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ninanevermoreI am standing back from the Ferris Wheel, watching the Carney and the woman with her finger pointing in his face. She is shouting at him, more confrontational than anyone I have ever seen facing down Death.
"If you think I'm leaving without my baby, you're dead wrong," she shouts at him, seemingly unaware of the irony of her words, and then she lets loose with a string of epithets. She is screaming, crying, cursing, banging on his chest with her fists, until he takes her in his arms and whispers something to her. I've never seen him actually touch anyone like this before, or anyone fall against him and sob like she does. He holds her tightly, tenderly, whispering words I can't hear, stroking the back of her hair with the hand that is not holding his cigarette.
I stand back and watch as if frozen. I am stunned. Since Cameron's aneurysm in 1993 I have written his epitaph a thousand times in my head, waiting for that phone call from Tennessee; waiting to hear that, after all these years in limbo he was finally gone and we could grieve for him at last. I've steadied myself to be there for Leslie when she finally lost her son, to comfort her and help her through it.
"You're like my little sister, Nina," she's told me on so many occasions, "You don't know how much you mean to me. I love you so much."
I was prepared for Cameron's death. Leslie's death, however, has blindsided me.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
My cousin Aly sent me a message with a subject line that read: URGENT!!! Call me NOW! this morning. I didn't think a lot of it. That side of my family is prone to drama, but I called to see what was up.
"Randy called me," she said, "He suggested I might should call you after you get off work. So, do you want the bad news now, or do you want to wait until you get home tonight?"
"Might as well give it to me now," I said. The stall tactic annoyed me a little bit; I like it when people come out and say what they mean.
"Brace yourself," she said, as if one really can brace yourself for the kind of news she was about to deliver.
"Okay."
She took a deep breath. "Cameron's okay, but Leslie's gone."
I have been figuratively holding my breath for more than a decade and a half since Cameron's aneurysm, waiting to gently exhale when I finally got the news that his ordeal was over. Suddenly, that breath was knocked out of me as my mind tried to wrap itself around what I'd just heard. My find failed to wrap, though; Aly's words were just too small for the truth she was trying to convey.
"What?" I asked, thinking Gone? What do you mean by gone? Gone where?
"She had an aneurysm. Wren found her on the couch last night and couldn't wake her up, or something. She died on the way to the hospital."
Deja vu, I thought, This is what exactly what happened with Cameron. Stop, I've heard this story already. By now the tears were already running down my face, and the rest of what we discussed is a blur. A co-worker who I don't even know was able to catch the jist of the conversation; she fetched me a box of tissues and put her arm around my shoulders as I finished the call.
Hours later, my mind has still not taken it in. I never realized how much I loved Leslie until today.
I last spoke to her on Saturday. She'd been feeling poorly lately, with blinding headaches, sick to her stomach to the point that she could keep neither food or water down, and having violent mood swings so intense that they scared her. She'd also been so tired that she could barely get off of the couch, which wasn't like her at all; Leslie has always been a whirlpool of energy. She'd gone to a doctor who prescribed antidepressants and a sedative, and told her it was just stress. I told Leslie that "stress" was what they tell you when they can't figure out what is really wrong with you.
"Well, yeah, Nina, tell me something I don't know. I don't have the Internet, though, so I thought maybe you could look up what this might be whenever you get the chance. I'm not seeing that bitch again. I go in there and she insults me and puts me on Zoloft. Screw her. Anyway, let me know what you find out. I gotta let you go. I love you."
I told her to take care, and that I loved her, too.
This morning, after I got the news, I looked up the symptoms for an aneurysm. Lo and behold, hindsight really is the 20-20 vision everyone always told me it was. They include nausea, vomiting, headache, mood swings, and fatigue. She was already dying when I spoke to her.
Leslie is finally at peace, but I feel like screaming. I can only hope and pray that right now she is watching the DVD she wanted from Jesus, and enjoying every minute of it.
"If you think I'm leaving without my baby, you're dead wrong," she shouts at him, seemingly unaware of the irony of her words, and then she lets loose with a string of epithets. She is screaming, crying, cursing, banging on his chest with her fists, until he takes her in his arms and whispers something to her. I've never seen him actually touch anyone like this before, or anyone fall against him and sob like she does. He holds her tightly, tenderly, whispering words I can't hear, stroking the back of her hair with the hand that is not holding his cigarette.
I stand back and watch as if frozen. I am stunned. Since Cameron's aneurysm in 1993 I have written his epitaph a thousand times in my head, waiting for that phone call from Tennessee; waiting to hear that, after all these years in limbo he was finally gone and we could grieve for him at last. I've steadied myself to be there for Leslie when she finally lost her son, to comfort her and help her through it.
"You're like my little sister, Nina," she's told me on so many occasions, "You don't know how much you mean to me. I love you so much."
I was prepared for Cameron's death. Leslie's death, however, has blindsided me.
My cousin Aly sent me a message with a subject line that read: URGENT!!! Call me NOW! this morning. I didn't think a lot of it. That side of my family is prone to drama, but I called to see what was up.
"Randy called me," she said, "He suggested I might should call you after you get off work. So, do you want the bad news now, or do you want to wait until you get home tonight?"
"Might as well give it to me now," I said. The stall tactic annoyed me a little bit; I like it when people come out and say what they mean.
"Brace yourself," she said, as if one really can brace yourself for the kind of news she was about to deliver.
"Okay."
She took a deep breath. "Cameron's okay, but Leslie's gone."
I have been figuratively holding my breath for more than a decade and a half since Cameron's aneurysm, waiting to gently exhale when I finally got the news that his ordeal was over. Suddenly, that breath was knocked out of me as my mind tried to wrap itself around what I'd just heard. My find failed to wrap, though; Aly's words were just too small for the truth she was trying to convey.
"What?" I asked, thinking Gone? What do you mean by gone? Gone where?
"She had an aneurysm. Wren found her on the couch last night and couldn't wake her up, or something. She died on the way to the hospital."
Deja vu, I thought, This is what exactly what happened with Cameron. Stop, I've heard this story already. By now the tears were already running down my face, and the rest of what we discussed is a blur. A co-worker who I don't even know was able to catch the jist of the conversation; she fetched me a box of tissues and put her arm around my shoulders as I finished the call.
Hours later, my mind has still not taken it in. I never realized how much I loved Leslie until today.
I last spoke to her on Saturday. She'd been feeling poorly lately, with blinding headaches, sick to her stomach to the point that she could keep neither food or water down, and having violent mood swings so intense that they scared her. She'd also been so tired that she could barely get off of the couch, which wasn't like her at all; Leslie has always been a whirlpool of energy. She'd gone to a doctor who prescribed antidepressants and a sedative, and told her it was just stress. I told Leslie that "stress" was what they tell you when they can't figure out what is really wrong with you.
"Well, yeah, Nina, tell me something I don't know. I don't have the Internet, though, so I thought maybe you could look up what this might be whenever you get the chance. I'm not seeing that bitch again. I go in there and she insults me and puts me on Zoloft. Screw her. Anyway, let me know what you find out. I gotta let you go. I love you."
I told her to take care, and that I loved her, too.
This morning, after I got the news, I looked up the symptoms for an aneurysm. Lo and behold, hindsight really is the 20-20 vision everyone always told me it was. They include nausea, vomiting, headache, mood swings, and fatigue. She was already dying when I spoke to her.
Leslie is finally at peace, but I feel like screaming. I can only hope and pray that right now she is watching the DVD she wanted from Jesus, and enjoying every minute of it.
