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My Son Lucas
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Crocker! I Used To Be Someone's Favorite Eclipse

By Dan Crocker Jul 18, 2014 - 11:24 PM print


My seven year old daughter, Sally, mailed me a crayon drawing of a red barn, a few trees, grass and a big sun with squiggly yellow lines around it that reminded me of the tarot cards her mother used to like. I was about to hang it on Mom’s fridge when I noticed some scrawl on the back. Good, but it’s not an example of an eclipse. 20/25. It was woman’s writing, I could tell, all slants and loops.

The eclipse was coming. It was all over the news. I was back in Mississippi with my mom and her goldfish, Barry and Ted. She kept them in a small bowl. They were fat as plums and one of them had eaten the right eye out of the other. I couldn’t deal with a grade like 20/25. Sally had drawn a good picture. Why ruin it with an eclipse? It was bad enough that it was all anyone could talk about. I called my wife.

“Yeah,” Debbie said, “it was supposed to show an eclipse.” Deb is like that. She'll roll over.

“What if the eclipse didn’t come yet,” I said. “It’s pre-eclipse.”

She said, “That wasn’t the assignment, Dave.”

“That teacher’s a cunt.” The conversation went downhill from there. Debbie didn’t like me to talk that way. She finally handed the phone to Sally.

“Are you going to come home to watch the eclipse with me?” She asked.

“Of course I am.”

The eclipse was going to be total. Sally said that’s why everyone was making such a hooha. At school, she was building some sort of box out of cardboard to watch it with. She was making me one too. I told her that would be fine and that I would show up early to make sure we got a good seat. That made Sally laugh, but the truth is I had no idea what I was going to do with my mother. Sally had seemed excited, so I felt I needed to make the promise.

 

Mom started having trouble in April. Her left foot kept going numb, she fell several times, and sometimes she couldn’t remember words. She had beaten lung cancer a few years before, so even before the diagnoses I expected it to be something bad. I begged her to go to the doctor, but she wouldn’t. Eventually, there was no more denying it. In late May we found out it was brain cancer, and Deb and I decided that I’d drive back to Mississippi and take care of her and that she and Sally would drive down on the weekends.

I had the time. I hadn’t been working for a few months because I hurt my back. I’d heard something in it snap while lifting a box of finished bottles at the glass factory. I was going to have to apply for disability and workman’s comp. Neither of those options worked for me. I liked my job. I was alone most of the time, I worked on the cool end, and I had been there long enough that the pay was good. The problem was that none of the tests the doctor ran showed anything. He was a company doctor. He didn’t even give me pain pills.

Deb worked days at the diner. Her boss liked her, and gave her the weekends off. The first time she was supposed to come down she called from Memphis and said she was turning around and going home. She was having a panic attack and couldn’t make it through the city. I calmed her down, told her to get a hotel and drive back to Missouri the next day. I could hear Sally crying and Deb said she thought the hotel would be a good idea.

I didn’t mind. Those first few days were difficult. Mom had lost a lot of weight, but was still somewhat self-sufficient. Her spirits were up, and she managed to get around with her walker if I stood beside her to make sure she didn’t fall. I took her to the kitchen a few times a day just to open the front door and let her stare outside until she got tired. If I walked her to the bathroom, she could manage the rest. I did the laundry, dishes, cleaning and cooking. She was mostly eating beans and broth because her stomach hurt a lot.

 

I met Cathy, Mom’s Hospice nurse, my first day back in Mississippi. She had come with Mom’s best friend, Janice. Cathy’s hair was blonde like Deb’s, light, but she’d dyed a blue streak in it. She was wearing a pair of big plastic, looping earrings like they used to wear in the 80s. She was young.

 

We were having a ten minute Mississippi downpour, and Mom was being a real pain in the ass. She didn’t like storms, and the lightning was making her nervous. It seemed like I had her up and down to the bathroom ten times an hour and she’d fallen twice. Then her beans were too tough and she wouldn’t eat them. When she tried to chew them her lips drew up around her gums and she’d spit them right back into the bowl, roll her eyes back and forth, shake her head and then try to reach for the beans again. Most of the time she was still lucid.

After a lunch like that, I needed a beer. I’d found a small cooler, as well as an old basketball of mine, in the basement my first night back. I filled the cooler up with ice and beer and took it back to Mom’s room and began drinking. This became our routine.

“In a bar,” she said, trying to explain how she’d met my father. I knew they’d met in school, but I nodded anyway. She was slurring her words, skipping them totally sometimes, but I could still make her out.

“You want a sip of beer?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

I went to the kitchen and found a straw in the utensil drawer. It was the bendy kind, perfect, so I stuck it in my beer and took it to Mom. She may have been able to do it, but I held the beer for her just in case. She took a small sip, and spit it out.

“Burns,” she said and coughed.

“What bar?” My father died of a heart attack when I was two. I wanted Mom to tell me everything she could remember about him. But she lifted her hand to wave me away. I got the point. She was tired. So, I went to the living room, sat on the TV. I tried to call Deb, but all I got was the answering machine.

I fell asleep on the couch until a knock on the door woke me. My head hurt. Cathy was outside yelling for me to let her in. I stood up too quickly and got dizzy, white camera flashes of light blinked around the edges of my eyes. The rain was really coming down, and everything outside the window looked gray, like wet newspaper. I let Cathy in. She never wore scrubs, just regular clothes, and her dark blue blouse was wet and clinging to her. “Come on in,” I said. “Get out of the rain. I was talking to Mom and didn’t hear you.”

She gave me a funny look and stepped in, circling wide around me, and made her way to the back room. I sat down on the couch and started flipping through the channels. We’d had the couch since I was a kid. It was worn, especially on the arms, where white thread showed through the gold and green flower print.

I ended up watching PBS, because there was some guy on there talking about the eclipse and how neat it was going to be. I figured the more I knew about it by the time I got home, the cooler Sally would think I was. I didn’t make it long before I was nodding off again, but then Cathy started yelling for me. I jumped up off the couch, afraid something had happened. For a second, I hoped it had.

“What is it? Is Mom okay?” My heart was pounded against my chest.

“She is now.” Cathy’s blouse still clung to her. She caught me glancing at her breasts.

“What?” Mom looked fine; she was sound asleep.

“Mr. Peterson, when I got here she was in her own feces. Not only was it disgusting, but it’s dangerous. She can’t afford an infection. You have to make sure you get her to the bathroom or use her bedpan.”

I didn’t know what to say. I looked at the wall that I’d remembered as scary and red, alien when I was a kid because I had seldom been allowed in my mother’s room, but it was just fake cherry paneling. "I didn’t know," I said. "I’ve had her to the bathroom a million times today."

“How much have you had to drink?” Cathy’s face was red, angry. I was embarrassed and I couldn’t figure out why. What I did was none of her business.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I ran up the road and got it today.”

“You left your mother alone and then got drunk.” She picked up her bag from the coffee table against the far wall. The table had sat at the side of Mom’s bed for years, but I’d moved it so we would have room for her food tray.

“We were having a good time. We were talking. Ask her.” Mom was asleep, of course. When Hospice had brought her and the hospital bed home, she had insisted they use her sheets and that she keep her red quilt. She looked small underneath it, as if she was pulling into herself and would soon disappear. It was a hell of a magic trick. She’d always had olive skin, but the more weight she lost, the darker she seemed to get.

“I’m sure she was having a blast. Just remember that you are here to take care of her. You’re the one who didn’t want her in a hospital, after all.”

“No,” I said, “she wanted that.”

 

It was just me and mom for the rest of the day, and I decided to give her something good for supper. She’d not had meat since I had been home, so I chopped bologna up real fine hoping she’d be able to eat it. She ate nine bites before her throat started to hurt.

I cleaned up, thought about television, but I put a few Milwaukee’s in the cooler instead. I sat down in the pea green recliner just a few feet from Mom’s bed.

“How are you feeling, Ma?”

“Catfish,” she said.

“I don’t think you could eat catfish, but we could try.”

“My dad caught a catfish,” she said. “A big one. He put it in the bathtub with cold water and scared the hell out of your grandmother. She was going to take a bath after church. It was salive.”

“Alive,” I said.

“Salive,” she said. “Salive.”

I let it go. “I wonder what Debbie would do with something like that. I think she'd find it funny. Also, I need to feed the fish.”

After the fish were fed, I picked up my old basketball, tossed it into the air a few times, and then tried to bounce it. It hit the floor with a thud and stayed there.

“No basketball in the house," Mom yelled from her house.

I got the blankets down from the top of the closet to make a pallet beside mom’s bed. I’d started sleeping there in case she needed to get up in the middle of the night. She usually did. She’d shake the guard rail on the side of the bed as best she could until it woke me up. I was just about asleep when she started talking.

"Fuck me like that," she said over and over and over.

 

Cathy called early the next morning to say she wasn’t going to be able to make it. She said she could get another nurse in for the day if I needed one, but I told her I everything would be fine. Mom didn’t seem to be in much pain, and she was sleeping a lot anyway. Janice visited around noon and didn’t mind running down to the store to get me a case of beer, but she didn’t want to see Mom.

“Do you think that’s fair?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, Dave,” she said. “I just can’t stand it.”

I couldn’t stand it either.

Mom ended up not having a good day, and it upset me that Cathy had decided she didn’t want to work. I made salmon patties for lunch because Mom used to love them and they were soft, easy to chew. I thought she could eat a little of them anyway, but she wouldn’t touch them. Her stomach hurt, and I had to dissolve her pills in a glass of water. Even then, she barely got it all down. I called Cathy and asked her if she thought Mom might need a shot, but by then Mom was sleeping again. I could hear a crowd in the background. Cathy was out somewhere.

That night Mom slept through, and I called Deb. The phone rang several times, until I was positive she wasn’t going to answer it. But she did answer, and she sounded tired.

“Were you asleep?” I asked.

“Just closed my eyes. It’s okay. You sound drunk.”

“A little,” I said. I was sitting at the kitchen table, and I had every light in the house on except Mom’s. There was a small radio on the counter, and I had it tuned to Country Gold, 106.5. They’d been playing good music all night, even a few Tanya Tucker songs which are some of my favorites.

“Can you come down?” I said.

“You know I can’t, Dave. I have to work.” I flicked a beer bottle cap across the table like it was a hockey puck. It flew off the edge, but missed the trash can by a couple of inches.

“You don’t work the weekends,” I said.

“I can’t drive down there on a Friday evening, and then drive back home on Sunday. I’ll be exhausted.”

“Are you fucking your boss?” I said, “Jim?” Jim owned the diner Deb worked at, the Blue Haven. Every time I went in there to eat, he made it a point to come to my table and tell me how much he liked Deb and how good of a worker she was.

“What?”

“Look,” I said, “if you’re fucking him just tell me okay?” I already felt bad about it.

“Is that really what you think?”

“You’re supposed to be up next week. Are you still coming? Have you made plans to have someone there to watch your mom?”

I didn’t tell her I’d only had a vague plan to begin with and that Janice had pretty much screwed me with that one.

“I don’t know why we’re apart,” I said.

“Dave, we’re not. You’ve just been a mess lately, even before we found out about your mom. I guess. The job maybe, I don’t know. I thought this would help get you back on your feet.”

“Back on my feet? How in the fuck is this going to get my back on my feet? My goddamned back is killing me, I’m watching my mother die, and we’re broke as fuck because I can’t work. And your solution is adios Dave, hope your sick mother gets you back on your feet?” I backhanded my half-full beer bottle so hard that it went spinning through the air, flinging beer everywhere, and landed in the sink without breaking. A knot was already forming on the top of my hand and there was a dark, quarter-sized wet spot on the picture Sally had sent me.

“Keep it down. You’re going to wake up your mom.”

She was right and not just about waking my mom. I was a mess. I’d never been much of anything but a weekend drinker, and even then I kept it to a six pack on Saturday nights. But when I got hurt and couldn’t work, I started drinking more. Away from Deb and Sally, it had just gotten worse. I knew all of this.

“Can you just tell me what is going on, please?” Country Gold was playing “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain.” I’d not heard the song in a while, and I just wanted to turn up the radio and listen to it.

“Maybe I was wrong to send you off by yourself. I’m sorry. Just come next week. Sally is really looking forward to it. She misses you. I miss you, too."

“Can I talk to her?” I said.

“She’s in bed. She has school tomorrow.”

The next morning Mom’s arms were shaking and she couldn’t feed herself. It looked like someone being electrocuted in the movies, but then it reminded me of iced over tree branches in a gust, like her arms might break off. I made her oatmeal and let it cool. My own hand was shaking as I moved the spoon toward her mouth. Oatmeal fell on her chin and she stuck her tongue out, licking around her mouth. It was something almost erotic. It scared me. The whole thing scared me and I was suddenly glad Sally and Deb weren’t there.

Mom fell back asleep after breakfast, and Cathy showed up around two. She gave mom a shot, washed her off with this dry body wash stuff she had and changed her.

“I can start staying longer if you need me. I can get another nurse to cover a few of my other patients. She’s getting worse. It’s going to move quickly now.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Does she seem like she’s in pain?” Cathy’s hair was a bit of a mess, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. I imagined her at a bar somewhere, maybe flirting with a handsome young man, or talking loudly with her friends.

“No more than usual,” I said. “And she hasn’t complained.”

“I could have a doctor up her pain medication.”

I’d not seen a doctor since I’d been there. There was no use. I'd just be told to make her comfortable.

It was dim in Mom’s room, the reddish walls dark, and covered in family pictures—none of them of my father. The only picture I’d ever seen of him, mom had showed me only after I’d asked her. He was young in it, a big guy like me, looking over the engine of an old Chevy. I could barely see his face, but he had a full-head of dark hair and grease on his hand. I think he was smiling.

“She’s sleeping more,” Cathy said. “You’ll know the time. She’ll start breathing in rapid, shallow bursts.”

I was crying, I sometimes do when I’ve been drinking, and Cathy touched my arm.

“Are you going to be okay?” She asked.

I nodded again, wiped my eyes and got control of myself.

“You’re a good guy, Dave. You don’t have much time left with your mother. Spend it wisely.”

“What do you mean?” There was a knot in my stomach. Cathy was looking at the floor.

“I mean hell, I don’t know if you’re a good guy or not. I barely know you. But stop drinking. There are beer bottles every where. You’re always either drunk or hung over when I get here. I know this is hard, I know.”

“It’s none of your fucking business,” I said. “You’re just a nurse.”

Mom stirred briefly, opened her eyes, and then closed them again.

 

I decided to make bacon even though mom couldn’t eat it. It was in the freezer and I needed meat. I was tired of beans and soft foods. But the smell popping in the grease was too strong. My stomach turned and I went to the bathroom and puked up everything, which wasn’t much but liquid, dry heaves and finally bright yellow bile. Mom had to have heard me; I was retching loudly. Then the smoke alarm wailed. I’d forgotten to turn off the stove. The kitchen was full of smoke and the smell of burnt bacon. Mom made guttural noises from her room, and I was afraid she was choking. I opened the kitchen windows and the door before checking on her. There was a little smoke back there, but not much. The noise from the alarm had scared her more than anything.

She had somehow managed to kick the quilt off her legs, so I covered her up. “Pine trees, Timmy,” she said

“Who is Timmy?” I asked, but she didn’t answer. She was sleeping again.

 

We were four days from the eclipse and Mom was barely speaking, but she listened.

“I don’t know what you want,” I said.

“Dad said that, too,” she said. “Danced like mad.”

“He said what?” I asked. “He couldn’t understand you either? Didn’t know what you wanted?”

“That’s right, Timmy.” She said. “That’s fine music.”

“Who’s Timmy, Mom?” I crushed my beer can and opened another.

She shook the rail on the side of the bed, barely, it hardly moved, but I knew what she wanted. I grabbed her walker, but she shook her head. I opened up her wheelchair, and she shook her head again. Then I smelled the mess she’d made. Her face was red, grimacing. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t know if I could do it.

I pulled her quilt down and then the sheet. She was bra-less, in a thin nightgown, her breasts had shriveled to nothing but dark spots. Her breath was shallow, and I could see her ribs. She was wearing a bulky adult diaper. I couldn’t do anymore, so I called Deb.

“Debbie, Mom’s just messed all over herself.”

“Holy shit, Dave,” she said, “Jesus.”

“Yeah, holy shit.”

“It’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to make it funny. Help me”

“Calm down,” she said, “Calm down.” She was right. My hands were shaking and my voice was high-pitched, screechy.

“Take her clothes off first,” she said. “All of them.”

“Hold on.” I put the phone down. I grabbed the bottom of mom’s nightgown and started to pull it up. She grunted like she was in pain, but I kept going. When I was done, I wadded the nightgown into a ball and threw it into the corner. I could take care of it later. I picked the phone back up, okay I said, stifling a gag.

“It’s just like changing a diaper now. You used to change Sally. You can do this.”

I undid Mom’s Depends, folded it down, put my arm behind her back and lifted her up to remove the diaper. It was covered in feces. It was matted in her public hair. It smelled like shit and medicine. It wasn’t anything like changing a diaper. I took the Depends, ran down the hall with and threw it in the trash. I slammed the lid shut, leaned over the kitchen sink. I could hear my mom moaning from her bedroom, which meant that Deb could hear her too, and she’d be worried.

I wet several wash clothes with warm water because I couldn’t imagine using the baby wipes Cathy had left. They seemed too thin.

I was probably too rough with her, and I was quick, but I made sure she was clean. When I was done, I lifted her off the bed, she was so light, and carried her down the hall and into the living room. I laid her on the couch. I grabbed two cushions off the love seat and laid them beside the couch in case Mom rolled off. Even with the cushions, she might break something if she fell.

I changed the sheets on her bed, threw the soiled ones away and put mom back to bed. She hadn’t fallen off the couch, and I didn’t put another diaper on her. Cathy could take care of it the next day.

Deb was still on the phone and she was crying.

“Come home,” she said.

“I don’t think I can. I don’t have anyone to watch Mom while I’m gone.”

“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. Get somebody. Pay them if you have to. Just come home.”

After I got off the phone, I sat down in the recliner beside Mom. I didn’t want to put her back in the hospital, but I was going to have to do something. I took a beer out of the cooler sitting beside me, and Mom started thrashing, shaking her head again.

I took the rest of my beers and poured them down the sink. It was easy, because I was already drunk. Dear God, I thought, I won't drink anymore. Just please.

Mom mumbled to herself for nearly an hour, and I tried to make out what I could. “It’s going to be a long ride . . . kill that dog . . . Timmy.”

“I love you,” I said. She didn’t respond. I said it again. “I love you.”

When she stopped mumbling, it was sudden, and she slept deeply.

 

I didn’t drink the next day. Mom didn’t wake up to eat. I called Cathy early, at six am, and she was there by seven. She didn’t see any reason to give Mom a shot, and only told me to give her an extra pill if she woke up and could handle it.

“Or this,” she said, and handed me a small baggie of pot. “But please, Dave, don’t tell anyone. It does help though.”

I stuffed the baggie into my front pocket. I’d not smoked pot in years, and I doubted that if my Mom woke up she’d be able to smoke it. The thought of cupping my hands around her nose and mouth and breathing the smoke into her made me shudder. It didn’t come to that. Mom didn't wake up.

Before she left, I asked Cathy if she played basketball.

“My son does,” she said. “He’s not bad for a five year old.” I didn’t know her at all. Cathy was just doing her job. She wasn’t emotionally attached to me or my mother.

I threw her my old, flat ball. “I’m sure he already has one,” I said. “But if I remember right this was a good one. I’m not sure it’ll still hold air, but my guess is that it will.”

 

The night before the eclipse, my hands started shaking and my blood pressure was up. Cathy had said I could expect some withdrawal symptoms and she’d given me a handful of Klonopins to help.

“I don’t know how bad you are,” she’d said. “But I suspect it’s not that bad. But a bender like the one you’ve been on can be dangerous. This will keep you from having seizures, and cut down on the anxiety.”

She only gave me enough for eight days. She said that by then I should be fine. The rest, she said, was up to me. I didn’t see Cathy again.

I took a pill and it relaxed me, but I still couldn’t sleep. I sat in the recliner watching mom, until about five am. Her breath was rapid and shallow.

 

It’s a seven hour drive from Jackson, MS to Jackson, MO. A straight shot on highway 55. Me, Sally and Deb used to listen to the Johnny Cash and June Carter song, “Jackson,” every time we went to visit my mother. Sally got a kick out of it.

It had been a few weeks since I’d seen Sally though, and Deb had strategically kept her off the phone with me. I kissed Mom on the forehead, her eyes were fluttering and rolling back in her head. Her breath was rapid and shallow.

It was getting late, and I’d have to hurry to be with Sally for the eclipse. Mom was barely breathing. I didn’t even pack my clothes. I got in my truck and started to drive.

The eclipse would be late afternoon, and I headed out of Mississippi a few hours before the sun came up. I flushed the fish down the toilet before I left, because I didn’t want them to starve. When I got home I planned to watch the eclipse with Sally and then sit down with Deb and tell her everything.

I’d just crossed the Arkansas/Missouri line when this lady in a gold Malibu, several car lengths in front of me, apparently fell asleep. She hit the median, went end over end, and her car ended upside down back in my lane, where it was hit by a Ford and some kid in a VW bug. I put on the brakes, swerved until I thought I would flip over as well, and pulled over to the side of the road as soon as I got my truck under control. People were already out of their cars and on their cell phones. A McDonald’s bag blew across the median in front of me. I could hear police sirens. I probably should have driven around the smashed up cars and back onto a clear stretch of highway. But I didn’t.

The ambulances came screeching. The lady was limp when they pulled her out, but she was moaning, so she was alive. It was getting late. The sky was growing dark, so I called Deb. I didn’t tell her what had happened, because I didn’t want her to worry. She was babbling.

“Your work called,” she said. “They have a desk job for you. Do it, Dave, please.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Just let me talk to Sally.”

I didn’t tell Sally about the accident, just that I’d not be able to be there with her.

“Are you watching it, Daddy? Do you see it?” I walked out onto the green grass of the median. The highway was eerie, everything had turned an odd red, and I could hear a kid crying. I looked up into the sky. “I sure am,” I said. “I’m watching it.”



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