I stared at the document on the kitchen table.
LIVING WILL OF TARA LOUISE LAFONTISEE
DIRECTIVE TO PHYSICIANS
DECLARATION
Declaration made this 20TH day of OCTOBER. I, Tara Louise Lafontisee, being of sound mind, willfully and voluntarily make known my desire that my dying shall not be artificially prolonged under the circumstances set forth below and do hereby declare:
“What the fuck?” My throat tightened. I glanced toward the front room, but everyone was asleep. Even though it was Monday, no one had school, so no one stirred before nine. It was October, which meant one thing: hunting. Wyoming loved extending weekends because Wyomingites loved hunting.
My flight was scheduled for late afternoon, but I woke early to get a jump on the homework I’d put off so I wouldn’t return to Ohio with any regret. Now as I stared at the stack of legal-sized papers on the table beside a note from my mom, regret was all I felt.
Guys, if you have any questions, just ask.
– Mom.
If I have any questions? How ’bout why? Why did you have this drafted?
Instead, I continued reading.
- If at any time I should have an incurable injury, disease, or other illness certified to be a terminal condition by two (2) physicians who have personally examined me, one (1) of whom shall be my attending physician, and the physicians have determined that my death will occur whether or not life-sustaining procedures are utilized and where the application of life-sustaining procedures would serve only to artificially prolong the dying process, I direct that such procedures are to be withheld or withdrawn, including hydration and nutrition, and that I be permitted to die naturally with only the administration of medication or the performance of any medical procedure deemed necessary to provide me with comfort care and to alleviate pain.
Nope. Tears threatened to spill down my face, and I didn’t care. Why? She didn’t. She doesn’t want life-sustaining procedures? Who does that?
She’s given up.
I lowered my head, and all the losses and hurt I’d kept so carefully hidden erupted inside me.
I punched the table with my fist. It stung but not enough. Then I pounded the table until my knuckles bled and my hand was numb. But the pain was still there.
“Come on, Mom. I need you to fight.”
My cries went unheard. The truth was right in front of me.
2. If in spite of this declaration, I am comatose, incompetent, or otherwise mentally or physically incapable of communication, or otherwise unable to make treatment decisions for myself, I hereby designate my sister, Serena Ann Lafontisee, to make treatment decisions for me, in accordance with my Living Will Declaration. I have discussed my wishes concerning terminal care with this person, and I trust her judgment on my behalf.
3. In the absence of my ability to give directions regarding the use of life-sustaining procedures, it is my intention that this declaration shall be honored by my family and physician(s) and agent as the final expression of my legal right to refuse medical or surgical treatment and accept the consequences from this refusal. I understand the full import of this declaration, and I am emotionally and mentally competent to make this declaration.
4. If this declaration is to be carried out, I direct that before any life support systems are discontinued, all viable body organs that can be used as transplants in order to prolong the life of another or to replace the body part of another be removed and donated to the appropriate persons or agencies.
5. This declaration shall be in full effect until it is revoked.
The document was signed and notarized.
No. She wouldn’t do that. My mom wouldn’t have discussed her wishes concerning terminal care without telling us first. But she had. My aunt knew what she wanted. But in the likely event that my aunt, who lived in Paris, was absent, my mom wanted her family—her children—to honor her intentions against the use of life-sustaining procedures.
But when it came down to it, the child she expected to honor her wishes wasn’t Branson, Carson, or Jack. It was me. As the oldest, if even by a minute, my role was solidified. She expected me to tell the doctors to stop trying to save her life.
No. I won’t. I will not be the person who pulls the plug on my mother’s life. And it pissed me off that she thought I would. Or worse, that I could.
Doesn’t she know I would be taking two lives? Hers and mine? Doesn’t she care?
I hit my fist against the wall that separated the dining room from her bedroom. I hit the wall again, hoping I’d punch a hole into her room. But I didn’t, and there was no response from her. No surprise. My mom had enough painkillers in her bathroom to euthanize a horse. Maybe that was the way to do it. Just check the fuck out. She had, so why not me?
My cell phone buzzed in my jeans pocket. I quickly grabbed it and muted the volume. Jack was still sleeping; no reason to have my little brother wake up to this.
I glanced at my phone. A text from Hannah surfaced on the screen.
Where’d u go?
Home.
When I didn’t text back, another message appeared.
Wat happened 2 u?
What didn’t happen?
I thumbed the screen to my airline app and searched for an earlier flight. There wasn’t anything or anyone here for me, not anymore. I charged my credit card the difference, stuffed my books in my backpack, and texted Hannah.
Ever eat @ an airport?
A laughing emoticon appeared.
Good. Then it's a d8. Meet me @ hopkins international @ noon.
I ripped a sticky note from the counter and intended to let my mom know how fucked up it was to leave what amounted to her goodbye letter on the table. I grabbed a pen and stared at her directive to her physician. The hurt felt wider than the square-shaped paper. Besides, what would I say? Please don’t die? Start fighting? Don’t leave me?
I couldn’t swallow. The pain was too great. Maybe this was my penance. I couldn’t begin to count all the times I’d let my mom down and disappointed her. Or all the times she had been there for me. The scales weren’t nearly balanced.
I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt and wrote what she needed from me. Really the only thing I could give her.
Ma, I’ll do it.
I held the pen and stared at the words. It’s not enough. She’s done everything for me.
I won’t let you down. I promise. Love you, Aaron.
I pressed my hands against my eyes to stop the crying, but it didn’t work. Mom. Please. She filled a space in my heart that was as tender as it got and bruised just as easily. The ache of losing her went directly to that space, and I felt lost. Alone. It was why I’d hopped on a plane and came home. Being home was supposed to fill the void. When did that stop?
I gently placed my note on top of her living will, carefully folded the document in thirds, and tucked it inside her purse. There was no need for Branson, Carson, or Jack to find it. Her wishes were mine to bear.