Crossing Guard

A stab of pain jolts me from my sleep. I must have made some sort of noise in response because I hear my daughter and granddaughter scurrying around me, roused from whatever spot they found comfortable enough in this cramped den to finally rest. I can’t open my eyes to be sure, but I know they are hurrying to either side of my reclining chair turned deathbed. They each grab one of my hands, and even though I can't see them, I know Theresa, my sweet baby girl, is on my right, and my precious granddaughter, Brittany, is on my left. I hear her say, "We're right here, Nana. Do you need some water?" We both know she really means, “Do you want me to roll this wet sponge across your lips?” I do not know for sure how long it has been since I lost the ability to swallow, but everyone in this room knows how long a body can go without water, and I am ready but afraid.

Dying is terrible, and I am in so much pain. I’ve held on for so long because I am still needed here. I have to be here for my daughter as long as I can. I’ve always taken care of her, and she has suffered so much death and loss already. I want desperately to spare her from this earth-shattering grief as long as possible. But I'm afraid I’ve waited too long. I feel myself drifting away, but I don’t know what it is I need to do to cross over. I wish someone would just tell me how to die. Just tell me what to do. I felt the sadness fill the room yesterday when I told Theresa to put me out of my misery while she was administering my morphine. I know how desperate it sounded, my voice a dry rasp from the lack of water. I am so afraid I’ve missed my window to cross peacefully. I’m frightened, and for maybe the first time in my life, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I have always done as I was told, never questioning or straying from my path, but this is new, and without knowing what is expected of me, I feel lost and afraid.

More pain than usual blasts through my spine as I feel my fear take hold and my body tense. My heart starts racing, and my breaths quicken. “Mom, it’s Theresa. Are you hurting? We love you. We're right here.” I can tell from her voice that she's crying; I can feel her touch, lovingly stroking my hand, but her voice sounds like it is coming from down the hall or another room. To my right, the familiar sound of a tissue being pulled from the box anchors me back in this den, in this body. I focus all that I have, every ounce of energy and gumption I have left on my mouth and making it move, to push out a breath, saying in a desperate whisper, "What do I do?” My dry eyes peel open for just one hopeful moment to see their reaction, but that was a mistake. This is all too painful. I can't bear to see the anguish on their faces, the anguish I put there. This is all a mistake. I held on too long, and now I don’t know what to do. I wish someone would tell me what to do so I can put an end to this.

From above, a soft, gentle hand lovingly strokes the hair off my furrowed brow and continues slowly comforting me. “You don’t have to do anything, Nana. Just relax.” Relax!? Nonsense. This is no time for relaxing. My frustration grows and I feel a tear roll down my cheek. Maybe I didn't get the words out right, or she didn't understand me. Seconds or maybe hours go by while I silently weep, and confusion and hopelessness settle in as I wonder what to do next. I’m not sure, but I think I can hear Theresa crying in the distance when Brittany finally responds to me, her voice commanding and bold. “It is okay to be scared, Nana, but all you need to do is relax and let go.”

I know both of my girls are right next to me, holding my hands, but Theresa sounds so distant and Brittany so close she may have her face right next to mine. As if I summoned her to me, I feel her cheek briefly touch my own, and I know she’s leaned in close. The loving care she is showing moves a painful sob out of my chest as she continues to speak directly into my ear. “I never told you this, but one day when I was a young girl, couldn’t have been more than ten, I went looking for you down that hall just over there. When I turned to look for you in your bedroom, I found you standing in front of Papa. He was sitting on the bed, crying, with his face buried in your chest. I watched you hold him while he wept for several minutes before I scurried away.” Wetness is starting to pool between our barely touching cheeks, and I don’t know if the tears are mine or hers. Her hand grips mine tighter as she says with an authority I never realized she possessed, “You don’t need my permission, Nana, but go. Go on and let that man rest his head on your chest again. Your husband and your sons have always needed you, Dad most of all. They've already made this crossing and they're waiting on you. Go to them. Theresa and I will be fine. You’ve done your job. You can stop trying to protect us.”

The one hundered-year-old clock on the shelf above my head chimes its tired melody three times, and an unmistakable wave of peace comes over me as I begin to realize she is right. I can feel my body start to ease and hers tense. I’m allowing myself to relax into the truth of what she said. I feel her body pull away, and my consciousness swells with pride as my grandaughter cheers me on through broken sobs, “That’s it, Nana, let yourself cross over. Go love on your boys and tell Dad I hope he is proud of me.” Her voice is almost out of range when Theresa calls to me from a distance. “I love you, Mom; and tell my Dad I hope he’s proud of me too." I try to turn my body toward her and tell her I love her too. That's when I realize I am no longer lying in my recliner in the dark, cozy den I've slept in since my husband left me and this world behind. I realize I’m standing in a vast embrace of love so thick and bright it is holding this realm together. I feel a tear fall down my cheek and I lift my hand to wipe it away but find it dry. My last earthly tear. I turn back and keep moving toward what seems to be the center of the radiating love surrounding me.

First, I see Donnie, my firstborn, my rambunctious boy. The joy that floods my soul is overwhelming as we embrace and I hear him say, “Mama” for the first time in years. To our left, waiting patiently, I see Kevin. No wheelchair, no pain lining his eyes, just my son, tall and proud. I pull him to me and whisper with pride into his ear, “Your daughter, she can do anything.” “I know.” he cuts me off, “She’s just like you. She also tends to be right more times than I care to admit.” We both chuckle and embrace again, “Well, she may have been right in telling me how to get over here, but she was wrong about one thing,” I went on, “She was wrong about not needing my protection anymore. Now that I’m here, I will protect her in so many new ways.” Kevin smiled at me with knowing in his eyes. “That’s the best part of being on this side.” His eyes shift over my shoulder, and I turn to see what caught his eye. My beloved, Donald. Everything fades away as I behold him there, strong and handsome, just like I remembered. We close the gap between us in silence until our beings are close enough to touch with just breath. He takes my face in his hands and says, I missed you, Avo.” and then he kisses me, deep and fierce. After we pull away, he kneels down and rests his head on my chest, and I hold him. Enraptured in universal, all-knowing love, I hold my husband for the first time in ten years, so very grateful to my crossing guard, my granddaughter, Brittany.