LITR 3731 Creative Writing 2008

Thursday, 3 April:

1^st Fiction Author: Alana Nesteruk

1^st fiction Author’s Discussion Leader: Kimberly Davis

Nesteruk, Alana

Living Death

 “Mary Cain was not just my Mother; she was my friend. Without her, life will never be the same, I love you Mom.”

            “Please open you hymnals,” the preacher said.          

“Hymn number 523: God Be with You ‘Til We Meet Again”

God be with you ‘til we meet  a- gain,

By his coun-sels guide, up-hold you…

“See the yellow flowers to the left of the casket?  We sent her those,” exclaimed Candy, my future mother-in-law.   “Oh, really,” I said.  “She looks good doesn’t she?” asked Candy.  “Um… Yes, Yes, ye- ye- yeah she really does,” I stuttered, trying to spit out the lie I was telling. I only met the woman once; I couldn’t even remember what she looked like alive. She was 94, I mean, how good can a 94-year-old woman look?  This was the first dead person I’d ever seen. Looking down at her body was like studying a Magic Eye picture-I kept waiting to see something but whatever it was I couldn’t see it.  I suppose after looking at living people for 22 years my mind has gotten used to the fact that the chest moves up and down at a constant rate, but her body wasn’t moving at all. When I first looked at her wrinkled flesh laying in the casket I felt like, for a split second, time had stopped. My eyes waited for her body to move, for her chest to rise. Nothing. Is that what dead is? Nothing?

            Once the family and friends had said their goodbyes, the men from the funeral home started to remove the roses that lay on the closed end of her casket. I looked on curiously, wondering what they were about to do. Then one man grasped the handle to the side of the casket that was open. I felt my heart sink as I realized what they were doing. They were closing the casket. No one was ever going to get to see her again. No one would ever get to hear her laugh or buy her another Christmas present- they were going to leave her in the dark. No… I thought. Tears rushed down my face and I didn’t even know this woman. How can they just leave her in there? I knew I was scared because my mother was dying. I can’t leave mama in there all alone. Oh God. Oh God, I’m scared. I don’t want to leave mama in the dark like that, I pleaded to myself. “Why are they doing that?” I asked Candy. “I know, this part is hard,” she replied. Candy knew of my Mother’s declining health and I said, “I can’t stop thinking about mama dying.” “ I can’t take this, this isn’t right,” I said.

            As I sat there in the church I felt lonelier than I had ever felt in my life. I started to think about what was going to be left for me once my mom died. Nothing, I thought. I am only 22 and my mom is dying. That isn’t fair. This woman got to live until she was 94! Why do I have to be alone? My mom won’t get to see my children or my house; she won’t get to baby-sit her grandchildren, She’ll never get to hold me again. Who will I call on? Who will I have lunch with? Who will be there for me when I’m in trouble? She’s all I’ve ever had. I don’t want to see her dead. I don’t want to look down at her in her casket and realize that she isn’t breathing. If she isn’t breathing than I don’t want to breathe either.  “Bzzzzz Bzzzzz Bzzzzz…” “It’s mine,” I whisper. I looked down at my cell phone and it was a call from my aunt. “Bzzzzz Bzzzzz Bzzzzz” “She’s calling again?” I wonder what could be so important. I left the church to answer her continuously repeating phone calls. “Hello, Melba?” “Alana, It’s your Mom, they’ve taken her to the hospital” “Oh my God,” I said. “What happened?” I asked. “She’s had another bad spell with her lungs and they’ve got her on that mask.”

            I got in my car and rushed to the hospital. When I arrived, I rushed over to the Critical Care Unit to find her there gasping for air. “Her lungs are just giving out,” the doctor said.  “I don’t understand, she was fine just the other day,” I argued. “It doesn’t matter, C.O.P.D. (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease) Patients don’t have the immune system to fight off infections.” “Your Mother caught some kind of cold and it pushed her over the edge.” “Were doing everything we can and it isn’t working; were going to have to ventilate her or she’s going to die.” I looked at him like he was telling me my own life was over. “I don’t understand,” I said. “What do you mean?”
“What I am saying is that her lungs cannot breathe on their own anymore so our only option is to put her on a machine that can do that for her.” “Well, for how long?” I asked.  “No one knows, she may never get off of it.” “The procedure will take about forty-five minutes, well let you know when we’ve finished.”

            When they had finished intubating her, Melba and I walked back into the room. “Oh my god,” I said. “It’s okay honey, she’ll get through this,” Melba said as she patted me on the back. My Mother was heavily sedated so she looked as if she was asleep. Her neck was bloody from the incisions they had to make to implant the port for her medications. A large tube ran down her open mouth that was attached to the machine that was keeping her alive. The machine made a breathing-like noise as her chest inflated like a lifeless balloon. She had a feeding tube that went inside of her nostril and all the way to her stomach. It was attached to a bag of  “food” that looked like blended-up milk and cereal. “Her eyes are starting to open,” Melba said. “Mama, It’s okay,” I said. Then she opened her eyes as wide as possible and lifted up her head up wildly, like a rearing horse. She started making choking noises and moving her head around. She seemed as if she thought she was choking and she was looking at me like she wanted me to help her. Then, She lifted up her arms and grabbed hold of the tube that was supporting her life and she pulled it out of her throat. “BEEP BEEP BEEP,” was the noise that resonated as the machines alerted the staff. “Help Me, Help Me,” my mother pleaded. “I don’t know what to do.” “I don’t know what to do,” I said. “Help us, someone help us,” I screamed. Nurses and doctors crowded around us and pushed buttons on machines and pounded on my mother to keep her alive. I saw her try to take her last breath. She opened her lips wide and tried to breathe in but she never took in any air. She looked like a poor little fish out of water. “Nooooo…” I screamed.  Tears raced down my cheeks and I looked at the doctor in absolute desperation. “We didn’t expect her to come up from the sedation for at least another hour,” he said. “A nurse was just about to come in and strap her hands down because it is a normal reaction for a patient to want to pull out the tube.” “She woke up sooner than expected and when she pulled her tube out her lungs went into shock, I am so sorry.”

            I held on to her hand and looked at her dead body that was no longer breathing; no longer moving up and down.  At that moment, every memory of her that I ever had came into my mind like a slide show of pictures. I don’t want to live if she isn’t living, I thought. I don’t want to breathe if she isn’t breathing.

            I opened my purse and pulled out my entire bottle of Valium that was prescribed to me for anxiety and I swallowed all 36 of them. I did it before I had a chance to think about what I was doing. What about Preston, my husband, I thought. What about the family we want? I don’t really want to die. I’m only 22. “Help me, help me,” I begged. “I’ve overdosed on my medication.” Nurses rushed me over to a hospital bed. I started feeling dizzy and everything began spinning. Then I saw Preston holding a picture of the two of us and he was crying and praying. “Why did she leave me, God?” “What will I do without her?” Then I was standing at the back of a church and I looked down the isle and there was a casket with flowers everywhere. I walked towards it and I looked in it and there was a girl in it that looked like me. Preston was screaming and his mother was holding him. “How could she do this to me,” he said. “Oh my God, it is me,” I said. Look at what I’ve done to him. I wanted to go back. “Please God, let me go back,” I pleaded. “I was scared and I made a mistake,” I admitted. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.”

            “Honey, you aren’t dying, everything is fine,” a woman’s voice answered. I tried to open my eyes but I kept having to blink because everything was so blurry. There was a blonde woman standing over me and smiling. “We’re taking good care of you honey.” As I looked around I saw Preston and My mother. “Mama you’re not dead?” I asked. “No silly, it wasn’t my funeral you fainted at--it was Mary Cain’s.”

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