Martha Shepherd lay small and slight under the taut hospital sheet, her eyes closed, an oxygen mask still covering her nose and mouth, her gray hair splayed out on the pillow as her breath rose and fell. I sat in a chair beside the hospital bed, holding her left hand. My fingers played with her wedding ring, a simple gold band she’d been wearing for over fifty years. Over fifty years . . . Was my marriage going to end after only fifteen?
I felt so sad. As if I was treading water in a huge pool of loss.
And yet . . . I was treading water. I hadn’t gone under. “The Lord is my Shepherd” . . . Hold on, strong woman of God, hold on.
Aunt Mercy had faxed my parents’ living will to the hospital. No heroic measures that would simply prolong dying, it said. I felt a strange relief. My mother’s decision, not mine. They moved my mother into a private room. No machines.
And now we wait . . .
Mabel had taken a distraught Lucy back to Manna House to take care of Dandy, leaving Carolyn and Precious to sit with me and my comatose mother. But the word must have gotten around, because Josh and Edesa Baxter showed up midafternoon, and the sweet young couple held me and we cried.
I left the room long enough to call my sons. They should know. It was Monday . . . what were the boys doing at four in the afternoon? To my huge relief, Mike Fairbanks answered the phone. He swore softly under his breath when I gave him the news. “Sure am sorry to hear this, Gabby. She was a sweet lady. But, uh, the boys aren’t here at the moment. Marlene went to pick up P. J. at lacrosse camp, and Paul’s out riding his bike—Oh, wait. I think I hear them now. Hold on . . .”
In the background I heard muffled voices, then running feet. Paul got on the phone first. “Mom! Mom! Is Grandma Martha okay? She isn’t gonna die, is she?” I heard the click of an extension pick up.
I don’t know where I found the words. “It’s a very bad stroke. The doctor says she won’t live long . . . P. J., are you there? Would you boys like to say good-bye to Grandma? She’s in a coma, so she won’t be able to respond, but you’ll know . . .”
Both boys were crying now. Trying to reassure them, I walked the phone back into the room and held it to my mother’s ear. “Mom, it’s Paul and P. J. . . .” I don’t know what they said. My mother’s fixed expression did not change. But when I took the phone back out into the hall, both boys were still crying.
“Mom! I wanna be with you,” Paul wailed.
“Me too.” P. J. sounded ten again. “I wanna say good-bye to Grandma for real.”
I could barely contain the tears. “I know. I want to be with you too. I’ll call you again real soon and let you know what’s happening, okay? Now, let me talk to Granddad Mike again.”
Mike Fairbanks must have been right there. “Gabby, have you called Philip yet?”
Philip. Was he even back in town? “No. I—I don’t want him here right now.”
“Humph. Don’t blame you. Look, let me work it out with Philip about getting the boys there when . . . you know, the funeral and everything.”
I closed the phone and leaned my forehead against the wall outside my mother’s room. Odd. Philip’s father was turning into my advocate—“Gabby!” Estelle swept down the hall, wearing a bright turquoise caftan, her loose kinky hair in an untidy topknot. “Oh, baby,” she murmured, folding me into a big hug. “I’m so sorry.” She turned. “Harry, give that basket here. This girl needs something to eat.”
Only then did I notice that a bare-domed Harry Bentley was behind her, carrying a basket that turned out to be stuffed with sandwiches and fruit. “Mr. Bentley!” I couldn’t believe he’d come. I wrapped my arms around him. “Thank you for coming,” I whispered. “You . . . you know you were my very first Chicago friend.”
“And you, Firecracker, added some pizzazz to a very dull job.” The middle-aged black man chuckled. “Not to mention that you introduced me to my lady, here.”
“Lady is right.” Estelle gave him the eye. “And don’t you forget it, mister. Now, where’s Lady Shepherd? She’s the one we came to see.” Once in the room, the large woman leaned over the bed and kissed my mother’s wrinkled cheek, her glowing cinnamon face a warm contrast to my mother’s pale skin against the stark-white pillow. “We’re all here, Gramma Shep. Lot of people who love you. And Dandy sends his love.”
Estelle straightened and shook her head at me. “If Lucy had her way, she’d be bringing that dog up in here, but Mabel put her foot down. They’ll be here soon. Now . . .” She sat on the end of the hospital bed. “Tell us some stories about your mama, Gabby. You don’t mind, do you, Martha?” She patted my mother’s foot under the covers.
The heavy spirit in the room seemed to lift. I racked my brain for memories of my mother—but once I started, it was hard to stop. “Sundays . . . Mom always got up early to put a pot roast or chicken casserole in the oven so it’d be hot and ready after church. She usually invited someone on the spur of the moment to come home with us too.”
Mr. Bentley chuckled. “Sounds like my mama. Except the guests invited themselves.”
Estelle gave him a poke. “Hush. This ain’t about your mama. Go on, Gabby. Tell us about Christmas.”
“Oh yeah . . . One time my dad wrapped up only one new slipper for Mom’s Christmas present, because only one of her old ones had a hole in it. Mom laughed so hard she got a stitch in her side! And then he made her hunt for its mate—can’t remember where he hid it, but it took her two days to find it.”
Now everyone was laughing.
“I was always bringing home pathetic stray cats and dogs—drove my dad nuts, but Mom usually stuck up for me. But seeing how much she dotes on Dandy, I realize she has a soft heart for four-legged creatures herself. Of course, that doesn’t explain the snake she let me keep—”
“Snake? Whatchu talkin’ ’bout snakes?” Lucy and Mabel had returned, and Lucy pushed herself in and parked herself in a chair on the other side of the bed. “Hey there, Miz Martha. It’s me, Lucy. Just wantcha to know, Dandy’s missin’ ya real bad, so don’t pay these people no mind. Just come on home.”
“Lucy—” I started, but Estelle gave me a leave-it-be shake of the head. That’s when I saw Jodi and Denny Baxter leaning in the doorway—Josh must have called his parents. When I started to get up to greet them, Jodi shook her head. “Go on, Gabby. We want to hear the stories.”
Mom’s breathing had slowed, each breath coming farther and farther apart. “Guess the thing I remember most about my mom,” I murmured, stroking her hand, listening to the ragged breaths, “is all the books she read to us after supper, at bedtime, on car trips—even when we were older. I was the youngest, and one winter she read all the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder—and Celeste and Honor would ‘just happen’ to hang around to hear them, too, even though they were teenagers.”
Carolyn and Precious looked at each other. “That ’splains it,” Precious said.
“Explains what?”
Carolyn pulled a dog-eared paperback from her backpack. “The book Miss Martha was trying to give me when she . . . you know . . .” The Manna House book maven choked up and couldn’t say any more.
Precious took the book from Carolyn and held it up so we could all see the title. Little House in the Big Woods. My eyes watered. I’d read a lot to my boys when they were younger. That had stopped when Philip sent them to boarding school. But, I vowed, if I got them back under my roof, I’d make sure we read aloud together, even if I had to read a Harry Potter book or—“Miz Martha!” Lucy’s voice rose in alarm. “C’mon, now, breathe!”
I rose quickly and leaned close to my mother’s face. A long silence—and then suddenly another long, slow breath.
“That’s right. C’mon!” Lucy’s wrinkled face under the purple knit hat twisted with anxiety.
The room hushed as the people who’d been family to both of us in the last few weeks seemed to hold their collective breaths. I leaned closer, my face on the pillow beside my mother’s, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Mom,” I whispered. “I love you. I love you so much . . .”
The silence grew . . . one minute . . . two . . .
But this time—nothing.
My mother had slipped away as gently as that last breath.
Midnight. The hospital waiting room was empty now except for Jodi Baxter and me. Bless them! Josh’s parents had offered to wait with me while I finished necessary paperwork with the hospital and help make phone calls, so everyone else could go home and get some sleep. Denny had taken charge of making arrangements with a reputable funeral home to pick up my mother’s body and hadn’t come back.
I played with the gold wedding ring I’d gently slipped off my mother’s hand. Even now, I could still hear the voices of our friends—our Chicago family—as they’d gathered around Mom’s bedside, held hands, and recited the Lord’s Prayer. Then Estelle began to sing “Amazing Grace.” The impromptu chorus of male and female voices joining in had been tender and sweet. My mother would have loved it.
And then they’d left quietly—all except Lucy, who’d stormed out during the song, anger masking her grief.
My cell phone rang, and I snatched it. “Celeste? . . . Oh, thank God Aunt Mercy got through to you! . . . Yes, she’s gone, about two hours ago . . . I’m still here at the hospital . . . I know, I know . . .” We cried together on the phone. I tried to imagine my sister, ten years older than me, whom I hadn’t seen since our father’s funeral two years ago. All three of us girls had cried together then, holding each other, united for the moment in our grief—Celeste’s thick brunette hair pulled back, hazel eyes and freckled nose both red and running . . . Honor’s bare-faced California tan under her bleached-blonde shag, looking forlorn . . . and me, the baby, feeling like Little Orphan Annie—and I don’t mean the hair—once Daddy’s funeral was over and we’d gone our separate ways.
Now it was our mom. After wiping my face with the back of my hand, I tried to answer Celeste’s questions as best I could, but I felt on the defensive. After all, I was the one who was here, trying to handle everything by myself. I tried to make her understand it was a massive hemorrhage . . . The doctor had given no hope of recovery, even if they put her on life support . . . Yes, I had power of attorney, but Mom’s living will was clear . . . Of course Celeste was the oldest, but it wasn’t exactly easy getting in touch with her in the middle of Denali National Forest . . .
Finally we got to “what next.” “Yes, I know there’s a plot beside Daddy back in Minot, but . . . All right. Yes . . . Call me tomorrow, please? Maybe we can get on a three-way with Aunt Mercy to decide what to do. And try to get hold of Honor, okay? It’s already after midnight here.”
As I closed the phone, Jodi handed me a tissue and I blew my nose. I looked up at her through bleary eyes and sighed. “I don’t know what to do, Jodi. I’m sure my mom would want to be buried beside my dad, and we already have a plot in Minot. But how do I get her there?” I ran my fingers through my tangled mop. “I know I can’t afford to bury her in Chicago.”
Jodi pulled a chair next to mine and took both my hands. “Gabby, you’ve done everything you can do tonight. Come home with us. Get some sleep. I’ll take you back to Manna House in the morning. I’ll keep the car, and we can do any running around you need to do. Okay?”
I nodded wearily and stood up. Suddenly I felt more exhausted than I’d ever felt in my life. Jodi took my arm and I let her lead me through the hallways and down the elevator until we found Denny, who said the funeral home would be there shortly. I could go tomorrow to pick out a casket and make arrangements.
Denny went for the car and picked us up at the main entrance of the hospital. Thankfully, Jodi and Denny didn’t try to talk as he drove their minivan the half mile to Lake Shore Drive and turned north. I sat slumped in the seat behind Denny, gazing out the window in a half stupor. A full moon shone over the lake on the right, bathing the trees and parks along the Drive in silver gossamer, competing with the bright neon lights of the city on our left.
The lakeshore was beautiful, even at night. In spite of everything that had happened, Chicago was growing on me. Maybe when I got the apartment and the boys had settled in, we could explore the city and its wonders—
The apartment. I stiffened, coming wide awake like a jolt of caffeine as streetlights flashed by. Mom and I had been planning to share the apartment, pooling our money! That was the only way I could afford it. But now . . .
Oh God! What am I going to do now? New tears sprang to my eyes, and I started to weep silently, feeling hope drain out of my spirit. It wasn’t just being homeless again, forced to stay longer at Manna House—which was about as good a place as an emergency shelter could be, even if I did have to sleep in a bunk room with four to six other women.
It was my sons.
Without an apartment where I could provide a home for them, my petition for guardianship would go down the toilet.