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I HATE MONDAYS AT WORK. We close early on Saturdays and don’t open on Sundays, so the neighborhood within walking distance shows up en mass for their cigarettes, snacks, and beer every Monday morning.
It doesn’t help that I barely slept on my lumpy, ancient mattress last night. After the conversation with Dr. Roberts, I read the pamphlet forwards and backwards ten different times, trying to absorb the monumental decision I have to make. The decision is obvious; I just don’t want to make it.
At one point, I told myself that if I didn’t put my mother in hospice, then she won’t die. But of course that makes no sense. I was just being stubborn and childish. I know this isn’t about me; it’s about the mother that sacrificed everything for me. I need to do what’s right for her; not me.
When she found herself pregnant and single at forty-two after a one-night stand at a banking conference she attended in New York City, she didn’t give up on me. She worked hard to make sure we both had what we needed. And she was successful. I wanted for nothing growing up. Mom was a Finance Manager at a national bank. We were never without.
I grew up without a father, but I never noticed. She was at all my meets in gymnastics, at all the football games I cheered at, and every assembly my school put on. My mom has always been my biggest fan. She was proud of me and I love her for everything she’s ever done for me, even when I asked about my father. She helped me try to track him down. It took a couple of years, but we were able to find him. But he had died in a car accident years before, so I never met him.
I don’t want to be the adult in this decision now. I want my mom to tell me what to do. And I cried most of the night last night knowing she’s not going to suddenly wake up and tell me it’s all going to be okay. I’m twenty-eight years old and I want my mom, but I’m alone.
“You okay, Mallory?” Ralph’s carrying a box of snack-sized chips to hang on the display in the front of the store.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I had a hard time sleeping last night. Here, let me help you with that.” I grab the box and place it on the counter. I take the box cutter we keep behind the register and open the box, careful to not slice the bags of chips on the inside. “Here you go.”
“Thank you, Mallory.” Ralph has worry in his voice. “You want to go home? It’s okay. I can handle the register.” Ralph is in his early seventies but thinks he’s still in his fifties. With a balding head and worry wrinkles in the corner of his eyes, Ralph is up before the sun every day, works the store six days a week, and treats his wife of over forty years like she’s a queen.
No, he can’t run the register. He’s restocking the store and hates anything electronic. He can’t do both and I’d never leave him or his wife, Edie, here working alone. It’s not a safe neighborhood for two elderly people to run the store. I put a smile on my face and open my arms wide. “And leave all of this? Never.”
Ralph laughs, “You’re a good girl, Mallory.”
The bell over the door rings, letting us know someone is entering the store. I go behind the register and make eye contact with the three guys. I’m protective of my elderly bosses and making eye contact with the patrons shows them that Ralph and Edie aren’t alone in the store and therefore not as easy of a target as they might think.
But these guys don’t look like the normal thugs that try to scope out the store to steal beer or worse. They’re older. Bigger. And for some reason, the second guy makes my skin crawl and my hair on the back of my neck stand. “Can I help you find something?” I offer to them.
“No.” Guy number one answers as he grabs a case of beer.
In the corner of my eye, I see Ralph standing at the entrance to the back room. It may look like he’s hiding, but what you can’t see is the shotgun that’s hanging on the wall just inside that room, and I’m sure he’s got his hand on it.
Guy number two and three come to the register. Number three demands cigarettes. “Give me a carton of Marlboro’s and the beer.” He threw three twenties on the counter and I quickly ring them up.
Guy number two just stares at me and it’s creeping me out. I hand guy number three the change and the cigarettes. He and guy number one head out of the store, but number two just stands at the counter and stares at me like he’s trying to place me. I avoid eye contact now. I don’t know him, but he’s making me feel very self-conscious.
“Dude. Let’s roll.” Guy number one says from the front door. He waits a beat and then walks away.
Once he’s out of the store, I take a deep breath and sit on the stool that we keep behind the counter. Ralph walks up to the counter. “What was that all about?”
“I do not know.”
“Do you know him?”
I shake my head, “Nope.” I’ve never told Ralph or Edie about my past with Patrick. The less people know about my past and the farther away from it in time I get, the better for everyone involved.
Ralph shakes his head. “That was weird. I’m getting too old to keep doing this.” He mumbles under his breath as he heads back to the snack-sized chips.
I take a few deep breaths to calm my heart just as the store phone rings. I pick up, “Ralph’s Countrytime Grocery, this is Mallory. How can I help you?”
“Mallory, it’s Dr. Roberts. Is this a good time to talk?”
“Is my mother okay?” Suddenly, my heart is racing again.
“Yes, she’s fine right now. But we need to make a decision on hospice. Last night, the nurse discovered your mother had a fever. After some tests today, we’ve found that she’s got a bacterial infection from a urinary tract infection. We’ve placed her on antibiotics, but in Alzheimer’s patients, infections like these tend to progress and not go away. We’re doing what we can to prevent it from spreading, but in patients like your mother, it’s an uphill and often unsuccessful battle. I believe it’s time to consider hospice, Mallory. I’m sorry.”
The tears are running down my face, and I don’t even attempt to hide them. “Is she in pain?”
“No. We’ve given her pain killers to combat any pain she may have been having.”
I’m looking out the window to the streets of Riviera Beach, but I’m not actually seeing anything. I feel Ralph come up behind me and point towards the back room. I take the cordless phone with me and go back to hide.
“Are you still there, Mallory?”
“Yes.”
“Hospice will make sure your mom is comfortable. The nurses are amazing. It’s time. I promised you a year ago that I’d tell you when it’s time. That time’s come.”
I nod, even though I know Dr. Roberts can’t see me. “I appreciate it, Dr. Roberts. What do I need to do?”
“With the verbal agreement to place your mom in hospice, I’ll get the paperwork started on my end and have her moved immediately, but I’ll need you to come in this week to sign the paperwork. Will you be able to do that?”
“Yeah. I can make it happen.” The tears are soaking the old desk calendar from five years ago on Ralph’s desk.
“It’s the right thing to do, Mallory.”
“I know, and you’ve been amazing, Doctor. Thank you for that.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’ll still follow your mom’s case. I promise.”
“I appreciate it. Thank you.”
The phone goes silent for a long moment, but he speaks up, “I can’t tell you that it’s all going to be okay, because the next few months are going to be rough for you, Mallory, but if you need anything, you can call me here at the home or on my cell. The nurses have the number.”
“I appreciate it. Thank you.” I repeat. “I’ll see you later this week.”
“See you then.” He hangs up and I drop my head on my arms on the desk and I cry like I’ve never cried before.