What choice did I have?
My mother died on my birthday.
My father did the same.
Now, with Noma, the date, July eighth, was officially the worst day of any and every day of the year.
The day I was born meant only death to me.
Slowly, I lifted my body from hers.
After her soul had slipped away, so did a part of mine.
Chapter 8
Tears and Dirt
Illusion or imagination…?
For the first time in five years, I was truly alone. I felt it with every fiber of my being, a loss and darkness that swallowed me as brutally as the grief threatening to tear apart my soul. Those vicious death claws had come for me again…
Per instructions from Noma, the hospice nurse made two phone calls. The lawyer’s office, to notify them of her passing so that all prior arrangements would be engaged, and to a social worker who was now in charge of my living status. Very important calls, I suppose, but at the time, they only confirmed the horrid reality I was struggling to comprehend.
Barely having the capacity to hear, my head bobbed yes to the nurse’s words, but… my heart cried with a sorrow I would never recover from. She handed me a piece of paper, but it hardly registered in my broken mind, hence my crumpling it as I shoved it in my front jean pocket.
I sat on the couch in the living room, motionless, as my Noma was taken away, hating that I was powerless to stop it. I stayed in place as the house emptied, and even the nurse had to leave. She said I wouldn’t be alone for long, that the social worker would come to pick me up, but the nurse didn’t get it. It didn’t matter who was coming. Alone was all I would be now. I hadn’t just lost Noma. I had lost… everything. No amount of preparation could undo that truth.
In the silence that followed, I swallowed hard as my gaze slowly moved over all the plants and the simple décor. We had made a life here. A home.
Well, Noma did. It was clearer now, more than ever, that she had been my sanctuary.
My eyes closed, and even though there were no records playing, Van Morrison’s music began floating through my mind with lyrical, beautiful notes. Of their own accord, shaky legs lifted me from the couch. I began to sway as I had seen my grandma do on so many occasions, and I lost myself for a few minutes in the memories. My fist pressed into my chest as I choked on a sob, realizing I now had to tuck away those memories inside my heart because it was soon all I had left of Noma. I was going to have to leave a place I once detested, now cherished.
When my gaze finally opened, shiny stars clung to my lashes. For a single heartbeat, I felt my sweet friend’s presence reaching through time and space, giving me comfort and sharing in my grief. It was so quick, so intense, that I latched on to it and grasped tight, shoving it close to Noma’s love, deep inside my heart, where no one could ever take it from me.
An agonizing second later, I sucked in a breath of air, blinking away the tears because a whisper inside my head said, “No time, Baby Boy.”
It was an out-of-body experience watching my own hand slip into my front pocket and retrieve the piece of paper the nurse had given me. It’s an understatement to say breathing was challenging as soon as I recognized Noma’s handwriting:
My Baby Boy,
I did hear you tonight. I promise. And now that you are sleeping upstairs, I have a moment to collect my thoughts. You have been given more pain in one lifetime than most could survive in ten lives. That doesn’t mean we give up. It means we fight harder. We tell life to fuck off. We put on our brass knuckles and swing because we sinners have the grit it takes.
Her use of the word ‘we’ hit hard. I couldn’t help but realize she admired my stubborn ways because I was just like her. My dad. Her daughter. Every word was begging me to retrieve the soul I was letting slip away. Every word, every bit of strength this woman instilled in me, was like… an anchor.
Believe every day after I’m gone that every move I made was for you. Now the time is coming when you have to do the same. Every decision must count. Even the list you so hate. So do as you’re told! ;)
The dried water spots on the letter had me causing some of my own. Sparkling tears fell to her written words.
The worst part about dying is that I will have to love you from afar. I think I’m mad at God for this. Don’t worry, I will tell Him when He sees me. This librarian will insist that He let me open more books for you.
Baby boy, I will literally love you to Heaven and back.
In blood and heart,
Noma
Holding this letter, I felt my soul deciding whether or not to stay on earth. I think deep down I was contemplating suicide. Unconsciously, if that makes any sense. The agony was that life-threatening for me.
