You can’t take it with you

She was not sure what time it was when the pain woke her or how long she had been lying in the dark, waiting. The only sound she could hear was the old clock on the living room mantle faithfully, steadily slicing seconds off the borrowed time she was biding. The insidious ache grew larger and she struggled to control her thoughts. Once happy memories that brought her comfort had been reduced to longing and regrets causing her to shake her head now and then in an attempt to erase those faces that were long gone. Her body was too weak to get up on her own so she was forced to wait and try to breathe and relax like the hospice nurse had taught her. She focused on the muted sounds of her heartbeat and the small high pitched wheezing of her breath until the first pale rays of sun slipped through the tiny gap in her curtains. It wasn’t long till the staccato of bird songs began to welcome the dawn. In the distance she heard a rooster declaring his rightful place in the world. The pain was stronger now and she took deeper breaths telling herself it wouldn’t be much longer. When she finally heard a car door slam outside her house her eyes filled with tears. She had made it through. Leah was here.

“Knock, knock!” Leah called out cheerfully as she opened the front door and called into the house. “Ooo, it’s a cold one out there today, Hattie. We sure got a dump of snow.” Hattie heard Leah stomp her feet at the threshold. I thought for sure this was the morning my ol’ bucket-of-bolts would give up the ghost, but I’m here so she still has a little life in her yet.”

Hattie smiled faintly. Leah’s old car was a constant source of discussion between them. Hattie could hear Leah climbing the stairs now.

“My little one has a cold. Poor little guy. Wasn’t sure what to do with him. He didn’t want to miss school, but luckily my neighbor, you know, the widow? She agreed to watch him for me. I’m glad he’ll be safe and-“

Leah stopped short as she opened Hattie’s bedroom door and saw the pained expression and tears running down the old woman’s face.

“Oh, Hattie!” Leah exclaimed as she rushed to her side. “Oh dear one, are you in pain?” Hattie couldn’t answer. “Don’t you worry now, I’m here.”

Leah opened the bedroom curtains slightly to give enough light to see her way around the room. She didn’t want to turn on the overhead light and hurt Hattie’s eyes. Hattie watched as Leah bustled about, quickly and deftly. She had been Hattie’s carer now 6 months. Other girls used to come on a rota schedule, but over time Hattie only wanted Leah and the Hospice had thankfully agreed to the arrangement, except on weekends as Leah needed that time with her son.

Leah helped Hattie to sit up in bed against the headboard, adjusted the pillows just right and pulled out Hattie’s medication. Hattie watched the young girls face, brow furrowed, as she quickly sorted the pain medication. Hattie always admired Leah’s bright open face and straight nose. Her long thick hair was always so manicured and perfectly made into a ballerina bun. Her brown eyes were warm and kind and her smile was worth a thousand suns. Just having her near was a comfort.

Leah helped Hattie take her pills, but noticed it was hard for her to swallow. Hattie’s face looked more drawn and thin, her skin had a grey hue now and her eyes were dull with dark circles above and below. Leah’s heart sank a bit. It wasn’t new to her, watching people slowly fade, but it never was easy. Especially with the people that had found a special place in her heart.

When Hattie seemed more calm Leah asked, “How long have you been awake and in pain?”

Not wanting to worry her Hattie gave a half smile and waved the question weakly away with her skeletal hand. Leah reached over and took the frail hand in both of hers.

“Hattie,” she sounded as though she were gently scolding a child. “Remember, we promised we would be honest with each other.” Hattie looked down at her patchwork quilt, tracing it’s patterns with her eyes, trying to avoid Leah’s gaze. She shrugged.

“I don’t know how long.” She finally admitted. Leah nodded.

“It seems you’ve been in pain more often.” Leah observed. No response. “Hattie?” She said softly. She waited until Hattie looked up at her. “Is it time?”

Hattie knew what she meant. There had been many discussions since her cancer diagnosis about knowing when it was time to start the comfort measures. In her heart she had known it was coming, and in fact, if she was to be honest, she knew the time was long over due. But, to finally say it. To know it. To accept it. That was a different thing. The thought of getting to this place used to make her angry and sad, but now there was a growing part of her that was almost relieved at the thought. She had been trying to ignore it, but the siren song of the inevitable was only growing stronger. Hattie looked at Leah and nodded and then looked away. Leah squeezed her hand gently and gave it a pat.

“Ok, Hattie. Ok.”

Hattie listened as Leah called to speak with the nurse and then listened as she called and rearranged the rest of her day.

“I hope you didn’t change your schedule for me,” Hattie said when Leah came back in the room.

“Of course I did it for you,” Leah said with a smile. Hattie went to protest but Leah interrupted her, “I know it will be hard but you’ll just have to put up with me the rest of the day.” She gave Hattie a wink and then headed to start some laundry.

After the nurse and doctor visits and the new medication arrived, the house was quiet again. Leah sat next to the bed looking through old books and magazines and asked if Hattie wanted her to read a story. When there was no answer Leah looked up at Hattie and saw her staring intently at her.

“Do I have something in my teeth or is it my unmatched beauty that has you so riveted,” Leah took on a pouty-lipped model pose. Hattie smiled.

“Something in your teeth, I suppose.” She teased back and Leah laughed. Leah held up a book with a raised eyebrow questioning if that certain story was ok.

Instead of confirming, Hattie asked, “You’re a single mom aren’t you?” Leah put the book on her lap.

“Yes. He’s five now.”

“And the boy’s dad?” Leah frowned slightly as she measured the boundaries of professionalism and too much personal information. She convinced herself sharing wouldn’t hurt this time.

“Not in the picture.” She answered. “But, it’s for the best,” she quickly added. “It wasn’t a good situation.”

Hattie nodded and could tell she shouldn’t ask more about that. “I see. And... family? Do you have family?”

Leah slowly shook her head and put on a practiced smile. “I’m afraid not. I’m a foster kid. My family is my boy now.” She gave a meek smile and shrugged her shoulders. Trying to move the questions away from herself she leaned forward and asked,

“Are you thinking of your son, Hattie?”

Hattie put her head back on the pillows and closed her eyes. The new medication was starting to make her drowsy and make everything feel hazy and dreamlike.

“I think of him all the time,” Hattie answered sleepily. “He’s been 10 years gone now, but, well ... it’s yesterday, too.” And with that she fell into the sweet release of slumber.

Leah stayed until the night carer came. In the middle of the night Hattie awoke with a start. The carer was sitting in a chair in the corner reading but upon seeing Hattie awake she quickly came to her side.

“What can I do for you, dear?” Hattie first asked for water then she asked for the nurse to go into her bedside table and get out the little black book she kept in there. It was a faithful notepad that had held onto her ideas, shopping lists, phone numbers, old receipts, addresses and random doodles over the years. It had an elastic band cinching the belly of the book as Hattie didn’t want anything to fall out. The nurse found her a pen, turned on the bedside lamp and placed a pillow on Hattie’s lap to lay the book on. Hattie thanked her, stopped, thought for a moment and then, with a shaky hand, slowly and deliberately wrote.

The next morning Leah came again. Once the morning ablutions were complete Hattie asked Leah to get the little black book off the bedside table and hand it to her. Leah dutifully did so. Hattie held the book to her chest and cleared her throat. She could feel the pain medication quickly taking hold and she wanted to have her say before things went foggy again.

“I’m going to put this book in my bedside table right there,” she said.

“Ok,” said Leah with an extended hand, “Can I help you?” Hattie shook her head. The medication cobwebs were forming too fast. She licked her lips and spoke markedly but her words still came out sounding as though she had had too much to drink.

“When I’m gone, Leah, this book is for you. And only you. Do you understand?” Leah nodded, a confused look on her face. Hattie continued, “Do not look inside until I’m gone. Ok?”

“Ok, Hattie,” Leah said.

“I mean it!” Hattie exclaimed and Leah jumped at the shrill declaration. “Not until after and only you!”

“I promise, Hattie. I promise.” Hattie nodded as her eyes became heavier. Before she drifted off she said,

“I wrote you something in the back of the book. Just for you.” And with that she drifted off.

Leah put the little black book back in the side table, curious, but obedient to wait.

Over the next week the conversations between them grew less and less as Hattie slept more and more as the medication kept her pain and unease at bay. The only visitors were the staff as, like Leah, Hattie had undeservedly found herself alone in the world. Leah found this truth too bitter and cold and vowed she would stay with her. When it looked like Hattie’s time was drawing to a close Leah made arrangements so she could keep vigil. And, when it was time, Hattie was not alone. Leah held her hand and spoke softly to her as Hattie’s light dimmed until all was quiet and final. Leah cried for her friend, kissed her forehead and one last time cared for her to get her ready for her last journey.

After Hattie had been taken away, Leah remembered the little black book and her promise. She sat on the bed, opened the side table and took out the book. She removed the old elastic that secured the contents inside and a small key fell out of the book and onto the floor. She picked up the key and turned to the back of the book where Hattie had said she had left her a message. The writing was jagged, large and somewhat difficult to read. The sentences drifted up and down and almost crossed each other at times. She turned on the bedside lamp to see better. As she read she whispered the words to herself.

“Leah. I can’t write like I want. You are like me. Alone. Alone is hard with a child. I have no one now. I saved some pennies here and there. I thought I would give it to my boy. But he left before I could give it to him. I want to say thank you. Under my bed is a box. Here’s the key. It is all for you. All of it. I wish it was more. Hattie.”

Leah had to re-read the letter three times to make sure she got it all as her eyes were full of tears. She looked under the bed and saw a grey lockbox. Her heart started pounding and her curiousity took hold. She reached to grab the box, but instinct took over and she sat up and looked all around her, listening intently. When she was convinced she was all alone she reached for the box again. Her hand was shaking slightly as she tried the key in the lock. She put the key in backwards at first and swore silently to herself before she remedied her mistake. She put her hands on the lid, held her breath and closed her eyes. She kept her eyes closed as she lifted the lid eventually peeking at the contents. Her breath rushed out and she shut the box quickly. It was money. She had been afraid to hope. But, just as she said, there was Hattie’s savings. She lifted the lid and looked again. There, neatly placed and secured with rubber bands, were 20 bundles of cash. After some quick counting Leah realised each bundle was $1000.00. Which meant...she calculated quickly, shook her head slowly and laughed incredulously.

“It can’t be,” she said to herself. But, it was true. $20,000. Leah sat quietly, her mind racing with 20,000 thoughts. She could hear the old Thomas clock ticking purposefully and unrelentingly. She sat like that until she could see the sun starting to set through the window and she knew she had to get home. Leah reached up on the bed, took down the black book. She put it in the box, closed the lid, sat back on her heels and smiled.