May 14th is a day of mixed emotions for me. Eighteen years ago today, right about this time of day (circa 10am), the phone rang. I was still asleep, having been late at the hospital the night before. It was a Tuesday morning, and I would have been in school if the world hadn’t been falling apart. My dad had taken the week off work, knowing what was ahead. But he didn’t answer the phone. He was out running errands, in a world before everyone had a cell phone. So I picked it up. I knew what the speaker would say before my hand ever snaked out from under the comforter. I knew who it was.

My cousin Joan, sounding weary having been at the hospital since about midnight:

“Come now. It’s time. How quick can you get here?”

I replied that we were on our way, without knowing that Dad was out of the house.

Still dressed from the night before, I hopped out of bed and ran down the stairs to tell Dad. “Daaaad!?”

He wasn’t there. But he left a detailed note, saying he would be grocery shopping from this time to that time, then stopping by his friend John’s house from this time to that time…. I checked the clock. Five minutes and he’d be at John’s. I dialed. His wife Patricia answered.

“Pat, it’s Wendy. Dad’s on his way over, but I just got the call. Don’t let him even get out of the car - send him home.”

“Oh God - ok. You ok?”

Ok? Hmm… define ok. I was running on little sleep, had forgotten that I was a 14 year old child while I ran a household and did evening shifts at the hospital downtown. In a matter of hours - possibly minutes - I wouldn’t have a mother. Maybe I already didn’t.

“I’m fine. Fine.”

After getting off the phone, I splashed some water on my face and let the dog out in the yard for a few minutes. It was a warm spring day, though a bit cloudy. As Valentine - our Doberman - did her business, my glance happened to land on the lilac tree at the back of the yard. I hated the house we were living in. It was loathe at first sight, but my mother was so enamored with the big lilac bush that we rented the house anyway. We had moved in the previous September, and she couldn’t wait for Spring to see the bush in bloom.

She never did, having been in the hospital since February 22 with the cancer that would kill her. The buds were just beginning to open that morning in May. The bush was still mostly dark purple with unopened blossoms; only a few specks of the pale almost-pink color of the fragrant open flowers.

Dad came home a few minutes later, and we hit the road, driving downtown as fast as our little K-Car would carry us (which isn’t that fast at all). Our speed wasn’t enough. We arrived at the hospital a few minutes after my mother died. It was too late.

Just like the lilacs bloomed too late for her to see them.

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 14th, 2009 at 11:09 am and is filed under Human Rights, Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.