Better Than None (25 page)

Brad respected my wishes and in the days that followed, he was my
friend. That first weekend, he helped me start to clean out Barbara’s house. It
was such an incredibly daunting task, I’m not sure how I could have possibly
tackled it without him. It was the house I grew up in, and the house my mom
lived in for more than 40 years. 40 years of life. There were casserole
containers and records and gadgets that were older than I was.

Some rooms, like the bathrooms, were easy, so we started there. “Dump
it all.”

Brad looked at me skeptically as he pulled out a drawer with
medications in it. “You sure?”

“Pick out one of the meds. Any one.” He did. “What’s the date on it?” I
challenged.

He laughed “1987.”  I smiled and he got it. Whatever was in there,
old lotions, old medicines, hair brushes, there was no way we were saving or
giving any of that away. We started dumping, just pulling out entire drawers.
There were brands of shampoo that I’d never even heard of. I knew there would
be other rooms where we’d spend more time, likely going through each item
individually. But for me at least, I had to start with the stuff that I didn’t
have to think about. Plus, I’d lived in this house. I knew those items had been
there since I was a kid. Three trash bags were quickly filled and her bathrooms
were emptied. I felt a combination of a sense of sadness and accomplishment,
and then guilt for the later.

I was so used to this house, it was my home once. And even once I moved
out, I was still there at least once a week before she got sick. And then, in
the last few months of course, I was there multiple times a day. Even still, as
familiar and comfortable as I was there, I couldn’t help but feel like I was a
stranger going through her things. I knew all this stuff, but it wasn’t mine.
Regardless, it had to be gone through and my emotions weren’t tied to these
things. They were reminders of my mother, but holding onto them wouldn’t bring
her back.

There were some items I kept. Pieces of art, or little nick-nacks that
reminded me of her. In her later years, my mom loved her gadgets, so keeping
some of them put a smile on my face. I thought briefly that she’d be happy I
kept the items I’d once teased her about.

Brad was a trooper. I’m sure being in a relative stranger’s house going
through someone’s personal effects was uncomfortable, but if he had issue with
it, he didn’t show it. For a guy who, at one point, I had called an arrogant
prick, he simply followed my lead and did what I asked. As we worked, he got to
know me, and by extension, Barbara, better. There were some items that
warranted no discussion, but others had rich histories and I enjoyed sharing
them with him.

“What grade was this?” he asked, pointing to one of a dozen or so
school photos of me prominently displayed in the hallway. This one happened to
be one where I was grinning with horribly buck teeth.

“Second. And that’s third, fourth, fifth…” I pointed to each along the
wall.

“So the braces came along in seventh grade?”

“Thank God for orthodontics!” I exclaimed and he smiled. “Braces, head
gear, neck gear, eight pulled teeth and a retainer that I still wear!”

“Well, it was worth it. You have a beautiful smile, Steph. Then again,
all of you is beautiful.”

I blushed and mumbled thanks as I turned to the next task. I tried not
to confuse what I was feeling, but doing what we were doing was almost more
intimate than anything we’d done before.

I was in my mom’s bedroom packing up some clothes when he came in and
looked at the collection of photos of the two of us on her dresser. There were
pictures of us at the Grand Canyon, atop the Eifel Tower, in a rowboat both
laughing hysterically with our oars flailing… There were probably a dozen
photos from the various trips we’d taken over the years and I could recall each
of them vividly. He’d seen similar ones at my house and I guess seeing almost
duplicates here reinforced what I’d told him all along.

“She really was your best friend.” He stated and I nodded.

“We did everything together. Everything.” I swallowed and smiled. “I’m
sure everyone says this when they lose someone they love, but I still can’t
believe that she’s gone. I can’t believe that all those trips, that there won’t
be any more with her. I just can’t.” I paused looking at the photos.

“And those were just the trips. But it’s the day to day that I miss
already. You know, we talked every day. Every single day. Usually on drive
time, I’d call her on my way to work or on my way home. Her friends would ask
her what on earth we talked about, and honestly, I couldn’t tell you. Probably
a whole lot of nothing. But other than a few times when I was going through a
bratty phase as a teenager, I can’t remember not talking with her.”

Brad listened, and I liked that he was able to see these photos of her,
see her when she looked like the woman I wanted to remember, not the one I’d
seen whither away over the last few months. He’d never know who she was beyond
the patient, but at least he got to see a glimpse of her. At least I got to
share that with him.

“You never knew her as a person.” I laughed at the thought of it. “Oh
my God, if you’d have met her at a party, lord, she would have flirted
shamelessly with you! Shit, I remember that first time we met you…” That
stopped me for a moment thinking how quickly things had changed. That first
meeting wasn’t nearly long enough ago, not to end up where we were now. 

“I’m sorry,” Brad said, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. Two
emotions that were rare for him.

“For my mom?”

He shook his head. “No, I mean, yes, of course I’m sorry I couldn’t
have done more. Done better… But I’m sorry I treated you the way I did that
first meeting.”

Brad was full of surprises. “You remember that?” I was shocked.

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head for a second and nodded. “No
patient had ever talked to me the way you did.” He smiled. “I feel selfish
saying this, with everything. Everything you’re going through. Everything I put
you through… but you’ve made me a better man. A better doctor.”

****

It was late Sunday and Brad and I had been cleaning and sorting since
Saturday morning. We were still in Barb’s bedroom and I had hesitated opening
her jewelry box. I knew there wasn’t much in it, but I also knew that what was
might start the waterworks all over again. She had long since stopped wearing
her wedding ring, and even as bad as her marriage was, that ring was a symbol
of so many things, both right and wrong. I also knew I’d find my grandmother’s
wedding ring that she had passed down to my mom. I never knew my grandfather,
but my mom always told me I would have loved him. There was a gold bracelet
that she bought when we were in New York one year, the first year after my
folks split. I had convinced her that we needed to get out of town for the
holidays to take her mind off of the breakup, and that was the first of many of
our trips together. And there was a letter addressed to me. The jewelry I had
expected to find. The letter was a complete surprise.

She had obviously written this after she had been sick because the
handwriting wasn’t the perfect penmanship that I’d seen throughout my life. The
shaky ‘Stephanie’ on the envelope was enough to make me tear up. I was almost
afraid to open it, afraid of what I’d find. I couldn’t imagine there was
anything left to say. We had said everything, over and over to each other. Not
just during her illness, but throughout our lives. I knew I was fortunate. As
awful as it was watching her suffer, I knew other people didn’t get the chance
to say goodbye, to make sure everything they wanted to say got said. I wasn’t
sure which was better or worse: having the time to say all those things meant
watching a loved one suffer. But, conversely, being blessed with that extra
time. The alternative was having a loved one snatched from this world without
notice, whether in a car accident or a heart attack or something equally
unexpected and final. They wouldn’t have suffered, but their family never got
the chance to say goodbye. Both options sucked. There was no ideal. Not when it
came to this.

With everything we went through together, I didn’t think there would be
anything left unsaid. Obviously she did, so I scooted back onto her bed and
slowly slid my finger under the edge of the envelope, like I was afraid that
whatever was inside might pop out.

To my daughter, my best friend, my little Stephy,

Where do I begin? Even as I write that I realize that if this were
anything other than what it is, I’d be asking you that question in earnest. And
you’d patiently talk me through it. And we might argue. We’d probably giggle.
And you’d guide me, and I’d tell you that you’re brilliant, and you’d roll your
eyes and huff at my praise. But this, I can’t ask you. This one, I have to do
on my own. As your mother.

I know I haven’t always been that to you. I never really knew how to
be a mom. And you were so mature at such a young age, I thought I didn’t need
to be a mother to you. But as grown up as you were, you always seemed like you
needed a friend. So that’s who I became to you. Your friend. Your best friend.
I never understood why you weren’t surrounded by friends your own age. You’ve
always been so full of love and warmth, I couldn’t understand how other people
weren’t automatically attracted to it. For whatever reason, their loss was my
gain.

I’ve had a lot of time to reflect on my life over these last few
months. I wish it were different. I wish you didn’t have to see me this way. I
hate that you do. But I’m not quite sure what I would have done if you weren’t
here. Of course, you were. As you’ve always been. And I know that hasn’t always
been easy. I know you’ve taken care of me, sometimes more than I’ve taken care
of you. I hope you’re not keeping track, cause I’d hate to see the final tally.
But I don’t think that’s you. I know it isn’t. In fact, as I reflect, the only
things I truly know are as they relate to you.

I know that you’re the strongest, smartest, most beautiful woman.
Period. And I know that I’m the luckiest mother to have you as my friend and
daughter. I also know that I’ve never been as strong as you. It just wasn’t me,
Stephy. Throughout this horrible disease, the one thing that’s scared me the
most hasn’t been the treatments or the side effects or any of that
miserableness. What scares me the most is the thought that you wouldn’t have a
‘you’ taking care of you if god-forbid, you ever needed someone.

I hope Dr. Rosenberg does. Yes, honey, I know. I know you think
you’re so good at keeping secrets, but the one thing I know is men. I may not
have always made the best choices, but that’s a topic for another conversation.
One we’ve had too many times over the years. Regardless, I know you. And I know
men. And, I don’t always drift off to sleep during chemo. And I’ve seen the way
he looks at you, and the way you look at him. And I knew that if I brought it
up you’d just roll your eyes and try to convince me I was crazy. So I didn’t.
But I know, honey.

I hope he’s a good man. I hope he’s the best man. Because you
deserve the best. I never got the best. Sometimes, I never even got that good.
But as similar as we are, we’re so, so different. And for once, this isn’t
about me.

I know if you’re reading this, it means I’m no longer here. I’m
sorry for leaving you. I never thought I would, or at least not this early. But
maybe me leaving is what you needed to let someone else in.

This disease has been the worst thing imaginable. Worse than that.
But even still, I’m the luckiest woman in the world because of you. I may have
done a lot of things wrong, but I got one thing right: you.

I love you, Stephy.

Mom

I could barely get through the letter, having to stop multiple times to
wipe my eyes and blow my nose. Brad watched me, patiently. All this time I thought
I knew my mom. I know I did. But this letter… maybe I didn’t know her as well
as I thought.

I looked at him and as usual, couldn’t quite read his expression, but I
thought, hell with it. He’d seen so much already, he deserved to see this too.
So I handed him the letter and waited as he read it. As he got to the end, I
saw the corners of his mouth turn up making it clear what part he got to. When
he finished, in usual Brad fashion, he didn’t say anything. He simply put the
letter down on the bed, walked over to me and lifted me into a tight hug. Maybe
Barb was right after all.

****

After spending all weekend with Brad, on my drive into work I already
missed him. And then my phone rang.

“Brad? Is everything ok?” I answered.

“You said you talked with your mom on drive time. I thought you might
need some company on your way into the office.”

My heart melted. He was living up to his word and I couldn’t help but
smile.

“Well, I’d ask you how your weekend was, but since you spent 12 hour
days putting things into boxes with me, I think I know.”

“My weekend was perfect. I spent it with the woman I love and helped
her the best that I could during her time of need. I couldn’t ask for a better
weekend.”

I was tongue-tied and there was a long bit of silence.

“Hello?” he asked.

I smiled. “I’m here.”

“Oh. Thought I might have lost you there.”

“We’re talking cell reception, right?”

“I’m smiling. You can’t see it, but I’m smiling.”

And now, I was grinning. “I can hear it. And I am too.”

“Good. So, busy week ahead?” He was trying. I knew he wasn’t one for
small talk, yet here he was.

“Actually, I have no idea. It feels like I’ve been away from work for
ages even though it’s only been a few days.”

“Have you thought about taking time off?” He asked, now sounding like
Marty.