Page 102 of Wicked Player
Chapter Thirty-Four
With trembling fingers, I reach into the pocket of my sweater for my phone and dial 911. I know she’s already gone, but I can’t utter the words. Instead I tell them that my elderly neighbor has fallen unconscious on her sofa.
I wonder when she passed. If only I’d been here, I could have helped, called 911. There’s nothing else I can do now, and I feel so helpless. I’m also angry. I’m shocked as anger grows inside me. I grab the purple vase on her side table and throw it against the wall. It smashes to bits, and I feel so much better. I want to smash everything here, but I can’t let these emotions get the best of me right now. I need to look after Christian.
I rush outside and find him in tears, sitting in Judy’s rocking chair. I reach for him, and wrap him in my arms again. We’re both sobbing, knowing that we’ll never see her smile again, never hear her crude jokes, never receive one of her wild flower arrangements, full of purple lupines.
I reluctantly tear myself away to call Miriam. It pains me to make this call, and I know it’s the first of many. About a year ago, Judy and I went over her end-of-life plan. It was one of those things you really don’t want to do, but you need to. I’m the one who is responsible for calling her oldest daughter, and communicating her wishes to her children. It all falls on me right now, and I gladly accept the responsibility because I loved her so much.
Miriam answers on the third ring, cheerful. “Hi, Clara. What’s up?”
I clear my throat, and it physically hurts to have to speak my next words. “I’m… afraid I have bad news, Miriam.”
Her cheerful tone is gone when she asks, “What happened?”
“Judy…” I can’t say the words, too choked up. I was hoping I could do this without falling into sobs, but no such luck. “… she’s passed,” I finally manage.
“Oh no…” Her words trail off. She’s speechless.
I’m still holding Christian against me, and he’s wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. He’s being such a strong boy, and I’m so proud of him. I know he’s hurting just as much as I am. She was like a grandmother to him, and he loved her so much.
“I just called 911,” I tell her. “And I’m sure they’ll be here any second, and I need someone to look after Christian.”
“Yes, anything,” she says. “I’ll be right there. Are you at Judy’s?”
“Yes. Thanks so much, Miriam.”
“I’ll see you in a minute,” she says, and the line goes dead.
I hold Christian tightly and stare off into the distance, at the beautiful bay. It always eases life’s troubles, but it’s of no use right now. I know she was eighty-six, but I still can’t believe she was taken from us. She was so full of life. She was taken too soon.
I pull away. “We need to go to the road to wave down the paramedics,” I tell him.
I grab his hand, and we head to the road. Miriam arrives first, and she wraps us both in a hug. The three of us are sobbing when the ambulance finally arrives. Two paramedics climb out, and I repeat everything I told the 911 operator. Miriam takes Christian, and I follow the paramedics in.
They quickly turn Judy over and assess the situation, checking her pulse, inspecting her hands. The man makes a call on his CB radio, while the woman attends to Judy’s body and checks her with a monitor. I can’t bear to look, still so full of emotion.
The paramedic approaches me quietly, and tells me what I already suspected, that she’s gone, but not officially pronounced deceased yet. A medical examiner is on his way. It hadn’t really sunk in until now, not until I heard the words spoken out loud.
I fall to my knees, and the woman, this kind stranger, kneels down with me. She asks me if there’s an end-of-life plan in place. I tell her that yes, there is, and that I’m the one who is in charge of it all.
“Well, it’s good that you have a plan in place,” she tells me. “It makes everything much easier. Many people don’t. I know this is hard, but at least you’re prepared.”
I take little comfort in her words, still so angry.
She presses a hand gently on my back. “I imagine that you already have arrangements made with a local funeral home.”
“Yes.” I think of the notebook, the one with the flower covered cover, the one she kept in a box under her bed. It contains all the information I need, including the funeral home number. “The information is in her bedroom. I can go get it.”
I venture into her bedroom. Her bed is made, the silky lilac duvet perfectly stretched smooth, pillows arranged just so. Everything is pristine, almost as if she knew subconsciously that she would be having guests shortly. I kneel to the floor, and reach under the bed and grab the red box. My chest aches as I lift the lid and discover some treasures and memories, amongst which is the trusty notebook.
With an aching throat, I call the funeral home, and they are professional and kind, as expected. They instruct me to let them know once the medical examiner has officially pronounced her deceased, and they will come get her.
There are many instructions in the notebook, such as clothing she wants to be buried in; her favorite purple dress and her wedding shoes.
I let myself escape back in time for a minute: the two of us having tea in her bedroom. She, giddy, showing me the stylish shoes she wore for her wedding; vintage, pearl finish patent leather and mesh, two inch block heels and T straps.
A casket has already been chosen, and all the funeral arrangements have been made. She’d told me that she didn’t want to be a nuisance when she died, that she didn’t want to burden her children or me. I’d told her she could never be a burden to me.
