Lily, For One More Day

Lily’s coworker taps her on the shoulder. “I’ll do your third-floor bathroom cleaning tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to,” Lily says.

“Hey, I heard your mom’s not doing that well.” The tall, thin woman raises one finger and barely touches Lily’s elbow.

Lily nods, her throat tight.

I feel it, too. I joined Lily’s angel. I entered her body after too many traumas touched her spirit. I have always known her. She has never known me.

She doesn’t know I am here. No one in the building does, except perhaps a patient who is ready to cross-over through death into the next realm. I directed her coworker’s gentle energy into Lily’s aura. If my young, earthly charge had the energy for metaphors, she would compare herself to cirrus and cumulus clouds with insecure edges.

Lily needs help. She knows it in the way the blind feel along a long blank wall. One of the gifts I have is empathy. Her thoughts are mine, both a privilege and a burden. Our relationship isn’t random. I have a good reason for staying close to this young woman. I may be the only individual, dead or alive, who can help her.

Lily learned never to think of herself. Or interrupt adults. Or become one. I watch as she drives a pale woman to the doctor’s office. She passes a once-white couch left for trash pickup. She confuses discarded furniture for a mirror.

I watch and aim protection into her. She doesn’t always accept it.

Lily asks her passenger, “Do you want me to drop you off at the door or walk in with you?” She waits for the driver behind her to honk before turning left into the office complex. She has no rude intention. It’s more a reluctance to face the moment.

“I’ll be fine.” The woman doesn’t wait for Lily to put the car in park before opening the door at the curb.

The lady acts as if her limp is normal. Lily pretends not to notice. Better that way. It always is. A façade any fool could catch. A dark thought passes through Lily’s mind. “Truck coming. Pull out. Now. An accident. The pain. It would be short…”

The woman who was in her car is her mother.

I see her clutch on the steering wheel, a dullness followed by a dark flare in her eyes. I am ready for a sudden tug on the steering wheel. Pressure on the brake.

And Lily parks the car and opens the door marked oncology department. Unspoken fear lives here. Newly diagnosed patients hold their breath as if it could give them more time, a different identity. Lily’s mother pours pain into a magazine covered with celebrity photos, as if the truth she knows could disappear into glossy glamour and dissolve there.

Lily’s mother waited too long to face the tumors. They spread and merged with past disappointments.

“Dorothy Pare?” calls a woman by an opened door.

Lily’s mom rises. Lily remains locked in a chair that feels both invisible and tight.

“The doctor wishes to see her daughter as well.”

Lily follows. Dorothy doesn’t look at her as they both sit in the office. The doctor is already present.

“Mrs. Pare,” the doctor begins, his voice soft, as if his tone can minimize his message. “I’m afraid there is nothing more we can do.”

“I hate the nursing home,” Dorothy says.

“Well, you will be getting extra special care now,” the doctor says.

“Like extra drugs to shut me up?” she replies. “They already give me those.”

“Hospice can make the rest of your life simpler. And keep your pain under control.”

“Hurt. That’s all there is. All there has ever been since…” Dorothy points to the ceiling and stares. “Are you there, Stan? Are you there, Stan, somewhere?”

The doctor sighs and looks at his computer. “I’m sorry. I see your mother is on Xanax, haloperidol….”

Lily nods even though she isn’t listening to the list. She visits her mother prn, pro re nata, as needed. Only. As if Dorothy Pare hasn’t lost all touch with reality for at least the last decade.

“I see you brought your mother to a good nursing home last year?” The doctor reaches for papers. Consent forms. For hospice. “The place has an excellent reputation.”

She nods. “I had no other choice.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says. His tone is sincere, but Lily knows he must need it often.

Lily closes her eyes. If only she could feel sad. As if losing her mother could be less complicated. As if I ever knew my dad. He died in a car crash on the way to the hospital the day I was born.

“Your fault,” her mother often told her. And Lily wore the guilt even though she knew responsibility for his death made as much sense as blaming a squirrel because lightning struck a tree it touched.

Lily’s mom had stepped into a place the medical world called dementia. I knew her thoughts were rotting inside her head. The time is close, I tell myself. Lily will understand soon. She will know who I am.

“Pain. Please tell me I won’t last long,” Dorothy screams as a nurse aid gets her into bed. Her anguish reaches down the hall, into other rooms, into the nursing station. It has become a screech sent often enough to lose its power.

Three days later, Lily receives a call about her mother. “It’s time.”

Lily doesn’t look in the mirror as she combs her hair. She wants to see and feel nothing. She grabs her car keys and drives. As always, I stay within reach.

When Lily and I arrive, I nudge Dorothy and whisper. “It’s me, Stan. I’ve come to take you home with me now.”

“Stan!” Dorothy calls.

Dorothy gasps.

Lily gulps as her mother’s face turns sheet-white, her eyes open. Dead. Statue still. Then, within seconds she regains color and speaks. “Come. Take my hand for a moment. Your dad is here to take me with him. He has been with you since my mind failed.”

I’m dreaming. Lily touches her mother’s hand then pulls away.

"I'm sorry," her mother says. “Look inside the bottom of the old chest in the attic. There are some papers. Insurance. Bonds. But I wish I gave you joy while I was alive.” She returns to death.

A few minutes later, a nurse comes to the door. “I’m so sorry you were alone. We had an emergency. Sorry for all the noise. A visitor came in with a lit cigarette. And… you don’t need to hear the rest of the story. Fortunately, Security took care of the gentleman, and our fire extinguisher took care of the wastepaper basket.”

Lily heard none of the commotion.

The nurse places one hand on Lily’s shoulder. She feels warmth. A sensation that opens broken places inside her healing them, like sun on cracked, wet pavement. Its dirt swirls and blows darkness away.

I can leave now. I let her see my shadow as I move into a space that has no walls.

Lily whispers a goodbye. Both gray clouds and blue skies wait for her on the other side of the door. She steps outside to face them.