Mama Magda, just like Mother Nature, is a force not to be underestimated.
18
Holding on to Letting Go
“What’s going on here?” the Drill Sergeant asks as he enters the common area.
“Nothing,” I reply quickly, “Magda and I were just talking about the storm.”
“Well, about that. Round two of the storm hit pretty hard last night. I know it’s your day off, but I’m doing patrols and then some fence work if you want to come along.”
“Sure.” Anything will be better than being held captive by my tent all day, or worse, being in the presence of Mama Magda.
The wind carries a damp and bitter chill from atop the snow-capped Landberg mountain range down into the valley. Lashing my face through Harrison’s open window, it penetrates deep into my bones.
“Are you sure there’s no heat in this truck?” Leaning toward the dashboard controls, I flick random switches.
“Nothing works in here,” the Drill Sergeant says while waving me back from the dash.
My fingers quickly go numb inside the once supple, yellow leather gloves that are now loose-fitting, hardened black sacs. The sky is dark, and the underlying mood in this valley is even darker. There are no signs of life anywhere. The valley is baron, lifeless and unkind.
“Where are all the animals?”
“Hiding.”
The condition of the roads has worsened. Most of them have turned into rivers, but that doesn’t stop Harrison from coughing and spitting his way through them.
Soon, we near the area where the sick hartebeest was seen a few days ago. Please don’t be here. Her mate is the first thing we see. He is still anxiously pacing back and forth, even more restless now. He has been by her side for days protecting her from predators and reassuring her.
Maybe he tried to lessen her fears of dying. Maybe he told her that he loves her and will miss her, and not a single day will go by that he doesn’t think about her. Maybe he reassured her that he’d be fine, that she need not worry about him.
However, even as he said those words to her, even as he reassured her it’s okay to leave him, inside, he doesn’t know how he will survive without her. Inside, he’s scared. He can’t bear the thought of being without her, of not having her to fall back on, to rely on, to love, and to be loved by her. He can’t imagine a world without her, and he’s terrified. Maybe he feels guilty that he can’t make her better.
Desperately, I scan the area, praying she will still be alive and with great relief, I find her, alive. The Drill Sergeant pulls beside her this time and turns off the engine. She is in the same position as before, the coldness has hardened the mud around her body. Her eyes have lost some of their strength and her head is not so high anymore. I recognize defeat in her eyes.
I don’t want to give up on her. She has to pull through this. She has to restore my faith that death can be slaughtered by hope and conviction.
Death, ugly, despicable Death, you will not defeat me here, I will not let you. I gave in to you once, thinking it would be easier to fold my hand, to acquiesce to you, but I was wrong. The pain only got worse when I gave in to you.
I tried to escape you, thinking I could run away, but you followed me to the other side of the world. You are a cold, heartless bastard. I will not let you win. I will not let you try to destroy me again as you did before.
I thought you had given up, but you tricked us. I believed she was better, I believed that she had turned the corner to a miraculous recovery, but it was your plan all along. You had an ace up your sleeve, and you waited until I was disillusioned by your deceit before you attacked, one final attack that would destroy my hope and crumble my faith forever.
I return to the hospital even more uplifted than when I left. I had called everyone I could when I was out picking up chicken to tell them the inexplicable story of my mum’s recovery. She is the strongest woman in the world. I knew she would outlive us all.
My faith has been restored, but it won’t last, for Death is finished bluffing and is now playing his hand aggressively to win. As I near my mother’s room an indescribable horrendous sound overtakes the hallway. What is that?
The box of BBQ chicken hits the floor and explodes, sending pieces across the room. I can’t believe the site before me. “What is happening?”
The desperate gurgling sounds are deafening. They’re coming from deep within my mother’s chest. The thick-ankled nurse places an oxygen mask over her face and cranks it up full blast. The combination of noise is piercing. There is terror in my mother’s eyes as she fights for air.
“What happened to her?” I scream. “She was fine ten minutes ago!”
“She’s drowning in her own lungs,” the nurse says without looking at me.
“Drowning? What does that mean? Is she dying?”
“She’s trying to,” she turns to face me, “but she’s holding on for you.”
The gurgling noise is overwhelming. Control slips away and is replaced with panic. “What can I do?”
The nurse puts her hand on my shoulder, her eyebrows frown as she says, “Tell her she can go.” She squeezes my shoulder, “I’m sorry.” She quickly leaves the room and closes the door behind her, leaving me alone.
Regis and Kelly, her favorite show, the one that we watched together every morning in this room for the last twenty-two days is still on the TV. The audience laughs voraciously at one of Regis’s jokes. Screw you, Regis.
It’s one of those paralyzing moments when you realize you have disillusioned yourself into believing the unbelievable because the truth is too horrific to face. And now the truth is punching you in the face. Your life has changed forever, and there is nothing you can do to go back. Hope and faith are extinguished in one breath. Your prayers have gone unanswered, and there is not a shred of doubt that you are completely alone because not even God is listening.
I turn off the TV and take a seat on the edge of her bed and stare out the window. Everything is grey; the sky, the mountains, the buildings, and the streets—it all looks dead. So this is how it is going to be. Death’s ugly grip is tightening. I have to stop resisting and take back what control I can by resigning to the reality I have been trying so hard to ignore.
“Mum?”
Her eyes are wide open but there is no response.
“Can you hear me, Mum?”
Nothing. I weep. Holding her hand as tight as I possibly can, I try to hold on to the strength and conviction I had moments ago. I have never felt so out of control, so useless, and so helpless. It is inevitable; I have to let her go.
I turn off the oxygen tank, quieting it. Leaning over my mother’s ear, I begin:
“Mum, I remember so many good things. I remember the times you unexpectedly showed up at my ball games, standing in the bleachers with a bag of chewing gum for me. It wasn’t very often but it didn’t matter because when you were there, I felt like I could do anything. I was so proud when I hit the ball. But even when I struck out, it was okay because you were there cheering me on. I spent my entire third grade summer perfecting my mosquito repellent invention made out of compost.
“Looking back, I see how ludicrous it was, but you didn’t; you wore the stinky repellent and pretended it worked. No matter how crazy my ideas were or how destined they were to fail, your words were always the same: go for it. You cheered me on my entire life, and whether I failed or succeeded, got battered and bruised, it didn’t matter because you would be there to pick me up and remind me to never stop trying.
“You always just knew when something was wrong, and you knew how to make me feel better. Your strength never wavered in all the storms we went through. You were committed to your family, and we never went without. You have nothing to regret. I know how much you love me, and I love you. I always will. You are a good mother, the best mother I could have ever wished for.”