Taz
“Is that how people wear their hair in Africa?”
I try not to show my surprise at Sofie’s unsolicited question.
Beyond finding her perched on the edge of the couch that one morning, I haven’t had much interaction with my niece. Sure, she’s spoken to me, mostly monosyllabic answers to mundane day-to-day questions—like what she wants to drink with dinner, or if she has any dirty laundry that needs washing—but little more than that.
“Not necessarily. Historically dreadlocks were worn in many cultures all over the world. I read somewhere, even the Vikings wore their hair in dreads. Every culture has their own reason behind them. For me it was just convenience. In my work, my long hair tended to get in the way, but I wasn’t ready to cut it all off. A friend offered to twist my hair into dreadlocks.” I hide a smile at seeing her interest piqued by my little history lesson. “Grab me the paper towels?”
She does as I ask and I dump the blueberries I’ve been rinsing under the tap on a few sheets on the counter.
“What are you making with those?”
“I’m going to freeze them. Did you know blueberries are your mom’s favorite?” I sneak a glance and catch her nod. “She’s is not very hungry with that medicine she gets. It also makes her mouth really dry. I thought if we froze the berries, she would at least get a taste of her favorite food and the cold would feel good in her mouth.”
Sofie sidles up to me at the counter and helps me spread the berries onto a baking sheet. “I think she’ll like it,” she shares in a soft voice when I slide the tray in the freezer.
“I hope so.”
I clean up the counter and wash my hands at the sink when Sofie speaks again.
“Why is grandma mad at you?”
From the mouths of babes.
My eyes are automatically drawn in the direction of the living room, where I know my parents are holding vigil by Nicky’s bedside. They showed up after their weekly trek to the United Methodist Church in town. When Rafe took Spencer to get some groceries and Chantal headed upstairs to give everyone some space, I opted for the kitchen.
“That’s not an easy question. First of all I think Grandma is upset because your mom is sick and she can’t help her. I think we all feel like that. As to why she’s upset with me: maybe because I haven’t been home in a long time.”
I stifle a relieved sigh when Sofie seems to accept my answer without questioning further. I feel like I’ve just navigated a minefield. Parenting is apparently not for the weak of heart.
Before she has a chance to pelt me with the next difficult question, her dad and brother walk in the back door, loaded down with bags and bags of groceries.
“Did you guys leave anything on the shelves?”
Spencer giggles when I take the two heavy bags he dragged inside from his hands.
“We decided to stock up. Didn’t we, buddy?” Rafe ruffles his son’s hair and darts a grin in my direction. I almost drop the jar of peanut butter at the impact of it.
Mom walking in is for once a welcome distraction.
“Good Lord, what did you all get?” she asks.
“Enough so we won’t run out for a while.”
Any tension between Mom and Rafe after their run-in—over me—last night seems to have dissipated. I’m relieved. The last thing Nicky needs is more discontent at her bedside.
“What would you guys like for dinner?” Mom asks.
I’d planned to do soup and sandwiches for an easy meal, but I’m not about to stop my mother if she wants to do the cooking instead.
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Spencer announces at the same time his sister blurts out, “Pizza!”
“Why don’t we do spaghetti tonight, and save the pizza for a day nobody feels like cooking,” Mom diplomatically intervenes. “Maybe we can order from Nando’s and get some of those cinnamon sticks they have for dessert?”
“Taz?” I look up to find Chantal sticking her head around the door. “I could use a hand.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, following her out into the hallway.
“Your sister had an accident. If we do it together we can get her cleaned up in no time.”
Dad’s sitting on the edge of the couch, looking a little uncomfortable when we walk in.
“Hey, Dad, do you mind if I help you into the kitchen for a bit? Chantal wants to check on Nicky real quick.”
His responding nod is almost grateful.
I grab his walker, help him up, and guide him down the hall. Rafe must’ve been watching the door because he moves quickly toward us. “Keep everyone here for bit?” I ask quietly. “We need to change the bed.”
“Sure,” he whispers before turning to my father. “Come on, Dad. Let’s get you a drink. It’s about that time.”
I hear Mom asking what’s going on, but I leave it to Rafe to answer.
“I’m sorry,” Nicky apologizes when I walk in. “I was too late.”
“Hush.” I quickly take up position on the other side of her bed, and without wasting any more words, we quickly deal with her wet bedding and nightie.
“It’s up to you,” Chantal suggests when Nicky is cleaned up, “but I brought a catheter. It would take me two minutes to place and you wouldn’t have to worry about any accidents. Or,” she adds, “as an alternative, we can get you some adult diapers.”
Exhausted, Nicky waves her hand. “Catheter.”
Regardless of the fact my sister was naked as a jaybird a minute ago, I step away from the bed to leave Nicky with some dignity while I let Chantal take care of the catheter. By the time she pulls the covers over my sister, Nicky looks asleep.
“I’ll keep everyone out of here for a bit so she can sleep,” I whisper to the nurse.
“Don’t.” The voice coming from the hospital bed is firm. My sister’s eyes are open. “I like the sounds. It makes me feel part of life.”
I make my way over to the bed and lean down, touching my forehead to hers. “You’ll always be part of our life.”
“I love you, Natasha,” she mumbles her eyes fluttering shut again.
“I love you too, Veronica.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and press a kiss on her cheek.
“Bonus kiss,” I tell her, but she’s already drifted off.
Rafe
Time becomes tangible when every second carries more weight than the one before.
That’s what it feels like.
Over the course of yesterday, Nicky drifted further and further away. Her moments of wakefulness becoming more infrequent and less lucid. Taz explained that was, in part, due to the morphine, but also the ever-waning energy as her body struggles to keep blood flowing.
Her extremities are so cold and the tips of her fingers and toes are turning blue with the lack of oxygen.
I helped Taz change the sheets in the master bedroom for Sarah and Ed. It was Taz who suggested they stay. I don’t think they missed the implication. We can all see Nicky’s close to the end.
Even Spencer, a normally energetic kid, is sensing it, and both he and his sister have taken turns quietly snuggling up to their mom in her bed.
We even watched a movie last night, trying hard to maintain some normalcy. I ended up carrying the kids to bed while Sarah and Taz helped Ed up the stairs.
For the past couple of hours, I’ve been listening to my wife’s labored breathing, while Taz is dozing on the couch.
“Please…” The rasp of Nicky’s voice holds an urgency that has Taz and me both rush to the side of the bed.
Taz takes one look at her sister and turns to me. “Get Chantal.”
I don’t argue, and rush upstairs to knock on her door. I don’t wait around and hurry back downstairs to find Taz sitting on the edge of the bed. She has Nicky’s hand clasped against her chest and her lips pressed to her sister’s forehead.
“Nicky,” Chantal’s voice sounds behind me and I step out of her line of sight. “Do you want me to sedate you?”
“Yes.” Her voice is surprisingly strong, even as her panicked eyes find mine. “I’m sorry,” she mouths, reaching out her free hand and I grab on.
“No more apologies.” My voice sounds raw, which is pretty much how I feel.
Nicky looks from me to her sister and back again. “The kids…”
“I promise they will always carry you with them.”
She briefly closes her eyes when Chantal administers the medication, only to open them wide searching for ours.
“Don’t leave me alone.”
“We’ll be right by your side,” Taz says firmly when I lose the ability to speak.
Holding each of our hands in hers, Nicky’s eyes drift shut as the midazolam takes effect. I glance at the display on the TV receiver and note the time: three forty-seven.
Chantal disappears into the kitchen and within minutes I detect the smell of fresh coffee. Then I hear her footsteps going upstairs, a soft knock on the bedroom door, and the sound of muted voices as she wakes Nicky’s parents.
Taz and I hold quiet vigil, feeling her hands go slack in ours.
At seven twenty-five, with her kids still asleep in their bedrooms upstairs, Nicky releases her last breath.
We never let go.