Temporarily Separated by Death

A couple of months before I lost Brenda, she had come to the realization that she was not going to get better so she pretty much made her peace with the world.  The night she came to this epiphany was a Sunday night, her pastor had been by earlier, several friends had also come by to visit.  But now they were gone and we had a conversation pretty much to the point of saying good-bye.  i held her in my arms and gently rocked her to sleep.  About an hour or so later, she opened her eyes and peered up at me.  Between labored breaths, she scolded me for sitting there when I should be getting some rest for work.  I told her I was off for the night, and she smiled and puckered for a mooch.  I should have started grieving then, but Death and Me are old acquaintances and I refused to accept the idea that she would be leaving me.  I've never thought of myself as a fighter, but I was determined that we would not give in easily.  When the Grim Reaper came to harvest her soul, he would have me to contend with.

She first told me that she didn't want Andy, her son, getting his grubby fists on any of the insurance money – which he ended up with anyway, because we never got a chance to set up a will.  Our plan was for most of the money to go into a fund for the grandson, Drew's care.  Drew’s autistic, has cerebral palsy, and is mentally challenged.  He's not expected to live to see 30.  Anyway, we also spoke of pulling the plug if she ever ended up in that kind of position, she also expressed her desire for cremation, she didn't want to end up moldering in the cold ground, food for the fungus that would grow all over her dead body, she said that as far as she was concerned, we could flush her ashes down the commode, she just didn't want to be buried; we talked about a memorial. and period of mourning – I told her that I would forever hold her in my heart and kissed her, her lips already felt cool.  As I tried to rock her to sleep again, I repeated that she would always be my Pretty Baby, and I'd always carry her in my heart.  She got pissed at that, thinking,  and rightly so, that I'd be mourning her for a long time.  We argued a little, mostly for form because she didn't want anybody feeling sorry for what she was going thru and since we were always fussing with each other over little stupidities, I didn't want to change any of that because we usually finished up laughing over them, anyway.  It was just so she knew that she was still alive and loved, I guess.

She said that she really loved the idea that I would mourn her, but that I better not keep at it for too long.  I promised her that I wouldn't.  She said that she’d come back and dope slap me if I mourned her too long.  I laughed at the thought, she tried to laugh, too, but she wasn't breathing very well by then – and it was killing me!  I now believe that I was hurting more than she was.  I gave her a beddy-bye mooch and rocked her in my arms as she fell asleep.  She woke up an hour or so later, turned just her eyes and looked up at me and wanted to know what the hell I was still doing there.  She demanded that I put her down and get some rest so I could go to work.  I had the day off and I told her so, and that I wasn't going anywhere tonight.  She smiled, and bummed another mooch and asked me to put her on her pillow.  I did and lay down beside her, snuggling against her back, trying to warm her cool body with mine.  After a while, when I thought that she'd fallen asleep, she spoke and her words are forever burned in me.

"Baby doll," she whispered, with her lungs not being able to take much air, it was hard for her to speak, but she’s always been a determined lady, "Baby Doll (breath, breath) you awake?"  I told her that I was and she took as deep a breath as she could, "I don't (breath, breath) want you to (breath, breath) mourn for too (breath, breath) long, hear? (breath, breath) I think (breath, breath) a year at (breath, breath) at the most (breath, breath) is all. (breath, slow breath, slow breath)  More'n that (breath, breath) and I'll come back (breath, breath) to haunt (breath) you!" (breath, breath) (small sigh) (slow breath) She was done talking, and it had taken a helluva lot out of her, her face was turning blueish.  I said "okay, baby, a year, tops,"  but in the back of my mind I wondered if after all these years and all these memories, how long, really.

Well -- it's been a year and almost 4 months, and I guess I should have expected her, because she rarely breaks a promise.  She's come back to me.  In a way I'm glad, because she's in good shape, still my chunky pretty baby, still fussing at me.  But I don't want her to go. I have to.  I have to let her go, she keeps telling me that I need to let her go.  I need to let her go.

Or I need to go with her, I guess.

And, Christina, I'm so tired and still feel so lost without her.  I thought about going with her last night, but I felt her hand reach over and land a dope slap on the back of my head – like when I did or said something totally stupid and she caught it.  So that's not an option, if I do myself in, I'll never see her again.   And, I've got to let her go.   I have to let her go.   But not yet, a few more nights with her, then – well, maybe then.
    So, before I let her go again, I’ll tell her how much I still love her.  How much I still miss her.