TALK OF DEATH

by

Kathleen Glassburn

            The phone rang and I picked up immediately, like I always do.

            “It’s Meredith,” the voice on the other end said. My older sister. Why is she calling? Maybe to see if we’re coming home for Thanksgiving.

            “Ma has cancer. It’s aggressive.” 

“Oh my God.” So blunt!

“The oncologist says she only has a short while and you need to get back here.”

            I plopped onto a kitchen chair.

            “Abby, are you there?”

            “I’m here. Are you in Chambers?” This town of 2,500 in western Minnesota is where Meredith and I were born.

            “Flew in last night.” Meredith lives in Portland, Oregon.

            “Please put Ma on the phone.”

            A moment later, Ma said, “Abby, sweetie, come home.”

            “I will Ma. I’ll talk to Leonard and figure it out and be there as soon as possible.”

            Meredith came back on the phone. “You better hurry.”

Meredith teaches high school math, a subject I shudder to think about. She doesn’t have a husband or a family to think about.

            At home in Sommersville, Colorado, where I’ve lived for years with Leonard and our two sons, Cody and Brady, I commenced to pray harder than usual. All day, as I got my things ready for the trip, I repeated, “Please, oh please, what should I do? That night when Leonard came home from his plumbing business, I told him.

            “Meredith says your mother is dying?” The shocked look on Leonard’s face said, How can that robust woman be dying?

            “That’s what Meredith said.” This can’t be. “I need to go back there tomorrow. To set their minds right.”

            “How long will you be gone?” Leonard now looked worried. “What about the boys?”

He’s never been good with them. Who lets a ten and an eight-year-old bike to the Walmart, two miles away, all by themselves?

            “You’re just going to have to watch over them,” I said. “See that they do their schoolwork and stay out of trouble. I’ll come back as soon as humanly possible.”

            Leonard poured a cup of old coffee from that morning and sat down, his head in one hand.

            “I’ll call often. You’ll do okay, Lenny.”

            That night I had a vivid dream. Ma reached out and said, “Abby, you’ll be my guide.” My mother in her pink pajamas—she loves pink—stood up. “You’re going to heal me.” The dream reminded me of the Lazarus story, only instead of Lazarus rising from the dead, my mother had overcome her sickness.

            The next morning after I loaded my Chevy van with filtered water, vitamin and herbal supplements, specially-laundered washcloths and towels and bedding and clothes, as well as coffee in a thermos and cheese sandwiches for the twelve-hour trip, I went inside for a piece of toast before leaving. Taking a quick glance at the newspaper, my eyes fell upon a story about a Dr. Cramwell and his cure for cancer. Convinced that this was the sign I’d been waiting for, I called and told the woman who answered that this was an emergency. She got me in that very morning.

            When I arrived, Liz, the woman who answered the telephone, said, “Dr. Cramwell’s secluded for the day, praying. I’ll sketch out our background and fill you in on the procedure before making space for your mother.”

            Liz had been working at the town civic center, doing payroll when she received a diagnosis of a cancerous breast lump. “I’m a gonna tell you, I did not want them bringin’ that knife anywhere near my flesh. Can’t stand even so much as a paper cut.”

            “What happened?” She certainly looked rosy and healthy in her yellow jogging suit.

            “Came to Dr. Cramwell. He told me about his special cream and the words and the laying on of hands.” She yanked her jacket up. Rubbing a hand along her back, she said, “See here, it’s right here.” Below her bra band, on the right side, a two-inch red scar poked up, barely visible. “It healed fast.”

            “Why’s there a scar on your back?”

            “That’s where it came out, a dark spidery mass trying to take over my breast.

Dr. Cramwell applied his cream and spoke his Bible words and pressed his hand into my back. He grasped it and pulled it on out.”

            “What a terrifying experience.”

“Surely it was, but I’ve been well ever since. Doctor says as long as he can get at them through the back, removal is a possibility. Once they’re firmly established, only a surgeon with his knife can do it from the front. Then the poisonous treatments start.”

“Truly a miracle.” This had to be the answer for Ma.

            “With eternal gratefulness, I told Dr. Cramwell, ‘I want to work for you. I want to show others what can happen, if only they believe.’ I quit my job, despite fifteen years in and my pension growing.”

            “That’s dedication. Have there been many others cured?”

            “Most certainly. This man came in a few days ago, never extinguished his cigarette the whole time he sat in our waiting room. After a  few visits for spiritual readiness, Dr. Cramwell pulled a tumor—a wicked invader–from his lung.”

            I sniffed, detecting the smell of cigarette smoke. “My mother has a tumor in her stomach.”

            “When was it diagnosed?”

            “Earlier this week. My older sister is with her now. I’m on my way back to Minnesota as we speak. I’ll try to get Ma down here instead.” Please Jesus. “How much does his treatment cost?”

            “Roughly $2000, give or take.” Liz paused. “No time to waste.”

            I hurried back home and called Leonard. “I’ve found a solution.” I explained the treatment. “I’m going to all Ma right away.”

            “Try to convince her she needs to come right away.” Relief poured from his voice. “I’ll give her the money I’ve saved for a new truck.”  Having his mother-in-law alive and well was more important to Leonard than any old vehicle.

            Next, I made the call to Ma. Meredith picked up after about seven rings. This set me on edge from the get-go.

            Once Ma was on the phone, I immediately jumped in. “There’s a doctor near Sommersville who’s had great luck removing cancerous tumors. Leonard says he’ll pay for the procedure. I want Meredith to bring you down here and give this a try.” I caught my breath. “Ma, I don’t want you to give up.”

            “Well…I’ll think…about it.” Her voice sounded so weak. “Explain it…to Meredith.”

            My sister came back on the phone. “What is this?”

            I told her about Dr. Cramwell and Liz’s tumor and the man with lung cancer. “Please bring her down here, Meredith.”

            “Don’t you understand? Ma is going to die at any time. She can’t make a trip like this. You need to get home if you want to talk to her before she goes.”

            “This sounds like it would help…”

            “Even if she could travel, which she absolutely cannot, I don’t believe in this sort of treatment.” She sounded as if this was a court verdict. “Nor does Ma.”

            “Let me talk to her again.”

            It took a couple of precious minutes before she said, “Abby, honey, Meredith’s right. I’m going along…with what my…oncologist tells me.”

            I could see Meredith standing behind Ma, nodding her head.

“Alright, I’ll drive straight through and get there tomorrow.”

            “Can’t you fly?” Meredith sounded peeved.

            “My car is packed up with all my stuff, ready to go.”

            “Sure–your stuff.” Meredith’s peevishness increased. “Get here as fast as you can.”

             Leonard, to be sure, was more than disappointed when I told him. But, he didn’t make a fit. “You have to get to your mother,” he said. “I guess we’ll do fine. Just come back as soon as you can.”

            I stopped by Dr. Cramwell’s office before I left town. Once more, only Liz was there. She and I had gotten quite friendly. I explained to her that my mother was too weak to travel. “Could I please buy some of the doctor’s special cream?”

            “I can’t sell it. The cream only works when Dr. Cramwell does the full ritual on the afflicted.” She sounded so sad about this. “I do recommend plenty of fresh vegetable juices and bless everything before she eats. Of course, pray several times a day. Do this with the laying on of hands. And, trust. And, quietly wait.”

            “I can do all of that.”

            “I will be praying for your mother from here in Colorado. Dr. Cramwell will, too.” Her sad look changed to one of deep sincerity. “If you ever have something like this occur in your own body, I pray it doesn’t happen, come to see Dr. Cramwell as soon as possible.”

            I promised her that I would do exactly that.

            As I drove away, I saw a man looking out one of the windows. I wondered if it was

Dr. Cramwell, taking a break from his prayers. My mind was completely preoccupied with making the drive back to Minnesota. I quickly put him aside.  

*

            Little did I know there’d be slippery spots on some of the two-ways. When I slid into a ditch, my hands, of their own accord, flew up. “Jesus, Jesus,” I called out.

            This was not a well-trafficked road, yet cars started appearing from nowhere. Within an hour a tow truck arrived, and I was pulled from that trap. Fortunately, my car wasn’t the least bit damaged, so I continued on my trip. I still had many hours of travel. Two men in a large truck with Garden Fresh Vegetables painted on the sides, said they were going to Minnesota and would follow behind me, which they did all the way to Minneapolis where I turned and headed west. Before I left them at a café off the interstate, I said, “I so appreciate your care.”

            The biggest of the two men, who had a full black and gray beard, said, “It was a pleasure to help you ma’am. We’re glad there weren’t any more problems along the way.”

“God works in such mysterious ways,” I said. “When my car went into the ditch, I thought I would be stuck for hours and hours. Then all the help I needed came along, including you two nice gentlemen.”

            The smaller man, with an orangish-red goatee, said, “You’re running fine as far as I can tell. That next 150 miles should be okay.”

            Both of them had long ponytails that swayed back and forth as if waving at me when they swaggered off to the café.

*

            Finally, I arrived at Ma’s ranch-style house. I right away noticed Meredith’s Ford Escape with Oregon plates. It had a dusting of snow—merely a dusting. Meredith rapidly answered my knock at the door. Surprise.

            The family room felt peaceful with lights dimmed. Ma, in her pink pajamas, dozed in Pa’s old blue push-up recliner.

            I stood back, hands folded, as Meredith gently rubbed Ma’s neck and said, “Abby’s here.”

            Closing my eyes, I mouthed the words, “Please, Jesus, help me to heal my mother. Make that evil tumor disappear.”

            “Abby…sweetie…you got here in time.” Ma’s voice seemed even weaker than it had on the telephone less than a day before.

            “We’re about to have noon dinner,” Meredith said, Johnny-on-the-spot, as usual. “We’ll eat by where Ma’s sitting so she doesn’t have to get up. Are you cold Ma?” Meredith started adjusting a pastel quilt with suns and moons and stars on it that was over Ma’s legs.

            “Just a bit,” Ma whimpered.

            “That’s beautiful,” I said. “Did you make it, Meredith?”

            “Absolutely not. I’m no good at that sort of thing.”

            I like doing handiwork. Anything I quilted would be a lot better done than this one. I’d put crosses and praying hands and doves on mine.

            “It came from the Mercy Group, a secular organization. They send a quilt to people who has been diagnosed as terminal.”

She said “secular” with such a haughty tone. I couldn’t help but see red, like fire flaming through my blinking eyes. I’d only been home fifteen minutes and Meredith had already made me mad. Please Jesus, help me get through this time without exploding.

            Dinner consisted of ham, scalloped potatoes, corn casserole, and lime green jello salad. Chocolate chip cookies were for dessert. Meredith got everything served up on individual plates while I brought in my supplies and put them in my old bedroom, now Ma’s sewing room. How I wished that Ma would get up and walk into the kitchen and take over for Meredith, like the olden days.

The meal was delicious. Since I hadn’t eaten but a couple of cheese sandwiches on the road, I cleaned my plate properly. Meredith did a good job on hers, too. Ma ate barely a nibble.

            While Meredith cleared away the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, I had time to talk with Ma by ourselves.

            “I can’t believe you’re leaving us.”

            “You must accept this.”

            “I can’t and I won’t. Have you been praying?”

            “I’ve been praying…I pray every day.”

            “Have you been praying to be healed?”

            “I’ve prayed to accept…God’s will.”

            “Well, I’m praying real hard for you to be healed. I can’t believe that it is God’s will to take you from me.”

            “I’m tired, Abby. I want to take a short nap.” Her eyes shut and a minute later she was quietly snoring. I put both hands on the top of her head and she never stirred. If I could pray hard enough, Jesus would hear and cure my mother.

*

            We watched television the rest of that day. Ma’s stories were on all afternoon.

The next morning at breakfast Meredith said, “Anyone who wants to see Ma is coming today at 2:00 p.m.”

“Will there be many?”

“She was popular in this town. I expect there will be at least fifty.”

Fifty? If Ma’s so exhausted why would this happen?

2:00 sharp they started to arrive. I rapidly saw that fifty was an underestimate. There must have been at least a hundred people (mostly older women, but there were several older men, too, and kids who Ma had taught in Sunday School). They sat in her living room, waiting for a chance to come in the family room where she sat on Pa’s chair like the queen that she deserved to be—only with that blasted quilt over her knees. Meredith had planned a potluck so there were ample refreshments set up in the kitchen. Personally, I enjoyed the macaroni salad and a big piece of devil’s food cake.

I hadn’t seen these folks since Ma’s big eightieth birthday celebration held at the

VFW—that was five long years ago. A lot of them hadn’t seen each other either, so there was lots of gabbing in the living room, after each one had spent a few minutes with Ma. If only she’d come to Sommersville, I thought, but I knew Jesus would reach out to her here in Chambers, as he had reached out to me in that ditch. He would help me save my dear mother.

Once they’d filled their stomachs and Ma was tucked into bed, a few relatives sat around the dining room table talking about every loss we’d ever experienced. Uncle Raymond got a tear in his eye over Grandpa, and how, despite the beatings, he’d been sorely missed when a tractor accident robbed him of his life. Uncle Raymond was only thirteen. One of Aunt Mabel’s twins spoke about Grandma and how she’d French braided all the girls’ hair. She’d died during a kitchen fire. Aunt Mabel’s son remembered her chicken and dumplings. While Ma’s siblings had big cries over their departed parents, I wondered, Why can’t they push these accidents to the back of their minds? 

*

            Over leftovers from the hordes the day before, with Mom bolstered by pillows on Pa’s chair and her legs covered with that wretched pastel quilt, Meredith proudly announced, “I visited graves today. Found our special people and left bouquets of mums.”

            I couldn’t help but say, “Can we please turn to something more uplifting?” After that, the subject momentarily changed.

            “While I was uptown I bought a rhubarb pie. It’s Ma’s favorite, Abby.”

            “I know that.”

            Mom, drinking a bit of ginger tea to settle her stomach, said, “I think a small slice would be nice.” Meredith had a large glass of white wine. Her bottle was dwindling. I had some of my soy milk and felt just dandy. But, wouldn’t you know it, Meredith started in again on remembrances.

            “I still miss Pa. Always will,” she said. “His grave needed some weeding.”

            My father was every bit as cantankerous as Meredith. I thought his heart would last forever. What does bringing him up have to do with Ma?

            Meredith, her chin stuck out, said, “I haven’t told you this, but it’s as good a time as any…Ma wants to be cremated.”

            “Cremated?” I could barely get the word out. “Why is she thinking of such a thing?”

            “She had me go to the mortician and gather information on choices. I brought back a brochure about caskets and a traditional funeral, as well as a brochure on cremation. We found a picture of a box with a rosebud that her ashes can be put in. She wants that to be buried next to Pa.”

            My father and my sister—stubborn and rebellious like those in the psalm whose spirits failed to be steadfast. “Ma, what do you have to say?”

            “Less expensive. Less fuss.”

            “If it comes to this, which it is not going to do for a long, long time, I will organize the wake and the funeral.” And then, unable to stand any more, I said, “Why do we have all this talk of Death?” I got up and went to my old room where their rumbles still jangled me for a while. I plugged my ears with my fingers and kept on with my prayers. Later, lying awake, I pictured the Rapture and worried about what would happen to Ma if she chose this cremation desecration of her earthly body. I pleaded with God to bring her around, to give me more time for talking away such a devastating notion.

            Praise Jesus! I must have found the right words. The next morning, after a sleepless night, I decided to have Meredith bring a piece of my flaxseed toast to my room and stay there, continuing with my prayers. But, He called out, saying, “You must be with your mother.”

            Not even taking time for my usual morning bath and routine, I entered the kitchen and discovered Ma sitting up at the table, eating a small serving of oatmeal. She glowed in her pink, and I thought, Hallelujah! My mother has been delivered.

            Ma and Meredith were quietly conversing. “It really doesn’t matter,” Ma said.

            “If you’re absolutely cert…”

            I cleared my throat and they turned towards me. “Glad you’re awake. You can be with Ma,” Meredith said after a moment. “I’m going for a walk uptown.”

            Hoping she didn’t stay too long, I thought, Soon, it will be time for Ma’s clean-up. Since she seemed so strong, maybe she’d be able to manage by herself.

            Meredith softly closed the front door, and Ma said, “I’ve made a decision.” She placed her hand on mine.

            Please don’t have this good feeling go away.

            “There can be a wake and a funeral, as is customary here in Chambers.”

            “Oh Ma, I’m so glad.” Reassurance, like being in the transcending presence, filled me. “However, we’re not going to have to think about this for years. Look at you—up and taking nourishment.”

            Ma smiled, that sweet, accepting smile of hers, and there was even a flash of understanding in her faded blue eyes. She gave my hand one last pat before going back to her oatmeal.

            I went in and looked around the family room. Our Bible sat in a corner on one of the knickknack tables. Above it, a shelf held Ma’s bell collection—silver, china, cystal. I scanned Pa’s chair. Folded neatly, taking up the whole seat, was the pastel quilt. I picked it up and snuck off to my bedroom. First chance, I would set fire to that unwelcome gift for a dying person. Ma did not need it.

THE END