One
Elli Sage
"If one more person comes in here and says, 'It won't be long now,' I'm going to grab the stethoscope from around their neck and hang myself from the chandelier."
The last nurse who spoke these words in my presence looked young enough to be fresh out of nursing school. She flinched before clenching the stethoscope dangling around her neck in both hands and hurrying from the room.
Everyone who came in to check on Mother wore the necessary medical device like a cowboy sporting a bolo tie. A guy I once met on Tinder wore a fancy silver bolo tie around the neck of his heavily starched, plaid cowboy shirt. When he leaned forward to take a spoonful of chili, the ends took a dip in the bowl along with his spoon and splattered orange spots all over his fancy clothing. I blocked his number the next time he called. Men in silk neckties were more to my liking.
I waited at Mother's bedside in this airless, acrid nursing home for what seemed like months. She lay in bed breathing in and out, in and out, as if today were any ordinary day. I wanted this stage of her life to end sooner rather than later. All this waiting around pushed me toward the edge of insanity.
The television blared one episode after the next of her favorite soap opera. I suspected she didn't want to die without knowing the conclusion of the latest storyline. For over fifty years, her life stopped every afternoon when her show came on, and I didn't expect her to stop watching it now. If I so much as made a move toward the remote control, she opened her eyes and asked if two people I didn't know had gotten married yet.
"Elli," Mother whispered, "I need to tell you something."
I leaned in closer to hear her. "What is it?"
"You were an accident," she said while I gently rubbed her frail hand.
"What?" I wasn't sure I heard her correctly, since a few hours ago, she rattled on about going on a date with a man named Barney. He took her on a hayride and kissed her under the full moon. Mother lived in the same home her entire married life up until a few months ago when she left the stove on and almost burned the house down. Now in this nursing home, a man named Barney occupied a room down the hall. Like her, he was bedridden and not physically able to chase elderly women in a hayfield to steal a kiss in the moonlight.
Mother's eyes fluttered.
"Elli," she mumbled, "why do you think there are twelve years between you and Electra? You were an accident. Two children were too much for me. I didn't want you."
Suddenly stiff, frozen in place like a statue carved of granite, I couldn't make myself release her hand. My jaw hung open, unable to close. Rambling thoughts urged me to run as far as my legs could take me from this place that reeked of death. I'd never been good at sitting still, waiting for something to happen. But hearing these words spoken on my mother's deathbed firmly cemented my feet to the floor.
Mother's time left on this earth was limited, I knew, but the last few words she spoke to me felt harsh, jarring, cruel. Why was I the only daughter here to comfort her through the dying process if she never wanted me to begin with? My mind sizzled as her words took their time permanently etching themselves into my psyche. For as long as I could remember, I struggled to understand my position as the youngest child in a strange family created by clearly unusual parents. She waited all this time to finally clarify that for me.
I didn't know if she simply released a bit of uncomfortable information she no longer had space to keep inside or if she intentionally wanted to wound me. My childhood had hardly been idyllic, but this revelation blindsided me. I wanted to think she hoped it might benefit me in some way at this stage of my life. Maybe it would bridge the age gap between me and my two older sisters. I was certain though, even in her condition, this was something she made a conscious decision not to take to her grave.
Rolling these last few statements around in my brain, I couldn't find a place to store them. Should I have realized this all along since so many years separated my older sisters and me? Was this another fabricated story brought on by Mother's dementia? All my life, I felt like an unwanted appendage to this family, left bringing up the rear. Did I finally have to come to terms with the fact there was a real family dynamic causing me to feel that way?
"You know, Mother, I would have been perfectly fine if you never shared that." I still couldn't determine whether she was coherent or delusional; she passed through the two different mental states with ease much of the time.
"I wasn't wired right. For motherhood," she croaked. "The big guy upstairs left that part out when I came down the assembly line."
Mother's eyes closed, and she drifted off for another nap. I longed for a nap of my own but wasn't about to crawl in bed and stretch out next to her. After I got a whiff of her pillowcase, I wondered when the last time was the sheets had been washed. They smelled funky. Everything here smelled weird, kind of a stale, musty scent mixed with Lysol. So, I sat in a very stiff and uncomfortable chair, half-listening to the soap opera, lost in my own thoughts without enough energy to bother to get up and get some fresh air to clear my head.
A stack of mail piled up on her bed tray. I figured now was as good a time as any to start going through it. Flipping through the mound, I realized I didn't even get this much mail. How did my mother get on so many mailing lists? Most of it was junk, ads for department store sales and cosmetic giveaways, things Mother had no need for any longer. Once all the wasted paper made its way to the trash can, I was left with three envelopes. One was a "get well" card from someone I didn't know. I set it aside. If they were concerned enough to send a card, I'd have to be sure they were invited to the funeral. The second was a bank statement I didn't bother to open.
The third was a fat, manilla envelope with "Open only in the event of my death" written in Mother's handwriting. I squeezed it to see if it might reveal hidden secrets. Soft and squishy, it didn't. Not able to resist, I tugged at the tape holding the envelope closed.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
I jumped up from the chair. The envelope slid from my hands. I looked over at Mother, who lay perfectly still with one eye open, staring in my direction.
"I know you can read, Elli," she said in a scratchy voice. "Put it back."
I did as I was told, replacing the envelope on the bed tray. She closed her eyes and dozed off again. My heart still pounding, I paced back and forth in front of her bed.
Not sure how much time passed I checked my watch. Three minutes. Time dragged on here, adding to my frustration. I liked taking charge, running my own business, and crossing everything off my to-do list by the end of the day. Waiting wasn't in my DNA, but I guess my being an afterthought in my parents' lives was.
"I didn't like much about your father except the sex. He was really good in bed, not very good at anything else."
Deep in my own thoughts, Mother's rough, gravelly voice startled me again. Adrenaline coursed through my body. She succeeded in scaring the living daylights out of me for the tenth time today. I didn't want to know what might come out of her mouth next.
"I thought I was done having periods, and all of a sudden, bingo! There you were." She emphasized bingo with such enthusiasm that, for a second, I wondered if I should be taking her home instead of planning her funeral. "When I told your father I was pregnant, he got all puffy and strutted around the room yelling, 'I'm a Viking. I have conquered'. He came home from work one day with a helmet with fuzzy purple horns. He wanted to show off his virility."
"Thanks for sharing, Mother." The part of the twilight zone we were flying in right now was turning out to be a vast, unknown fantasy world.
"You were always my little Viking, with your red hair and cute little freckles." She reached up and stroked my long, amber-colored hair, letting it fall through her thin, bony fingers. Staring into my eyes, she said, "That's why you're named after a Norse goddess. Elli, the goddess of old age. I tired of those Greek goddesses anyway. You were such a surprise I decided to switch things up."
Attempting to change the subject to something more palatable, I asked, "Why did you name us all after mythological goddesses anyway?"
"You know, to be ordinary is a fate worse than death. I wanted my children to stand out in a crowd." She swallowed hard, trying to clear her throat. "A name was the only thing I had to give. I had no idea how to raise children." Her voice hitched. "I always hoped at least one of you would rise to the occasion. Maybe you did. Don't you make fancy wineglasses or something?"
I made my living as a highly sought-after glass artist, selling my pieces to high-end galleries and designers. Mother often admired them but didn't understand what all the hoopla was about. Once for Christmas, I sent her a lovely, lilac-colored bowl I labored over for weeks, with flecks of silver that sparkled brilliantly in the light. God, I loved that piece and thought she would too. During a visit home, I discovered she used it for her morning cereal before loading it into...
