MY MOTHER DIED BEFORE I COULD MURDER HER

CHAPTER 17 (the last chapter - thank you for reading)

It’s okay to go.

Doctor Pretorius hurried after Myrna as he saw her leaving my mother’s hospital room. I was in the bathroom, and as I came out, I found the two of them talking about moving my mom to a “step down” rehab nursing home. “It’s definitely good news,” he said, relieved that he was giving Myrna an upbeat report and escaping her usual barrage against the treatment she was getting. “All the signs show that she’s through the worst of it and once she’s in the hands of the physiotherapist, working on her leg and getting her back into the practice of walking, she’ll most probably be home within a month, six weeks at the latest.”

     “Well, I’m sure you know what you’re talking about.” Myrna wasn’t letting him off the hook as easily as that. “But, to me, she looks pretty weak and I’m concerned that she’s sleeping so much. Is she still having all those minor strokes or is that over?”

     “They’ve abated, that’s for sure. Whether she’ll have any more episodes, I can’t say.” There it was, that dreaded catchall description, episodes. He turned to me; obviously I was the one who gave him less grief, the one he felt easiest with. “The medical insurance company insists that she moves to the rehab clinic.”

     “Can they do that?”

“I suppose so.”

“Cheaper, is it?”

     “A lot less than here, but you’ve nothing to worry about, the care is as good and they specialize in helping patients like Mrs. Pandrey.”

     “What if she has more strokes, maybe a massive attack, can they help her?”

     “Sure, but she’ll be sent back here.”

     “Like a fucking yo-yo.” Myrna walked away. Jesus! I don’t think I’d ever heard my sister swear. It was so weird, as if the words were someone else’s. I couldn’t imagine Audrey Hepburn using such strong language. HAnd Myrna swearing like that? Never!

     They transported my mom by ambulance the next day to her new place of residence and recovery. The building had once been an old convent and looked tired and run down, but was spotlessly clean; it was as if the handy man toured every nook and cranny, touching up any nick in the paintwork. From the very first moment I stepped into the lobby, I felt as if this was a really special place. As time went by and after so many visits, we got to know the nursing staff and my feelings were reinforced and confirmed. The staff here was loving and caring and made the other more expensive hospital look second rate.

     I know Myrna felt the same as I did about the rehab clinic, because she was buzzing on the way home and talking about being able to find time to fly to Cape Town to visit her daughter and grandchildren. “I think I’ll stay in South Africa until Mommy is out of rehab, so I need to find out about painting classes and ceramics.” Whew! Myrna was back to herself—a woman, always busy, always in one class or the other.

     Debbie and I went out for dinner that night and we had fun. We laughed and laughed and I felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. For the first time since my mom’s operation, it was as if there was light, albeit only a speck, at the end of the tunnel. We didn’t talk about my mother, or the operation, or the treatment, or how I felt about her. It was as if Debbie and I were transported back to the days at university where whenever we were together there was magic. I wish we’d stayed together. She had started to date this older guy on the campus, but he’d fizzled out, and it was always too difficult to go back; so our time together drifted into the past. But we could only remember the good times and the naughty times. We remembered how the movie A Man and a Woman helped patch up the time she was such a bitch during a game of Monopoly with a couple of friends. She had refused to sell Mayfair or Park Lane to me. It meant I was always paying her fines and she blocked my chance to have a safe area on the board. Debbie steadfastly refused to help me out. She was being nasty; the sale wouldn’t have made any difference to her. So I upped and left, threatening never to see her again, not while she had this horrible streak. The next afternoon, Saturday, I telephoned, but her mother told me that she was in her room and didn’t want to talk to anyone, least of all me. I was really sorry that I’d left in such a huff and was scared that I might lose her after being such a prick. Thank God for Harold. Myrna and Harold were at the house for lunch and he saw how down I was. When I explained what was going on and how helpless I felt, he ordered me to buy tickets for a movie that night, call her up, and take her out. I drove to the cinema, bought tickets, came home, and phoned her. She refused to take the call.