Passing

Not all good memories are happy ones.

I was at work driving a delivery truck when I got the call. It was my sister, telling me that my dad’s wife was being rushed to the hospital because she wouldn’t wake up.
As I called my boss to let him know I needed to leave work, my mind wandered back to a phone conversation I had with my step-mom five years before. I was working as the lab manager of an optical at the time.
I answered the phone, and heard a familiar voice sobbing on the other end.
“Joyce, is that you? Is everything okay?” I asked.
“No, not really,” she said. “Your dad is not well, and I’ve driven off all my kids. If I lose him,
I’ll be all alone. I’m going to end up dying a lonely, miserable woman.”
“No. You won’t.” I said, closing my office door. As I took my seat at my desk, the only sounds were that of Joyce’s hitching breaths, and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Finally, she spoke again. “I will. I’ve run my son off. I’ve run my daughter off. You and Ernest’s other kids hate me because of how I’ve treated you. I don’t blame you.” She began to cry harder.
“Joyce,” I said, “I won’t leave you.”
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“You won’t?” She asked.
“No matter what has happened between us, or what will happen, I will be with you until the end.”

My mind was brought back to the present when my boss answered. I quickly explained what was happening, and he let me know he would make arrangements for the rest of my route.
It was an hour and a half before I got to the emergency room where they had taken her. Dad met me at the door.
“It doesn’t look good, Son,” he said, hugging me.
To me, he seemed surprisingly calm.

We sat together with my sister and her husband, my stepsister, as well as my brother and his wife. The only one not with us was Joyce’s son, DeWayne.

After a while, they let us go back to be with her.

I was immediately overcome by the smell of disinfectant and the steady “beep, beep, beep” of the monitor measuring Joyce’s life as it slowly leaked from her body. She looked peacefully asleep. The doctor was whispering to my dad, so I stepped closer to hear him.

“Honestly,” he said, “I suspect that she is only still with us because she is waiting on her son.”

While Dad only nodded, I felt certain that I saw something deep within him crumble. What little hope for his wife to which he might have been clinging was now gone. My heart ached for him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

One by one, the family slipped back to the waiting area, except for Dad and me. We stood on each side of Joyce’s bed, lost in our private thoughts and listening to her final clock wind down.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Finally, after another half hour, a red eyed DeWayne turned the corner, closely followed by the rest of the family. He said his goodbyes while we shed tears for him, his mother and ourselves, all to the rhythm of the monitor.

Beep, Beep, Beep.

I lost myself in that rhythm, and didn’t notice the passing of time.

I didn’t come to myself again until the doctor came back to my dad.

“I don’t understand it,” the doctor said.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I really thought her son was what was keeping her here.”

“So, what do you think? Can she wake up?” Dad asked.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “There is no medical reason for her to still be breathing.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

That’s when I remembered my promise. I moved from where I had been standing at the foot of the bed to her left side.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I leaned in close to her head, stroking her hair.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m here, like I promised.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“You can go home now. You can rest.”

The steady rhythm of the monitor immediately became a flat tone, and I knew her struggle was over.

Not all good memories are happy ones.

Just Sayin’…