“Hey, Mom. It’s Mike,” I said.
She giggled like a school girl even though she was fifty years old. “Who else would it be, kiddo? I know my own son’s voice, silly.”
Kathleen Hill was an unusual woman. True, she was my mother, but she was admittedly an odd duck. “How are you feeling today, Mom?” I asked before getting into the reason I called. “Are you feeling strong?” I added.
“I have the Goddess Mother Earth on my side, honey. Of course, I feel strong,” she stated. “And, I may have cancer, but I am aCancerso I am aware of my astrological needs in this battle.”
“That’s all good, Mom, but Marie called me about your reluctance to continue the treatment plan we agreed on.” Dr. Marie Hollister was the mother of one of my friends I’d known my entire life and Mom’s oncologist. Mom had agreed that Marie could involve me with her care and contact me anytime she had concerns.
“She ratted me out again, huh?” she asked. “You can’t trust Libras,” she added. “All of ‘em are a bunch of level headed narcs.”
I ignored Mom referring to her doctor as a narc. “Why, Mom?” I asked, getting right to the purpose of my call. “I thought we agreed that you’d do one more cycle of chemo so we could see if another round helped.”
“I don’t trust that poison, son. I gave it three tries and nothing’s working.”
I moved my breakfast around my plate with a fork. Idaho was an hourahead of Seattle and I’d phoned my mother before I started my day. “Which means what, Mom?” I asked.
“I have other things to try and I’m going back tomyplan,” she answered.
I didn’t like her answer but her response wasn’t unexpected. I’d been raised by her, witnessed all of her eccentricities, and knew quite well about her beliefs in treatments beyond western medicine and her general acceptance of what was considered outside of normal practices.
“I’d also like you to consider Marie’s expertise. Can you do that for me, Mom?”
I heard a teapot whistling in the background. “Ahh,” she said. “Green tea time. Have you read about the cancer fighting properties of green tea, honey?” she inquired.
“Mom, you’re stage four. I love your willingness to try alternative methods but we’re kinda beyond green tea,” I said.
The clinking of a spoon in her mug, followed by a slurp, told me the tea was being consumed. “Oh, honey. I forgot to mention that Sarah from the crystal shop hooked me up with a local beekeeper. I’ve been adding organic honey to my tea for a week now.”
“That’s nice, Mom. Back to the chemo,” I urged.
She blew right past me as usual. “How areyou, Michael?” she asked. “Have you heard from Jennifer?”
I knew better than answering her which avoided the purpose of the call, but she was my mother and she cared.
“Only the divorce papers,” I stated. “She’s in a hurry to be single, I guess.”
“I love Jennifer, honey,” she began, about to enlighten me to where Jennifer’s deficiencies lay. “But, like I said last week, her charts are not compatible with yours. Capricorns do not make good spouses, honey. It’s really not her fault,” she added.
“And Cancers, Mom?” I asked, trying to take some blame. I was a Cancer just like my mother. She was overjoyed at our astrological unity. “How are we at love matches? I was part of that marriage as you know.”
“Yes, honey, but you can’t be with a Capricorn,” she reminded me, even though she’d said nothing about our stars aligning before I married my highschool sweetheart. “Like you, Cancer is your destiny, dear.”
I wondered if she remembered that Cooper was a Cancer. Of course, she did. Not only were Coop and I born on the same day, my mother knew everything about the people in her life, especially the ones she loved. She’d loved Cooper like a son.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”
“Cooper is a Cancer, Michael. Did you know that?” she asked.
I was about to confirm that she had already told me like a thousand times but I didn’t think she was actually asking. “Wasa Cancer, Mom.Was,” I corrected.
“You’d be wrong about that, dear. Cooper is somewhere in another universe and will always be a Cancer,” she declared. I heard another slurp of tea and the sound of pleasure after she swallowed. “And thank the higher power that he is,” she added. “Did you know that he still comes to me in my visions, Michael?”
This wasn’t the first time I’d heard her wild musings about Cooper. “Mom?” I asked. “Are you truly okay?”
She giggled that girly laugh. When I spoke with her on the phone I could convince myself that Mom was still the young, vibrant, otherworldly delight that she was just a couple of years ago before the breast cancer diagnosis. If you only spoke to her via phone you’d never know how seriously ill she was.
“I’m fine, dear,” she answered, exhaling slowly like she was tired of the concern from her only child. “He knows, Michael,” she stated.
