The Truth About Butterflies: A Memoir Read Online Free Page B

as I choked
out the words.  “I think you’ve made the right decision,” she said.  “Please
don’t second guess yourself.  Just think of it: no more diabetes, no more
shots, no more kidney disease, no more dialysis, no more suffering.  It will
simply be goodnight, and then heaven.  It will be so beautiful.”  The tone of
her voice, mellowed further by her British accent, made it impossible for me to
feel anything but peace.  So the decision was made; at four o’clock the next
afternoon, we would remove Nicole from the ventilator. 
    As my guests
prepared to leave, I walked them out.  Tye stayed behind for a moment.  I knew
she was whispering something sweet into Nicole’s ear, caressing her cheek,
telling her that all was well and that her mother would be taken care of.  We
all gathered out in the parking lot.  It was dark and cold and had begun to
rain.  It would’ve been a good time for me to cry, but I feared that somehow
they would discern between the teardrops and the raindrops on my cheeks.  Maybe
they would question my strength, my ability to square my shoulders and face
this storm head on.  I had been a no-nonsense handler of all things difficult
my entire life.  It was important for me to keep up that appearance no matter
how hard my insides were buckling. 
    The girls
had given me a card they’d made.  On the front they’d written: “We love you
very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very much!”  Nine “verys” from
two giggling little girls added at least five healthy years to my life.  The
girls climbed into the SUV, and Tye, Jay, and I stood quietly in the rain. 
Words weren’t needed.  Nothing we could’ve said would’ve added any meaning to
that moment.  Besides, silence is a language we understood, so we embraced in
silence, and nothing was lost in translation.

Chapter 4
     
    January 11,
2008.  I wondered if it was the day my daughter would die or the day that God
would work His miracle.  As I readied myself for the trip to the hospice
center, it occurred to me that I probably should clean the kitchen before
leaving the house.  The thought of coming home to dishes in the sink worried me
in an almost unnatural way.  But what good mother cleans house on the day her
only child might die?  I did the dishes quickly and left for the center.
    Instead of
taking the expressway to the hospice, I took the back roads.  Along the way, I
stopped at a deli and picked up a sandwich.  Then I stopped at one of the mega
hardware stores and roamed the massive aisles looking at lamps, lawnmowers,
floor and window coverings, and tools.  Anything one could possibly need to fix
or improve a home could be found within these walls.
    Then it hit
me like a punch in the stomach; Nicole might die this very afternoon, and what
would she think if she knew I was milling around a hardware store?  Why had I
even gone home at all?  Why hadn’t I spent the night?  The guilt was sickening,
like a bit of bad meat rotting in my stomach.  Stalling was useless, and it
surely wouldn’t change the events of the day.
    When I
arrived, there was no significant change in Nicole’s condition.  I couldn’t
wait to kiss her and let her know I was there.  The phone rang; it was my
friend Sherry.  “How do I get to where y’all are at?” She asked.  “Are y’all
near the hospital up there?”
    “Yeah, pretty
close,” I said.  “We’re on the same street.”
    “I’ll be up
there when I get off today.  Y’all need anything?”
    I hesitated
for a moment as I wondered if I should tell her what the plan was for that
afternoon.  Should I tell her not to bother coming because if everything went
according to plan, Nicole might be dead at four o’clock?  I didn’t know how to
put that into words that sounded appropriate, so I didn’t mention it.  “No, we
don’t need anything.”
    “Have y’all
eaten?” 
    She kept
saying “y’all,” but I knew she meant me .
    “Yeah,