The Resurrection of Aubrey Mill

Chapter Thirty-One

I called Quinn as soon as I got settled into Linda’s, and because of the person that she is, I was welcomed back into her life with a high-pitched squeal and the complete rundown on what had been happening in the months since I’d seen her last. A lot of things I already knew from Kaeleb, but I let her talk me through them anyway. We skated over what happened to me over the last year, but right before we hung up, we both said what needed to be said.
“Aubrey, I’m so sorry for doing that to you. It was really selfish of me. I know that what I did played a part in what happened with you and I don’t think I will ever be able to apologize enough for that.”
“Quinn, you needed help, plain and simple, and I chose not to see that. It’s just as much my fault as yours. So let’s agree to just leave it in the past and move forward, okay?”
And that’s what we’ve been doing ever since. We text multiple times a day and talk at least once a week.
This is our third text today.
Quinn: Dude, this guy sitting across the coffee shop from me is H-A-W-T!
Me: What? Your parents let you out unsupervised today?
Me: You’re taking too long to answer. Your mom is right next to you, isn’t she?
Quinn: Maybe. But that’s beside the point. Let’s get back to the guy.
Me: Description, please.
Quinn: Blond hair, clear blue eyes, shaggy hair. Surferish.
Me: Nice. Body?
Quinn: Drool worthy.
Quinn: OH SHIT!
Me: WHAT?!?!?
Quinn: He just looked at me and smiled. OMG! He’s got DIMPLES!
Me: Niiiiiice! Go say hi!
Quinn: Hell no. Not with Mom here.
Quinn: DOUBLE SHIT!!!
Quinn: He’s coming over.
Me: WHAT?!
Quinn: Hold on.
Five minutes later…
Quinn: OMG! He introduced himself as Tommy and then he totally asked if he could buy me a coffee. I said yes. So he did. And then HE LEFT HIS NUMBER ON THE COFFEE CUP!!!!!! How cute is that?
Me: He did all of this with your mother there?
Quinn: He totally did!
Me: I like him already. ;)
Me: Linda’s waking up. Gotta go. Talk to you soon.
Me: And call his ass.
Me: Love you.
Quinn: *giggles* Love you too.
I smile as I turn to Linda. Quinn’s excitement is just as contagious via text.
But my grin immediately fades.
Something’s wrong. I can tell by the expression on Linda’s face.
“Linda?” I rise from my chair and move to the side of her bed, taking a seat beside her fragile body. I’m no longer surprised by her gaunt frame, the pallor of her skin, the blood on her nightgown, or the sight of the few thin strands of hair poking out from the top of her head. None of these or any of the other horrendous manifestations to her body faze me anymore.
I’ve cleaned up vomit, blood, and excrement. I’ve nursed food into Linda’s mouth and wiped it off her face and neck when she refused to eat. I’ve dressed wounds that mysteriously appeared on her body due to the paper-thin skin covering her body. I’m now a pro at catheterization and can even put in an I.V. when necessary. There’s not much I haven’t been exposed to while caring for Linda. The majority of it hasn’t been pretty.
The past five months have not been easy, for either of us. In talking to Palmer, I learned about the five stages of grief, and could spot each one as Linda went through the phases. I went through them as well, because witnessing her impending death forced me to experience not only the grief of losing her, but also the grief of the loss of my family.
Denial and Isolation:
Well, for me, in all honesty, I’d been in denial for years. And I guess I did go through the isolation phase. Kaeleb called, I avoided him. Quinn called, I sent her to voicemail. I would text them to let them know I was okay, but that I just didn’t feel like talking, which they both respected and understood.
Linda handled this phase several ways. Her denial manifested along with her isolation. There was the time she became frustrated and tried to get to the bathroom on her own, which ended up in one of the worst coughing attacks she’d ever had. It left her weak and completely bedridden for days. Then she refused to dispense her pain medication—when I know she needed it—because her face indicated the pain was nearing intolerable. One night, she spent hours trying to convince Kaeleb and me that she would be fine on her own, that she didn’t need our help, and that we could leave her alone. Needless to say, it didn’t work.
Anger:
This was by far the worst stage for both of us. One day, when Kaeleb came for the weekend to relieve me, I drove about ten miles into the middle of nowhere, stopped the car, and screamed for an hour straight until I had no voice left. I yelled, beat the steering wheel, opened the glove compartment and ripped up every single piece of paper I could find. I held the torn bits in my hands, squeezing the shredded material so tightly, my arms were shaking and my palms were bleeding. I screamed for every single loss I’d experienced—Adley, Mom, Dad—and for the one imminent loss yet to come. When I returned home, my face was flushed and covered in tears. Kaeleb held me until I found my composure and then I headed right back to my post beside Linda’s bed. It happened every weekend for a month straight.
And Linda? Well, Linda handled it by being an a*shole. She was an a*shole to me—yelling when the temperature of her food wasn’t right, or when her bathwater wasn’t warm enough, or when I would accidentally knock the bed when I passed it by. She was an a*shole to the nurse—tearing the I.V.’s out of her arms and chucking them clear across the room, arguing about the medication levels and telling her she was a pitiful excuse for a caregiver. The nurse took it in all stride as though Linda’s yelling was completely normal, which I suppose it was. The only person lucky enough to escape her wrath was Kaeleb because he was “a guest”. At least that’s the answer she gave me when I asked her why. I just shook my head and rolled my eyes, which pissed her off again. It’s a real shame I didn’t bring the swear jar. Linda’s swearing alone would have guaranteed my retirement.
Bargaining:
A*shole Linda eventually transformed into Prayer Warrior Linda. She prayed all the time. All. The. Time. When she woke up in the morning, at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, after each nap, and before bed. “God, please” is how they would begin and they would last for at least twenty minutes. I could hear her pleading and I found myself silently begging along with her.
Offering to be a better person, a better friend, to go to church…I pulled out all the stops. But when I began bargaining for my family, that whole process was something that took an immense amount of strength to pull myself out of. Guilt consumed me as I thought about Adley, wishing I had just pulled her from the tub and not left her alone. Grief swallowed me as I thought about my mother, wasting away by choice. Maybe if I just told her that I loved her, instead of staying away from her as I was instructed, she would be alive today.
But my father’s death? Yeah, I needed Palmer’s help for that one. I recounted the story to him and howled my anger, asking him the same questions I was asking myself. Why didn’t I come home sooner? Why the hell did I leave him alone in the first place? I was right there. Why couldn’t I stop him?
Palmer’s response? “It wasn’t your fault, Aubrey. None of those things would have made a difference. That was his choice.” I felt as feeble-minded as a child while he simply repeated those same words as I sobbed on the other line. I refused to believe him and finally hung up the phone, still lost in my grief.
It took me weeks of working through the blame I placed on myself until I was so physically and emotionally exhausted that I decided I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. Only when I hit that infamous rock bottom could I finally accept Palmer’s mantra into my heart with no lingering doubts. It was then that I knew it was time to let it go. To finally let them all go. And with them went the guilt and the anguish that I had so long harbored in my heart.
Depression:
But with my family’s release, came depression. Mourning their loss resulted in weeks of constant tears being shed. I had never truly grieved their deaths, I suppose, so I guess I was making up for lost time because it seemed to be a never-ending process. Facing Linda, yet another loss to be had, only compounded my emotions. There was a lot of time spent in Kaeleb’s arms during this phase as he held me and whispered words of encouragement in my ear, telling me how proud he was and how strong I was for going through all of this. But I didn’t feel strong. I felt incredibly weak as I relied on his presence to keep me sane.
Linda, however, just stopped eating. Not in a bitter way, she just flat out had no desire to consume anything. Nor did she have any desire to speak. She just stared vacantly out the window, making no notice of my presence. After a week or so though, she eventually broke down. Together we cried, we wailed, and we sobbed with me on her chest and her arms circling my shoulders. That was one month ago.
Acceptance:
Linda has completely withdrawn into herself again over the last week or so and I’m pretty sure this is what Palmer labeled as her acceptance phase. She’s been quiet and reserved, maybe reflecting on her time here and things she wishes she’d done differently. Or maybe she’s just in a calm state, ready to accept death as it looms, closer with each passing day. I don’t know. All I know is I miss her. I even miss A*shole Linda and the fighting that was associated with her. But I also know she’s exhausted and tired from the long battle. I don’t blame her.
I guess you could say that I’ve been a bit reserved lately too, lost in memories of a time when she was healthy and happy. When the guilt comes into play over how much time I wasted, isolating myself as Raven, I balance it with a good memory as Palmer suggested. I focus on her beauty, her love, and her laughter. The random moments she would burst into my room, scaring the bejeezus out of me to perform some weird dance as an attempt to make me laugh. All the nights before bedtime, when she would lovingly brush my hair and tell me bedtime stories. The hugs and kisses that she so often gave me over the years, no matter how much I refused them. Many different memories have been running through my mind lately, as I try to replace all the bad with good.
Like when Adley and I built a fort in the middle of my bedroom after Mom and Dad went to bed, staying up all night telling scary stories, and the time that my parents threw me the only surprise birthday party I’ve ever had. All of us together, laughing and loving each other as we used to. And as I focus on the many happy memories I had stored away in my bins, the images in my mind begin to evolve. I let them flow freely, abolishing each bin after the memories are finally released. I’ve accepted that I won’t be needing them any longer.
My mother’s beautiful face eventually replaces the sunken one that haunted my mind. My father’s eyes are no longer lifeless and deserted. They are the right shade of bright blue that match mine, full of life and bordered by the crinkles of happiness that outline them as he laughs. And Adley is no longer the cold, naked body I cradled on the bathroom floor. Eventually, she’s the same angelic creature I remember—laughing and skipping through the house, giggling as I chase her down the hall.
So yeah, needless to say, between both of us being lost in whatever phase of acceptance we may be in, it’s been pretty quiet around here to say the least.
But as I see the expression on Linda’s face, I know what’s coming, and suddenly our silence seems like such wasted time. I find myself wanting to tell her about every single memory that’s crossed my mind this week. I want to talk about the stupid romantic movies she would make me watch, and the dumb plotlines for the romance novels she used to read. Things that I secretly found funny, but never told her. I want to shout from the rooftops so many memories that I now hold close to my heart as her mouth works strenuously to form her own words.
But my wants are not the priority here. It’s her time and she needs to have this moment.
Taking a long, calming breath in preparation, the bed dips with my weight as I perch on the edge. I grip her hand tightly and lean forward, watching her lips barely move as she says on a light breath, “I’m ready.”
She squeezes my hand and a tear trails down her cheek as her eyes meet mine. Full of clarity and the life that I’ve missed, she says her final words. “I love you, Aubrey…best thing to ever happen to me.”
A downpour of moisture streams down my face in this final goodbye. “I love you too, Linda.” Trying to swallow the sorrow, I wipe the tears before crawling into her bed and pulling Palmer’s ever-present blanket over the two of us, allowing the comfort it has provided over the last months to work its way through me as I wrap my arms around her shrunken frame.
Mumbling soothing words with my embrace, I hold onto her and don’t let go until she passes.