Desperately Seeking Epic(88)
Slowly, she darts her tongue out over her blueish, chapped lips, smacking them together. Her mouth is always so dry. It wasn’t always like this. I remember it like it was yesterday, her pink mouth pouting, making sleepy, cooing sounds, her dark lashes fluttering against her fair baby skin. Back when cancer was the furthest thing from my mind. Back when I dreamed a life so big and beautiful for her, full of endless happiness. She was going to rule the world as far as I was concerned.
I never would have imagined my vibrant, colorful child would be reduced to this. She’s barely eating now, some broth here and there, and only drinking little sips of water. It’s all I can get her to swallow.
As I stare at her, I’m so overwhelmingly sad I can barely breathe. I’d do anything for her. Anything. The argument Paul and I had in the hospital has been weighing heavily on me. I’ve hated that he was right. I’ve hated that I made Neena feel like she couldn’t tell me things; ask me for things. She’s been so brave through all of this; she’s accepted her fate like a soldier, brave and fearless. She’s had no control over any of this, yet she hasn’t complained once. All she wants is control in what happens when she passes.
“Neena.” I whisper her name.
Gingerly, she turns her head to acknowledge me, but not all the way. She’s so tired she can’t seem to open her eyes.
“I’ll do whatever you want, baby.” I swallow hard. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll make sure it happens exactly how you want it. I’m so sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me and tell me your wishes. I should have listened to you, and I’m sorry I didn’t.” I sniffle as the tears stream down my face. Scooting closer to her, I press my forehead to the side of her head.
She swallows with difficulty, her throat dry. “Just do what Dad says,” she murmurs. I nod my head yes so she can feel my answer.
I’ve been waiting for a moment; a time where it felt right to have that one last conversation. A time when I know she’ll still hear and understand what I’m saying. It’s been an impossible thought. How do I say good-bye to her? How does a mother sum up in words the depth of her love for her child? It tears me up. But somehow, I must. Time is running out. And something in my gut tells me it’s now.
“The day you were born, my chest hurt so bad. I think it was because my heart grew ten times bigger. It’s odd how love can hurt like that.” I whimper as my lips tremble. “But it hurt in the best way possible. I wanted you so badly. You were a gift, something I thought I’d never have. You are by far my greatest accomplishment, Neena. I’m honored to be your mother. It’s been my greatest privilege. Thank you for being more than I could have ever hoped for. Thank you for the joy and laughter you have brought into my life. Thank you for the kisses, the tickles, and hugs. I’m so proud of you, of who you are. I love you so much, baby.”
She’s quiet for a moment and I wonder if she’s dozed off, if she’s heard me at all. Then, I see a tear trickle down her cheek before she gently squeezes my hand and whispers, “I love you, Mommy.”
It’s the last time I ever hear those words from her.
A couple days ago, Neena went to sleep and we couldn’t get her to wake up again. At first her head would move sometimes at the sound of our voices, but her eyes never opened.
In the last hours of Neena’s life, Clara talked to her, softly, as she lay in bed with her, while Marcus and I took turns holding her hands and kissing her head. Mei-ling sat quietly beside Marcus, her hand to her mouth. We’d called Karen, from hospice, and she assisted in any way possible. She stood on the side, giving us time with Neena. Clara rocked lightly as she held Neena, and talked about the day Neena took her first steps. And the time when Neena was four and had been outside playing and she came inside and presented Clara with a snake, almost giving her a heart attack. Even through our tears we all chuckled with some of the stories. Clara kept talking. She wouldn’t stop. Every story was beautiful and full of love and life. She just wanted Neena to hear her voice, feel her beside her, so she knew she wasn’t alone. In the final minutes, we all told her we loved her, and that it was okay to let go.
Her last breath came out in one long whoosh of air, as if her body was expelling the last drop of life from her. It almost sounded like she let it go with pure and utter relief. I held her hand for a long time, trying to control my tears. We stayed beside her for a long time, holding her, touching her.
Karen took care of calling the mortuary, while Mei-ling tried to make sure we had everything we needed whether it was a drink or tissues. Clara pulled Neena’s limp and lifeless body into her arms tighter and held her as she sobbed into the crook of her neck, telling her she loved her over and over again. Before they came to take her body, I lay on the other side of her and wrapped my arm around them both wondering how in the hell anyone could experience this much pain and survive it.
I felt gutted.
When it was time for them to take her body, I stood and looked down at my daughter. She was mine. She was the best of me.
Bending down, I press a firm kiss to her forehead. “You are my most epic adventure, princess.”
It took a while to coax Clara away from Neena so they could take her. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Clara collapsed, her body racked with sobs. She was so emotional she could barely breathe. Marcus and Mei-ling left. They just couldn’t take seeing her that way. They felt lost themselves. I told Karen we needed to be alone and she quickly packed her supplies and left. I scooped Clara up and carried her upstairs, setting her on the toilet. I ran a bath and as the tub filled, I undressed us both. I pulled her to her feet, and we stepped in together, me sitting down first, then her between my legs. The back of her head lay against my chest as I squeezed water from a washcloth over her chest, neck, and shoulders. She wouldn’t talk. Her body shook as she sucked in ragged breaths. The sounds she made as she sobbed were those of torture. It was the sound of my own despair. I also didn’t speak. Words were just that—words. I focused on making her feel me. My presence. That I was with her.