“Sorry, I thought I had that on vibrate,” I said, breaking eye contact and scrambling off the bed. “Please forget I said anything.”
Finding my bag, I pulled out my phone to turn the ringer off, but then I noticed who it was.
Glancing up at him, I mouthed an apology.
“Hey, Aunt Addy,” I answered, thankful for the brief intermission of embarrassing myself.
“Jazmyn, it’s Monica,” my aunt’s nurse replied.
My stomach dropped.
23
I stared at Aunt Addy as she slept. I’d arrived in Chance a little after two o’clock in the morning. As soon as Monica said that Aunt Addison had declined significantly, I’d thrown on a pair of Lamar’s sweatpants and a T-shirt before speeding out of town.
“Jazz, earlier, I—”
“We’re good.” I interrupted, knowing I didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with the fallout of my admission. “Please forget I said anything. I was caught up in the moment, and right now, my mind is all over the place.” My voice broke. “I can’t.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Drive safely. Call me when you get there. Let me know what you need. I got you.”
I replayed that painful conversation with Lamar in my mind to drown out Monica’s explanation of what was going on with Aunt Addy.
Broca’s aphasia … continued decline … suspects a ministroke …
I repeated the words, trying to make sense of it all because I’d just talked to her. Thursday evening, we’d talked for only ten minutes, but she sounded okay. She sounded tired, weak, but okay. She asked me about the last portion of my book. I asked her about her party. There was no indication that the last time I’d heard her voice would possibly be the last time I’d ever hear her voice.
“She was napping, and she woke up and said your name,” Monica had explained upon my arrival. “She picked up her phone, and … there was a panicked look on her face, and she was making noises instead of words. She tried speaking, and the words wouldn’t come. She got upset, so I took the phone. That’s when I talked to you. I gave her something to calm her down. Your dad ate soup with her and sat with her for a while, and then she went back to sleep. She’s been sleeping since.”
I hadn’t cried since I’d laid eyes on Aunt Addy. Even though she was sleeping, actually seeing her made me feel better.
Maybe this is what she meant by making peace with losing her.
“Get some rest,” Monica suggested about an hour after I’d arrived. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
I got out of the chair in the corner of my aunt’s room and followed the nurse down the hall. When we got to the living room, she turned and looked at me. “She’s comfortable. You had a long drive. Try to get some rest, and if anything changes, I’ll wake you up.”
“What happened?” I asked, getting worked up. “Between you and my parents, I thought I knew everything that was going on. And I know she’s been spending most of her time in bed. Does she need to get out more and get moving, or does she need activities—”
“Jazmyn,” she interrupted. Walking over to me, she placed her hands on my shoulders. “There is nothing that can be done. She hired me to care for her at the end of her life, and I am here. Your parents are here every day to sit and talk with her. She allows Rose to visit. She doesn’t get out of bed because she can’t tolerate activity. But there is no correlation between her being in the bed and her symptoms now.” She searched my face for understanding. “This is just what her condition is. We’re approaching end of life.”
Blinking rapidly, I shook my head. “I just … I talked to her yesterday.”
She hugged me, and I hugged her back tight. “I know. I know. It’s hard to watch someone you love die.” She took a step back and grabbed my hands. “But hear me, nothing has been out of the ordinary. When she takes her medication, she’s not in any pain. The only day she experienced some discomfort was the day she postponed the pain medicine to stay up late to read your book.”
I knew she was trying to make me feel better, but that made me sad. I didn’t want my aunt to be in pain. I also didn’t want her to die without me completing it.
She hates a cliffhanger, I thought with a quivering lip.
“Please be real with me, Monica,” I pleaded tearfully. “What do you think? Not as a nurse to a patient’s family, but as two people who love her. Just between me and you, what do you think is going on?”
“Addison is dying,” she said gently. “As I tried to explain to you on the phone, her aphasia could be from a ministroke, and it couldbe Broca’s aphasia. She was having difficulty speaking, and when she did speak, she wasn’t finding the right words. I believe that upset her, and she stopped trying to speak.”
“You think she’s not speaking because of the difficulty andnotbecause she can’t?”
“We won’t know for sure. But I’ve been with Addison for a long time now, and I’m speculating based on her personality. I’ll assess tomorrow and follow up with the doctor on call.”
“So there’s a chance.”
