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Storm |
One
Common Drama |
Two
for One |
Three
Pivotal Years |
Four
Generations |
Five
Ring Circus |
| Subject: | Mom |
| Date: | Wednesday, February 4, 1998 23:56:28 - 0500 |
| From: | Jérôme |
| To: | Silvana |
Thank you for calling. However, I could not say all I wanted to with my mother by my side. I have my thoughts somewhat together now, but it is late for you. Maybe I it make more sense to write things down...
Yes, I panicked today. My mother tried to talk, but with very little energy left. What she can say is still clear, but today is the last day she will be able to talk. I know I bothered some by peppering everyone with messages, but it was far too important that she hear Arianna's voice one last time and say a few last words.
This past week has been touching and humbling at the same time. Daily, her condition changes. Visibly.
When I landed in Montreal on the 29th, I had to drop by the hospital to get the keys to her place. She looked and sounded well. The first thing she asked was: "Where is Arianna?" I had to tell her the truth. Her shoulders sagged.
Although she could not walk, she could move around and alertly search for her keys (moreso than I with 6 hours jet lag!) - which we could not find. The nurses and doctors confirmed what I felt; she was not under any pain-killers, her mind was all there and she was actively waiting for my return. Nevertheless, her body had taken a beating.
The following day, she was just as alert, but quieter. So was I. I was not realizing that, soon, she would not be around anymore. I always believed she could overcome anything. Ever since 1968, she wore this invisible shield in my eyes. That evening, we were out having tea at the Café Algiers, a cosmopolitain hang-out typical of Harvard Square, where my mom could speak to foreigners and I could learn chess or play backgammon noisily. By the time we walked out, there were barriers everywhere. My mother asked a policeman:
What is going on?
Ma'am, the student have organised a march. We think it could turn into a riot. You should get you and your boy out of here now.
My mother nodded in acknowledgement. Yet, I knew we were on the wrong side of Harvard Square to have a beeline walk home. She turned to me and said:
Shhh... we'll go and see what is going on. But we have to wait for the right moment...
But... are you cert...Keep quiet. Everything will be all right. Just keep holding my hand.
The moment the police officer had his attention drawn elsewhere, we went past a barrier 200 feet away and went straight for the heart of Harvard Square, and then did a few tacks to get a good feeling for this event. I did not see what catalyzed the march into a riot. I just know that, all of a sudden, students were running everywhere, but mainly in our direction, with helmetted policemen at their heels. We were playing the old salmon trick - go against the flow. Moments later, smoking tin cans were flying everywhere, leaving billowy trails of tear gas. My worry was just about as high as the tension. My mother finally resolved:
Time to go!
We went off to some quieter side and got out of the riot, as if it had never existed. But not without another policeman gawking, as he was running by, and yelling:
What the h... are you doing here? Get out!
"I know what I'm doing!" boomeranged so fast, he could not come up with any reply...
We walked home calmly. I had learned another lesson on how to behave in crisis. My mom, on her end, had earned another layer of invulnerability veneer. Something that never really wore off...
Saturday last, she was still alert, but calmer then ever. We did not talk much over the weekend. What could I say? My mind was drawing blanks...one after another.
On Sunday, her appetite took a noticeable dip. I tried to help her eat, but she refused. I prefer to respect her wish than to force the issue. A friend who visited was shocked that she was not being (force) fed more. Her doctor told me later that cancer patients don't have much of an appetite...
Yesterday, the first signs of motor loss; she could not brush her teeth.
And today... I probably heard her last words.
Kiss the kids on behalf of their grand mother.
J