A Mother's Goodbye

A couple of days later I went to Dr. Stein and asked what I’m sure every terminal patient asks for at some point or another – more time.

‘I’m not asking for a miracle,’ I told her, trying to smile. ‘I just want a little more time. Weeks, even. Anything to spin it out a bit longer, because every day I’m feeling worse. Weaker.’

Dr. Stein looked shaken. She’s taken my case hard, I think, maybe because our sons are the same age. ‘I wish I had that power, Grace, I really do…’

‘There must be some experimental drug,’ I persisted. A few months ago I thought I didn’t want to go down that route of desperate hope. Now I know I do. Anything, anything, to let me have a little longer with Isaac. ‘You mentioned Kadcyla…’

‘Yes.’ Dr. Stein took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘If your cancer hadn’t been so aggressive and spread so quickly, I might have prescribed it. But at this stage, Grace…’ She looked at me sadly. ‘I can manage your pain, and make you as comfortable as possible. Quality of life is an important part of palliative care.’

I looked away, hating her words, knowing they were true. I felt a sudden spurt of rage, surprising me. I’d taken this all on the chin, more or less, but right then I wanted to hurt things. I wanted to scream and rage and shake Dr. Stein’s shoulders, asking her why I should have this happen to me. Haven’t I lost enough in life?

‘I’m sorry, Grace.’

I swallowed it all down, knowing I didn’t have the luxury of indulging in that kind of anger. I certainly didn’t have the energy. ‘Thanks,’ I murmured, and then I waited, feeling numb inside, while she wrote a bunch of prescriptions to help with the ever-increasing pain.

Three weeks is not very long. Three weeks slips away like a moment, a second, when it’s all you have. Heather came a lot, and so did Stella and Eric, with Will and Jamie. I told Isaac he would live with Stella and Eric when I was gone, and he bit his lip and nodded, trying hard not to cry. I wished he would cry, because then I could comfort him. Instead it will be Stella’s arms around him, Stella’s shoulders that will feel the weight of his cheek, the dampness of his tears.

One day in mid-September, about a week after Isaac started school, when I am feeling so weak that I end up needing to use the wheelchair Dr. Stein had ordered for me to go outside, Heather, Stella, Isaac, and I all head to the Central Park reservoir. It’s a gorgeous day, the sky hard and bright and blue, the leaves only just starting to turn, glimpses of crimson and yellow amidst the green. Isaac skips ahead with Stella, light-hearted for once, while Heather pushes me and I try to soak it all in, right into my skin, because everything about that moment is perfect.

The air smells clean. The trees are in technicolor. I hear Isaac laugh. We walk all the way around the reservoir, the water sparkling under the sunlight as if it is strewn with diamonds. I doze off and on as Heather pushes me, the wheelchair jolting over the rougher parts of the path, but it doesn’t bother me. Nothing does, that day. I think some part of me knows it is my last, the last day when I can feel like I am still living, and not just dying.

We don’t talk, even when I’m awake, because there is no need for words or sentiment, not when there is sunlight and breeze and the sound of Isaac’s laughter. Those are all the things I need.

Heather watches Stella and Isaac together, and I see her smile. It feels like a blessing. It all feels good and right in a way I don’t think any of us ever expected.

That night, I have a seizure. I don’t know that’s what I’m having, not at the time. It’s Isaac who finds me, who stares at me in terror as I jerk and twitch, who has the presence of mind to call 911.

I don’t remember the rest – the blur of paramedics, sirens, a hospital room. My first thought when I come to is for my son. I try to jerk upright, but my body feels as if it is tied to hundred-pound weights. Moving is near impossible.

‘Isaac,’ I gasp out, and then, like a miracle, Heather is there. She looks tired and pale and strained, but she smiles and touches my hand. I grab onto her, or try to. I feel so powerless, like I’m drowning in a bed. ‘Isaac,’ I say again.

‘He’s at Stella’s, Grace. He’s fine.’

‘How…’

‘The paramedics called Stella, and Stella called me. The numbers were written by your bed.’

I’d forgotten I’d done that, just in case. I’d thought I was being so thorough, but I had no idea. No idea whatsoever what it would feel like when the time came, when everything felt as if it was screaming to a halt and careening off a cliff at the same time.

I close my eyes, my grip relaxing on Heather’s. ‘What happened?’ I ask after a few moments. My voice is thin, like a thread.

‘You had a seizure. The tumor is putting pressure on your brain, which is what caused it.’

‘You’ve seen Dr. Stein?’

‘Yes, she came by.’ Heather sits in the chair next to my bed, her hand still touching mine. ‘Would you like to see Isaac?’

The way she says it, her voice so soft and sad, floods me with fear. I turn to look at her. ‘Is this it?’ I ask in disbelief. Despite everything, I can’t believe I’m here. Already. ‘Is this the end?’

Heather’s eyes fill with tears. ‘Oh Grace, I don’t know. But Dr. Stein seemed… serious. She’s coming back soon.’

‘Okay.’ My mind is spinning. I look out the window, and all I can see is sky, a whitish-gray. A cloudy day in September, and it might be my last day on earth. Does it happen that fast? I remember that last endless week with my father, the long, agonizing days as we both waited for him to die. Is that all that’s left for me, the waiting?

‘I want to see Isaac,’ I tell Heather. ‘Before…’ She nods. She understands.

Dr. S

tein comes by a little while later, I don’t know how long. Minutes and hours pass with equal speed for me now, everything dazed and distant. Dr. Stein sits by my bed, where Heather sat, and smiles at me, her face full of sympathy and sadness.