Mom barely has any wrinkles and the specks of gray in her hair look more like highlights than decay, and when I walked into her hospital room yesterday, the light streaming in through the window had formed what looked like a halo above her angelic-looking face, and I thought that maybe this was a sign. Maybe she’s changed. Maybe we can move on. Maybe things will be different now.
“Elise, is that you?” she asked.
“Hi Mamma,” I said. I rarely call her Mamma.
“I’m glad you’re here. I have something to tell you. I’m dying,”
“You’re going to be okay,” I assured her and sat down on the bed. I took her hand in mine and ran my index finger over the topographical landscape of her veins.
“I’m dying,” she repeated.
I suggested we ask her doctor for his opinion. I spoke in a soothing, reassuring tone. It was morning. She looked like a living angel. I had worked on a scene of the play before heading over to the hospital and had meandered through Central Park. I felt good and wanted her to know I cared about her. “Mom, I’m sure you’re going to be okay. Your doctor is just trying to figure out why you fell.”
“I don’t care what the fucking doctor says. I’m not dying because I’m sick. I’m dying because they are trying to kill me and I don’t want to die right now because if I die you will use an ugly photo of me for my obituary. I know what you’re planning. It will be your final revenge.”
“They are not trying to kill you and I am not looking for a final revenge,” I assured her.
She yanked her hand away from mine.
“If I get out of here, I’m going through my photos and only keeping the ones I sanction for my obituary.”
“You don’t need to do that. I promise I will use a great photo. Anyway, I don’t think there are any bad photos of you. You’re gorgeous, Mom.”
“I am throwing out all my photos and I want you to throw out any photos you have of me.”
“Why do you think I’m after revenge? And if I were, why do you think I would do it posthumously?”
She turned her head from me. The halo had been replaced by a flood of blinding light.
“You’re right, Mom. I’m going to use a shitty picture of you.”
I certainly thought it. I may have said it. I’m not sure.