**I've been trying to tell this story, in writing, since July 2020. Today, the one-year anniversary of Mommy's death, it is done. This is not the full story; lots of backstory details are missing. But they're not needed for this version to be a complete meal. I'll write the full one at a later date. **
and on TV
we often see
terminally ill people
begging those they love
to help them die
don't just stand there
watching them suffer
do something
make it stop
In movies
and on TV
it's all fake
until in real life
your life
it's not
You think you know
compassion
selflessness
think you've displayed them
in the biggest ways
think you've helped people
done the most valuable favors
given of yourself
in the hardest ways
you think
when you tell
someone you love
you'll do anything
for them
you'll have the strength
when the time comes
to do whatever
no matter what
whatever
is
until
whatever
is help them die
In movies
and on TV
the anguish
on the face
of the loved one
being stared in the eye
while hearing that plea for help
is fake
until in real life
your life
on your face
it's not
When your mother
now barely 90 pounds
whose skeleton
dismally protrudes
through her rice-paper thin
brown skin
whose ability to tend
to her basic needs
even the simplest of them
has been savagely snatched
by The Intruder
while you watched
her discouragingly rapid decline
for weeks
whose ability to tend
to her basic needs
even the simplest of them
has been savagely snatched
by The Intruder
while you watched
her discouragingly rapid decline
for weeks
when you witness your mother
whose idea of freedom
is self-sufficiency
grow angrier
more rebellious
more defeated by the hour
because her freedom
has run its 76-year course
when your mother
stops fighting and instead
starts verbalizing
her intense desire
to exit the scene
posthaste
when your mother
has already been
subtly asking you
to help her escape
when your mother
two days
before her flight
looks you in the face
as you two struggle
to adjust her ravaged body
in bed
and wails in gut-wrenching agony:
"HELP MEEEE!
I'M SUFFERIIIIING!"
and your heart
airbags
inside your chest
from the crushing
verbal impact
when your mother
finally declares
a state of emergency
you call 911
but not on the phone
they can't bring her
the help she wants
you gotta go
above their heads
way above
you gotta call
the ancestors
Of the myriad on staff
you're certain
of the most influential
six
the ones whose grip
would be firm enough
yet still loving enough
to convince her to let go
come live with them
in the upgraded realm
where she would know
the best kind of freedom
convince her
that her only child
her last-living sister
and all her unfinished business
that weighed so heavily
on her heart
will be covered
and handled
with the utmost care
Two days after her plea
consciousness waning
suffering deepening
yet grip on the unfree world
still tight enough with worry
to keep her bound
you make the literal
life-changing call
intentionally
verbally
clearly
with your whole chest
with all your faculties in place
with the knowledge
that 911 calls
are the most serious
of them all
You get in the car
start driving
and you call the six of them
one by one
loudly
by name
tell them to listen
tell them you're serious
tell them you understand
what you're about to say
give them explicit instructions
"She's tired.
She's suffering.
She doesn't wanna be here.
But she won't let go.
One of you has the influence.
One of you can make her let go.
So one of you gotta come get her.
I don't care who.
But one of you gotta do it.
And you gotta come get her
TONIGHT
While Pauline is still here.
Before she goes home for the weekend.
She has to be here with me when it happens.
So you gotta come get her...tonight."
You finish your command
drop the bills at the post office—
the bills for June
that she was so upset
the day before
that you hadn't mailed yet—
go back home
call freshly made
and lie on her bed
while she thrashes incessantly
in the hospice bed
and watch her
for four hours
the two of you
engaging in countless
wordless glances
glances you know
are the last ones
you'll ever share
At 10:14 p.m.
on June 5th
when you look at the clock
after you
and her sister
with hands affixed to her body
have stood inches from her face
watching her finally let go
you look in your mother's peaceful eyes
before you gently
press them closed for good
and ask her:
"Which one of 'em
came and got you?"
©2021 Charlene E. Green
