But no one ever said life was fair.
I close my eyes and let out a sigh. I feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyes and I struggle to keep them at bay. Those tears seemed to come all too easily these days, and it was even harder to keep trying to hide them.
I move my left hand and cover my right wrist. It’s funny to think that such a little charm bracelet can offer such feelings of protection. But that’s what I need these days, some level of hope that will ultimately assist me in enduring.
This little trinket never fails to remind me of the happy times; it is proof that I had lived.
So this is what it feels like to hold your life in your hands.
I gently caress each charm, briefly recounting the memories, the significance, the joy and the happiness associated with it. Who will remember my story when I am no longer here? Who will know what these little things mean?
I didn’t need to look at the individual charms any more; I had committed all of them to memory over the years. Each little addition was so special, so important to me. Every charm contained a host of memories, and all of them – if not completely happy– still made me who I was.
I remember when Jeff presented it to me. Right back at the beginning, the year before we married.
I feel the little pickle with a diamond chip on it: the first charm, a salute to the pickle barrel and his version of an engagement ring. Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly and I catch my breath. It all went by so fast.
I ball my fists around the bracelet so I won't cry, feel the little Italiancornodig into my palm and start to breathe again.
We were on our honeymoon, and I was wearing … a red and white print dress cinched at the waist with a wide red belt. I just wanted to look like Jackie O back then. Jeff was in a suit with no tie, just a little blue neck-scarf. Oh we thought we were so European – we were so silly! My hand hurts so I release the bracelet a little bit, and with my fingers I find our wedding bells, white gold this time.
My fingers keep circling the bracelet. Next the quill; Jeff always used to tease me about being a compulsive list-maker. The handbag, an obvious one and a true homage to a misfortunate addiction. I have always had a particular weakness for Chanel.
Then, Greg's baby carriage, the happiest day of my life. Lost in the memory, I smile and stare at the ceiling – there is a pretty pattern of light playing on it. I feel like a baby staring at a mobile. Is this what it was like? Not for me as a baby, no crib mobiles back then, just the tin ceiling of my parents’ deli to keep me entertained. Greg had a mobile themed Curious George; it was from a little toyshop on East Eighty-Sixth street.
When I was a girl, I wanted brothers and sisters so badly, it was awful, I ached for them. I had to help at the deli, so I was not allowed to stay and play with any of my schoolmates after school, or on the weekends. It was books on the deli counter and get cracking. My dad would have me make the egg salad, and later let me work the slicer. Think about it, letting a child work a meat slicer – we were so crazy back then. This brings a smile to my mouth as I think of buying Greg's first car-seat straps, unheard of in my day, when you just got tossed around in the back seat. Or how I cut up his meat until he was eleven. Eleven! I was so afraid he'd cut himself with a knife. Jeff used to scold me that I was babying him, but I wasn't. I was just being his mom, a good mom, because I could. I had no deli to run, no other obligations. I could devote all my time and attention to my beloved boy. I was unable to have any more children, and Greg himself was nothing short of a miracle. I could not get pregnant for the life of me after Jeff and I got married. I remember talking to Father Mike about it, who told me that God was good and that I shouldn’t worry too much about it.
Jeff and I took his advice and simply decided not to obsess about it from then on; after all, as Doris Day sings, ‘Que sera sera’. Do young people watch old movies any more? I must ask Greg. He used to park himself in front of the TV with me now and then to catch an old movie. Cary Grant was my favourite, of course. Jeff always reminded me of him a little bit. I must ask Greg when he comes again. Maybe we can watch one together … if I have time. I have to laugh. If I have time? I sound like I'm getting ready to catch a flight.
It's strange how I worry more for Jeff than I do for Greg. Parents are supposed to go before children, it's the natural order of things, and though I know Greg will grieve, he'll move on.
Jeff, he's the one I get so nervous about. I wonder if I should arrange a full-time girl to help him. Maybe Maria could use more work, to help him out full time – I should ask her, although she’s already assumed that role.
I can’t help it; I have visions of Jeff eating old yoghurt and getting botulism. He never thinks of those naturally life-preserving things like I did, like if something smells funny don't eat it.
I hate the fact that my illness and all its accoutrements have prevented us from sleeping the same bed any more – in the same room even. I miss my husband’s strong arms around me at night, the time I am most scared and oddly most awake.
But I don’t want to think about that just now. It is too depressing.
Where was I? Oh yes, I had just traced the outline of a tiny snowflake, one of the first charms I received from my son. Christmas was always my favourite time of year and we used to take Greg to see the Rockefeller Center Tree Lighting every year, even through high school.
I smile at the thought of my tall, handsome son, still humouring his silly old parents as time and time again they bring him to see the tree.
The lights go on and he claps along with the crowd, just to make us happy.
We had since stopped taking him skating, though – that I couldn't subject him to. After the lighting, we would 'release him', and let him go off to find his friends and go sledding on garbage-can tops in the park. I wonder if Greg will bring his own children to the tree lighting some day. I sure hope so.
When I was told that there was nothing more they could do for me and hospice might be the best thing, I was angry. I was frustrated, too, and almost cleaned out our checking account donating money to breast cancer foundations.
It's why Dr Chang bought me the little cancer ribbon charm. She really is sweet, though young. She sits on the board of one of the foundations – they told her we were donating a large sum. She didn't get all emotional on me, thank goodness, even though I know it's what her own mother died of. She simply sent me something she knew I'd love. A little pink ribbon charm for my bracelet. A symbol of the now that was happening to me.
She was the one who agreed to let me come home to our apartment, and let Maria and Jeff do my checks. When she had me settled in the first week, I complained about the morphine, the way it made me always so sleepy and gave me strange dreams, and how it ruined my appetite. What I hate the most is being apart from my husband though.
I move on to the next charm. It's … the carousel horse! One of my favourites. Jeff gave it to me after Greg turned three. We had just taken him to Coney Island and Jeff sat on a horse with him, the two of them leaning out as far as they could to try and catch the brass ring. Afterwards we walked on the boardwalk and ate Nathan’s hot dogs … I am missing it acutely now, so I let go of the charm.
I feel in a dreamlike state all the time now. Jeff and Greg come in and out of the room and try to talk to me, but their voices are mostly a fog.
I am not afraid of dying. When I was first diagnosed, I was-it haunted me all the time. I wasn't ready, I was afraid for what was on the other side, but now I just don't think about it.
