Mom had a confused look on her face. “The new neighbors don’t have a cat, Mike,” she corrected. “Marleen is allergic to cats.”
“But it was in their ho . . .” I stopped before sayinghouse. “You sure?”
“Positive,” she said. “I haven’t seen a cat on our block in years. Come to think of it, that is strange.”
It was just after dawn and Mom’s eyes closed for several minutes, the quiet convincing me she was asleep. I heard a car in the driveway and confirmed through the window that Mom’s doctor, Marie Hollister, had arrived fora house call. I headed for the front door to intercept her so the doorbell wouldn’t wake the patient, but before exiting the room Mom called for me.
“Michael,” she began, her hand reaching for me. I turned back and took three steps to her bedside, grabbing her hand. “You have to promise me you’ll at least try. Please just humor me and give me that last wish. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Mom. I can do that,” I responded. And I actually meant to honor the request. She was right, what did I have to lose? “The letter with your instructions is in your safe, right?” I asked, confirming where the items needed were located.
“Yes, honey. And my will. Do what you want with the house, dear, but make sure I am not buried with your father. That is absolutely key to this working. Cremate me, but do not bury me near Dad. Do you understand?” I nodded and blinked back a tear. She was getting ready to leave me. It was Saturday at eight A.M..
I leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? Marie is here. We’ll be right back.”
“I’ll wait for you, Michael. You promise me and I’ll promise you, okay?” she whispered, faintly squeezing my hand. “I love you, son.”
“I promise,” I whispered. “I promise,” I repeated. Mom smiled, but I noticed the grimace contorting her face. This was the first time I’d seen her express the pain which cemented everything I dreaded. Mom was ready to give in.
“What time is it, honey?” she asked.
I glanced at my watch and struggled to see the time through the tears. A knot in my throat clamped down and helped me keep the sob inside. “Five after eight,” I whispered.
“Sixteen hours, son. Make sure I last sixteen more hours,” she whispered.
I heard the expected knock on the door. I knew Marie was coming for a house visit because Mom had summoned her for the final time.
I met Marie at the front door and stepped aside so she could enter the foyer.
“How’s your mother, Mike?” she asked. She placed what I assumed was amedical bag on the floor and studied me carefully, most likely alarmed at the dark circles and dampness around my eyes. “And you. How about you?” she added.
“She says she’s planning on exiting at midnight,” I said. “The date is stuck in her mind, Marie.” I stepped to the kitchen and waited for Marie to join me so our voices wouldn’t carry down the hall and to Mom’s open bedroom door. “Can she do that?” I asked after Marie joined me.
“Knowing Kathleen, yes. I wouldn’t bet against her,” she said. “She’s outlived her prognosis, Mike. I’m sorry, but somehow she has lasted this long despite not accepting further treatment. Medically, it just doesn’t make sense. It’s as if she has something she needs to complete.”
“If that’s the case then what do you think her plan is? I mean she can’t pick a time to die can she?”
Marie opened a cabinet for a mug and headed for the Mr. Coffee coffeemaker. Even though she was a visiting doctor today, she had been a guest many times before so she was comfortable helping herself. “Here again, Mike,” she began, her back to me. “This is not a medical explanation or based on facts, but folks decide when they want to expire all the time. Being an oncologist I see this quite often.” She turned around and faced me. “People at the end of their life make the decision that they’re done and it simply happens.”
“I’m not ready, Marie,” I admitted, sitting at the kitchen island and placing my face in my hands. I rubbed the tiredness away and then stared at her. “First Dad and now Mom? This hardly seems fair.”
“It isn’t fair,” she agreed. “Especially considering the type of folks your parents are, Mike. I don’t get it either.”
“Do you think my mother is rational, Marie?” I asked, seeking a professional opinion after the last few days of talking with Mom and listening to her outlandish ideas. Ideas that did not seem like they could come from a sane individual. “She’s not taking opioids for the pain, but could the pain make her delusional?”
“I see zero indication that she’s delusional. Even with her microdosing and the small amount of THC she ingests in the form of edibles, they’d haveno discernable effect on her mental abilities. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, I guess.”
Marie reached across the island and held my hand. “Kathleen is an extraordinary woman, Mike. If she seems a bit, shall we say, spiritual or contemplative about what might be on the other side of this existence, you’d be surprised how common that is. Besides, who are we to question?”
I glanced toward the hallway and lowered my voice. “She’s been talking about some unusual ideas concerning life and death,” I said. “I guess I’m worried about her mindset.”
“Don’t be. Her train of thought is quite common. And trust me, your mom is as sharp as she was the day I met her back when you and my daughter were toddlers.”
Her assessment of Mom’s thinking alleviated the nagging feeling that I wasn’t speaking with a lucid woman. “And she expects to pass at midnight or shortly after. What are your thoughts?” I asked.
“Well, then I expect she will. Your mother has lived a month longer than I would have assessed another patient in her situation. Of course, I’m not surprised.”
