Control

44

The start of the third week at the respite center seemed ominous. I no longer had the strength or desire to get out of bed. I hardly ate, and when I did it was followed quickly and frequently by vomiting. I no longer took interest in the TV or the books and magazines brought to me by the staff. My visits with my family were usually cut short, either by me falling asleep mid sentence from exhaustion or by an angry outburst provoked by virtually nothing.

I had been reduced to nothing more than a shell, lying in a hospital bed. The few things in the facility that gave me some small comforts I no longer cared for. I rarely even bothered to look out the window anymore, feeling that it was nothing more than a tease of the life I was no longer able to live and the pleasures I was no longer strong enough to enjoy.

Adyson seemed to know that it would not be much longer. She was reluctant to leave me even for short periods, terrified at missing whatever limited time she had left with me. I felt the same, but would not guilt her by saying so.

My daily routine was pathetic. Woken up at seven thirty by the nursing staff administering pain medications. It had become difficult for me to swallow now, my mouth no longer capable of creating the saliva needed to swallow down the pills. They now had to be crushed and mixed in soft fruits like apple sauces. Breakfast would come, most mornings sitting ignored and untouched on my tray. Occasionally I would pick at the easier things; grapes or oatmeal. But the nausea brought on by any food turned me off before I even tried. I would lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating what was to come. Morbid, I know, but what else did I have to do? It was the only thing left for me. I had already paid my taxes, now came the death part in the guarantees of life.

In the evenings, Adyson would bring Aiden to see me after dinner. He would tell me about his day, ask the routine question of when I was coming home. He seemed oblivious to my deteriorating state, seemingly convinced that I was still going to come home one day.

That part hurt me more than the pain of the cancer eating away at me.

Adyson now would take Aiden to her parents in the evening, spending the night on the pull out couch in my room. She never said so, but she seemed to know the time was close. Neither of us discussed it. We didn‟t want to do goodbyes.

The Thursday of my third week at the respite facility, I had fallen asleep shortly after Adyson had returned for the night. My day had been a surprisingly mild one; the pain controllable, my visit with my son enjoyable. My father had phoned in the morning, and Brian had sent me a picture of his new daughter. He had met and married a local girl years before, and they now had their first child. Adyson said that he argued with her about visiting me, insisting that it might help. But she denied him, saying that it was best if everyone just took a step back.

I agreed, but it was still hard. I wanted to see my friends, but couldn‟t bear the thought of them seeing me like this.

I had woken from my nap late that evening, with a sense that I was still partially asleep. Adyson sat on the couch at the foot of my bed reading a book, the lights dimmed so low I wondered how she could even read.

I closed my eyes again, my mind and body feeling in a strange trance. It was a sensation I couldn‟t explain, but one that didn‟t scare me. I felt peaceful somehow.

A few moments passed as I lay in bed, before suddenly a voice said my name.

"Carter."

I opened my eyes. The sight I saw forced my heart into my throat, and I tensed. I felt a mixture of terror and elation. Of apprehension and relief.

I saw my mother.

She looked as beautiful as I ever remembered her. Her blonde hair, the same shade as mine, lay across her shoulders. She wore a pale blue dress, the hem at her knees. She looked perfect and peaceful and happy. In her clasped hands, which hung in front of her, she held a single white rose.

I knew I was hallucinating. Walter had warned me that this could happen, especially near the end. A combination of the compression of the tumors on my brain and my neurons firing in strange successions as my brain began to shut down.

I realized, now, that this was it.

I wanted to talk to her, my mother, to tell her how much I missed her and that I loved her. That I was sorry she died and that I hadn‟t been able to save her. I wanted to tell her how scared I was, and ask her if it would hurt.

My gaze flickered for a moment towards Adyson, still sitting on the couch oblivious to the newest addition in the room. I took a moment to look at my wife; to take in how beautiful she was. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, and how much her love and support meant to me. I wanted to tell her it was time, and that it would be ok. I wanted to hold her hand, have her hold me and tell me it would all be over soon.

But I didn‟t. We had promised no goodbyes, agreeing we didn‟t need to say those things at the end; we had said them all already.

I took in every feature of Adyson‟s face, the way she curled her legs under her on the couch, the way she bit her lip as she reached a good part in the book.

I thought of my son and how much he looked like her. I wondered if he would remember me in the years to come, since he was so young now. He was so much like Adyson, yet occasionally would do something that would make me see a piece of myself in him. He was my greatest achievement.

Reluctantly, I tore my gaze away from my wife for the last time to look at my mother. She still stood at the foot of my bed, smiling gently at me.

Her presence was terrifying because of what I knew it signified, but comforting because of the familiarity and sense of calm it brought.

I thought that when my time finally came that I would be scared. Panicked even. That I would beg for even a few more moments, because I wouldn‟t be ready to go.

But now that it was here, I felt none of what I expected I would.

I felt calm. I had done my best to protect my family and do what I could to make this transition easy for them. I hated leaving them. I hated the thought of Adyson being alone, of Aiden growing up without me. But I trusted in my family and friends to lend them the support they would need, and knew they would be ok.

"Carter," my mother said again, her voice exactly as I remembered. "It‟s time to go."

I didn‟t know what to do or what to expect. I took in the sight of my mother, absorbing every detail as I had while I walked around my house for the last time, before turning my gaze once more to my wife before I closed my eyes. I wanted her to be the last thing I saw before I died.

It wasn‟t what everyone described it to be. White lights and lines of dead relatives lining the way towards the pearly gates and all that. It was just a sense of relief; of enveloping calm and peace. I no longer felt pain, or fear, or anger. I released all the thoughts and sensations in my body, feeling more relaxed that I ever had in my life, took once last deep breath, and let go.