5 Days in April - Day 2

April 10, 1998

I heard Ruby moving around at 4:00 in the morning. She was flying back to Nashville for the weekend to put some of her things in storage. Bill Eutsler was to pick her up at 5:00 and drive her 45 miles to Florence for a 6:15 flight. Ruby had been going through a rough time even before mom got sick. She had been dividing her time between her and Harold's farm in College Grove and a friend's house in Nashville. Like the song says, it's hard living on those in betweens. I had been very worried about Ruby during the past year. Now her friend had told her she needed to move her stuff out to make room for a new roommate. So on top of everything else, Ruby was at least partially homeless. And she wasn't happy about it one bit.

Harold is a fine man and a brother to me. He was the best man at my wedding and we had always gotten along well. He was handling Ruby's uncertainty about their relationship like a gentleman. He was supportive of Ruby while she worked things out, and rarely if ever spoke harshly to her. Perhaps because he knew that some of their problems were of his doing. He had started his own company many years ago. Ruby had been, at least nominally, a part of it since the beginning. And over time it grew into a successful and profitable business. But during the last few years Ruby's role had diminished to not much more than a secretary. When Harold brought in an outsider to run their international operations, a job Ruby believed should have been given to her, she quit. A few months later she moved out of their house. It was a complicated situation, and I felt for both of them.

I had met Erin, Ruby's recalcitrant roomate, a few times and liked her well enough. But I thought it was unbelieveable that she would kick my sister out while she was at home caring for her dying mother. As a result. it would be a tough weekend for my sister who I loved very much. Things were tough for everybody these days. But somehow I felt like they were tougher than they had to be for Ruby. One day I would figure who was really to blame for all of Ruby's troubles. And I would make sure every one of those troubles came home to roost. But that was for another day. At 7:30 a.m. mom awoke with a hurting back and an aching heart.

I helped her up and got her dressed and we came downstairs. Ruby had left a sweet note on the kitchen table, telling us she'd miss us and that she would see us on Sunday. Mom was not feeling well at all, so I gave her some pain pills. Lately, she had been waking up very sad. Sometimes she said it was physical pain. We knew it was at least half emotional pain. After the pills took effect and she had a few smokes, she slowly started to feel a little better. I made her some eggs and toast and she dutifully ate about ½ of it. Afterwards, she sat down on the back porch to play solitaire while I went upstairs to take a quick shower. Mom wanted to go to Walmart to get some wash cloths and a toy for her cat, Plato. Since we needed all kind of supplies, I figured we could stop by the grocery while we were out. When I came downstairs mom was still on the porch, so I walked out there and sat down beside her. "When something happens to me, you have to take care of Ruby," she said, looking at me with her one good eye. "I am worried about her. She has been crying a lot and I think she's in pretty bad shape." I rubbed mom's shoulders. "I'm going to try to get her to move to Houston, mom." "I know, she told me. But she doesn't want to 'cause she thinks she'll be a burden to you and Raina." "She won't be a burden," I said, "both of us really want her to move there, and we'll surely appreciate the help with the baby." "Just take care of her," mom said, "I always thought I'd need her to take care of you. The tables have turned." Mom and Ruby had taken care of me my whole life. If I could take care of them a little, it would even up my account a little and make me feel better about things. "I promise I'll take care of her. We'll take care of each other." Mom thought for a few seconds and decided to take on a tough issue: "I think she should have stayed with Harold. I told her that I think Erin is taking advantage of her state of mind." Mom was smarter than most people, even with 60 mg of Morphine in her bloodstream. "Well, mom, to tell you the truth, I do too. But Ruby has to find her own happiness and we may be wrong." Mom dropped the issue as abruptly as she had brought it up. "Let's go do our chores." So we hobbled out to the car and headed for Walmart.

Mom had always hated shopping. I inherited my kamikaze shopping approach from her. If you need something, go to the closest store that has it, buy the first one you see and get the hell out of there. But now that she was getting out so much less, she didn't seem to mind shopping. I rolled her around Walmart and we looked at all kinds of things. We ended up with 4 wash cloths, 2 towels, a catnip mouse for Plato, some Brillo Pads and candy and treats mom wanted so she could make an Easter basket for Ruby. We always had great Easter baskets growing up. And even as young adults, we always looked forward to our Easter baskets. I had a plastic Bugs Bunny in my office that came in an Easter basket many years ago. He is soft plastic, with wire inside like Gumby and Pokey. He has a carrot in one hand and if you position him just right, it looks like he is committing a lewd act. He provided more than a few laughs to first time visitors to my office.

After stashing our stuff in the trunk, I put mom in the front seat, made her promise not to get out no matter what and walked to the Food Lion, which was in the same strip center as Walmart. Thirty minutes later, the trunk was full of groceries and we were headed home. Mom came through the front door and made a beeline for her cigarettes. We put the groceries away and fixed lunch. Pimento cheese sandwich for her; barbecue for me. While we ate, Plato had a ball with his toy. He liked it a lot, and that was good. After lunch, mom wanted to put the wash cloths and towels away, so we headed upstairs. Plato had used his litter box, which was in mom's room near her bathroom. And it stank to high heaven up there. I scooped the mess and put it in one of the empty Walmart bags. As I was walking toward the stairs to take the bag out to the trash I held it up and said, "look, mom, a plastic bag full of cat shit." She laughed. A genuine laugh. Normally, such language would draw a quick reprimand from her. But in her current state she just laughed. It was good to see that smile I missed so much. I hoped it would not be the last time I saw it. When I got back from taking the cat shit out, mom was headed back out to the porch. More solitaire. "You know, nothing interests me at all these days," she said, more matter of factly than wistfully. "Yeah, I know what you mean," I replied, "nothing interests me either."

Mom fell asleep in her chair on the porch, a deck of cards in her hand. While she was asleep, the doorbell rang. It was her friend Ruth Ingram. Ruth went out on the back porch, mom woke up and they had a good visit. Nothing poetic. Just conversation between old friends. The kind of thing that in a better world mom would look forward to for many years to come. Mom was asking Ruth how she was doing. How her children were and which of them were coming for Easter. When she left, Ruth looked at me and asked if I was OK. I told her I was doing all right I supposed, all things considered, which is a polite southern way to say you're not doing good at all. Ruth teared up and said, "I'm thinking about all of you." "I know and we appreciate it," I replied. She waved and walked out quickly, fighting tears. Mom played cards for a while longer and fell asleep again. After 45 minutes or so I woke her and asked her to lie on the couch so her neck could get some rest. She didn't want to sleep. "I sleep all the time," she said, "I don't want to sleep right now." I guess when you don't have much time left, every nap is an opportunity wasted. An opportunity to watch the hummingbirds, to pet the cat, to be with the ones you love, to wish it wasn't so. Mom walked around the house with her walker, waging a valiant battle with the sandman while I checked my email and flipped through the paper.

A little later the doorbell rang again and it was the florist. A lovely arrangement of carnations and daisies from Ruby. From 500 miles away, she was sending her love out to her mother. After a few minutes, mom decided to water the plants on the porch. She also watered the new arrangement, though it didn't need it. Mom isn't much for talking about her emotions, another trait I inherited from her, but it was clear the flowers touched her. We took a ride down to the river to see how high it was and then out to Chatham Hill to visit daddy's grave. On the way back, we noticed a rabies clinic had set up outside the old Health Center. We hurried home and picked up Plato. Together the three of us rode back to the clinic, where Plato got a shot and a shiny new rabies tag. The vet who gave the shots had been our family vet many, many years ago. He had moved to Fort Mill and after the other vet died, Cheraw had been without one. But he came back once or twice a year for rabies clinics. I recognized him, but I was sure he had no idea who I was. I had been just a boy the last time I saw him. I felt like an old man now. A lot had happened since we saw each other last. Some good, a lot bad. But there we were after thirty years. Same shot, new pet. Price: $3.00.

When we pulled up to the Health Center there was an old pickup truck full of coonhounds parked by the curb. There were half a dozen hounds in the back, chained to a toolbox and raising hell. On the grass beside the truck was another hound. But he wasn't raising hell. He was dead. Just lying there, like he was sleeping with one leg in the air. After the vet had given the other coonhounds their shots, the coon hunter walked over to the table where you signed up for the shots and picked up his licenses and tags. Then he walked over, picked up the dead dog like a sack of potatoes and tossed it into the back of the truck, sending the surviving hounds into complete hysteria. I could relate to their reaction. It was probably a universal reaction to the death of someone you were close to. If mom hadn't been with me, I'm, sure I would have let out a howl too. "What happened to him?" I asked the vet, nodding toward the pickup truck. "Choked," he replied without elaboration. "Well I suppose that will make a lot of raccoons happy," I said. The vet that cared for my daddy's dogs thirty years ago stared at me blankly as he gave Plato his shot. Plato stared at the vet blankly as he got his shot, probably thankful he was born a house cat and not a coonhound.

After we got home, I took a nap for about an hour while mom dozed and played solitaire. I got up around 7:30 and fixed some country ham and cheese grits for supper. Mom ate plenty of grits and only a little ham, commenting that it was too salty. "It's good you think that," I said, "it means your taste buds are coming back." Mom had complained that everything tasted the same after her first round of radiation. "Yeah I think they are, a little," she said. After she was finished, I took the scraps and threw them in the backyard for the wild animals to eat.

For years mom had fed the birds in her backyard, which abuts a thick woods. She had all kinds of birds back there, from doves to finches to hummingbirds, and everyone in town loved to sit on the back porch and watch the birds. A few years ago, she started leaving scraps in the back yard for the wild animals. At first she put the food back by the tree line, then slowly moved it closer to the house. Now at night you could see possums, raccoons, and foxes eating practically on the back steps. It is a neat deal to see, and mom was adamant about feeding her animals, even when she felt too sick to feed herself.

Sometime after supper Ruby called. She talked briefly to me and to mom. Mom had said several times that she hoped Ruby would call so she would know Ruby was OK. Ruby sounded good, which was a relief to mom. She and I talked about how things were going in Nashville. It sounded like things were looking up, but I had heard that before. My sweet sister was on a roller coaster ride to God knows where. She wasn't driving, but she was going along for the ride. And she either couldn't or didn't want to get off. I hoped it was didn't want to. Definitely the lesser of two evils. After we hung up, mom was in much better spirits. She knew her daughter was OK. And that was good.

We played two games of spite and malice, a card game similar to double solitaire that we had all played when we were kids. I had found the rules on the internet and we had relearned the game in the past few weeks. The object was to play all of your pile of cards on the center stacks, with cards played in ascending order, while trying to keep your opponent from playing his. Mom really enjoyed playing cards, so we tried to play with her as much as we could. And we enjoyed it too. Our family had always been big on parlor games. And we all had our specialties. Ruby was unbeatable in trivia games and anything with a literary flavor. Mom always won in Scrabble and cards, and I was good at Boggle and Pictionary. Mom won the first game convincingly. I came back and won the second. I knew, though, that if mom were well, I wouldn't stand a chance. Even in her medicated state she won over half the time. She had difficulty picking up the cards and at one point said, "I used to be so good with my fingers, and now look at me. I can barely pick up a stupid card." I stroked her hand and said "mammy, those fingers have done so much for other people, it's OK to let others return the favor." I picked up the card she wanted and handed it to her.

While we were playing cards, mom chain-smoked Marlboro Lights. I was surprised at how much she smoked. It seemed like a lot, even for her. Either I had badly misjudged how much she had historically smoked, or she was in smoking overdrive. "Mom, why are you chain smoking?" I asked her. No response, though I knew she heard me. "Mom, you're smoking too much. I'm not fussing at you, but you are." "OK, I know," she mumbled. That conversation was going nowhere and neither were her cigarettes.

By the time we finished the second game, it was after midnight. Mom asked for the paper and read the headlines for a minute. Then she shuffled upstairs to get ready for bed. When she came out of the bathroom after brushing her teeth, Plato was already in the bed, lying in his spot right beside where she usually slept. Mom laboriously climbed into bed and quickly fell asleep. Her breaths came hard and loud again. She sounded very congested and coughed a lot. Her cough reminded me of times when you try to clear your throat but can't. Only worse. Much worse. I knew that wasn't a good sign. I also knew that the 15 or so cigarettes she had smoked since the sun went down weren't helping.

She slept fitfully through the night, only getting up once to go to the bathroom. Her breathing was rough and wet throughout the night. At least, I hoped, she was getting some rest. Since she hated to sleep during the day, nights were her only chance to get the rest her body needed to support her and the cancer within her. Again, I wished for her to have happy dreams. By the sound of her moans, I could tell she didn't.


© 1998 Kent Newsome