Dolore di Essere Lasciato Alle Spalle

“If you have ever lost someone very important to you,

then you already know how it feels,

and if you haven’t,

you cannot possibly imagine it.”

–Lemony Snicket

Remembering the loss of my own Belle Reve is like swallowing shiny glass.  Remembering how my life imploded and the beginning of my 5-year spin is like swallowing shiny glass.  When Mama passed, the moment she passed, I was rigid with terror  — still petrified still sleepless still close to losing my mind after being there for almost two months.

At the end of July, Brother Rabbit called, said Mama was hospitalized after having  half of her stomach removed.  Took too much Advil for the broken hip pain, he said.  Rehab, he said.  Not cooperating with her doctors, he said.  She wouldn’t sign the Power of Attorney, he said.  Too much for him to handle on his own, he said.  After all, wife worked all day, kids went to school all day.  And he, who hadn’t worked in at least five years, just could not do it all on his own.

At the end of August, Brother Rabbit called again.  Not getting better, he said.  Had to move her into a different rehab, he said.  It’s getting expensive, he said.  Not cooperating with her doctors, he said.  She’s not talking, he said.  She wouldn’t sign the Power of Attorney,  he said.  Too much for him to handle on his own, he said.  After all, wife worked all day, kids went to school all day.  And he, who hadn’t worked in at least five years, just could not do it all on his own.

Everything that could have been sold was sold:  bed, art, linens, clothes, jewelry, kitchenware, all my furniture.  I loaded up the car, said goodbye to my life in Oregon and headed south to Belle Reve and the dessert.

When Belle Reve ceased to breathe, I felt my blood seize and thicken.    The veil covered me whole, my breath seeped out through my nose and between blinks of my eye, someone in my head started to scream…

WHERE IS SHE WHERE IS SHE WHERE IS SHE WHERE IS SHE OH MY GOD I WAS IN THE OTHER ROOM SHE LEFT WITHOUT ME I LET HER DIE ALONE OH DEAR GOD OH MY DEAR GOD SHE’S DEAD SHE’S DEAD SHE’S NEVER COMING BACK OH FUCK OH JESUS THIS HURTS THIS HURTS I WANT TO GO WITH YOU PLEASE PLEASE WAIT WAIT FOR ME JUST WAIT FOR ME PLEASE MAMA DON’T GO YET PLEASE WAIT BY THE DOOR WE’LL GO TOGETHER I’LL GO WITH YOU DON’T BE AFRAID OH MY OH MY GOD OH GOD OH GOD SHE’S GONE WHY DIDN’T YOU WAIT WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL MY NAME

I — CAN’T — BREATHE — PLEASE — GOD — TAKE — ME — TOO  — TAKE — ME — TAKE — ME

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

Mrs. Red-Haired Hospice Case-Manager busied herself then, straightening the nightgown, wiping a small bubble of yellow bile from the corner of the mouth, all the while telling me what to expect when the ambulance arrived.  Standing next to my mother’s bed, preoccupied with the persistent screaming no one else could hear, I reached for the brand new bottle of Morphine.  “Fifteen drops should do it, ” I heard the screamer say.  Fifteen drops stopped the screamer but only temporarily.

I — CAN’T — BREATHE — PLEASE — GOD — TAKE — ME — TOO  — TAKE — ME — TAKE — ME

Upstairs, Brother Rabbit was watching television.  I called him down to say goodbye to Belle Reve.  The tremors started in my vital organs and shook me almost to the point of concussion.  And then, the waiting… Waiting for her to walk into the room while I slept, waiting for her to call my name and tell me where to pick her up.  Waiting for her to come back — even now that I’ve died and come to.