” Her words were followed quickly by another giggle.
Craning my neck out the door, I aimed my gaze toward the steps. I blinked several times in disbelief. My knees weakened and I felt lightheaded seeing the love of my life walk toward me. Butler landed in front of me holding a bouquet of large sunflowers in one hand and some kind of cloth in the other.
“Hi.,” I sighed.
“Hi, Evie.”
Butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach at the sound of his voice saying my name. He looked at me without anger or resentment.
I licked my dry lips and swallowed hard. “You wanna come in?”
“Yeah, if you’ll let me.”
“Of course, I’ll let you.”
Clutching the pizza box, I stepped aside, allowing Butler to cross over the threshold. As he passed, I inhaled the scent of licorice. We stood in the front room of my childhood home staring at each other in silence. I may have appeared relatively calm on the outside, but my insides were reeling.
Butler cleared his throat, then said, “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“I’m just loving the fact that you’re here.”
“As you might remember, I’m not exactly smooth when it comes to this.” His index finger swung between us.
A slight smile was my only response. I had a feeling Butler wanted and needed to talk while I just listened. His mouth opened to speak when suddenly…
“Ev, what’s taking so long with the pizza?!” Maine shouted as she barreled around the corner, coming to a compete stop at the sight of Butler. “Oh, lookie who came here for a visit.”
The wine and lack of food had emboldened Maine. She wobbled toward us, but her target was Butler.
“Have you any idea how miserable you’ve made my best friend? Sure, she fucked up and lied about all of this,” Maine slurred slightly, flailing her arms around indicating the room. “She loves you so much. I’m talking movie love. Epic, romance novel love.”
I shoved the pizza box into her abdomen. “Maine. Go. Eat.”
Looking at me lazily, she loud whispered, “Ev, I love you.”
“Get outta here,” I snapped, then smiled to soften my harshness.
Maine gripped the box and looked up at Butler. “You be nice, Boot-ler.”
I held Butler’s gaze while Maine disappeared. “Sorry about that,” I said. “We’re having happy hour.”
“I get it.”
My tongue glided over my dry bottom lip, as I contemplated my next words. “Why are you here, Butler?”
He blew out a long low sigh. “Because I’m better with you by my side.”
A small gasp escaped my lips.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about things…about you…about us. You’re always in my head. I keep picturing you playing with your hair, or the look you get when trying to think of a smartass comeback, or the way you purse your lips when you’re thinking hard about something. There’s no getting over you for me, Evie. I’ve tried. I’ve even been working out three to four times a day.”
