The Embrace

@1997 Brenda G. Howard
brenda@creativewriting.com

The Embrace

It was a difficult experience to live through and even harder to die through. She slipped into a comma on Saturday. I’m not sure how you slip into a comma, but one-minute you’re there and the next you’re not. I guess that could be called slipping.

Her small skeleton of a body was placed on a cot in the living room, next to the window. Obviously she wasn’t going to be looking outside, but that’s where she lay. Peacefully her spirit slept while her physical body fought the pain of the cancer. Involuntary muscle spasms shook her legs. She had been brought home to die.

I didn’t know her very well—she had spent most of the three years in and out of hospitals—but I did know her parents. They were my neighbors. We shared a bond. The nomadic bond that people develop when they have no roots. For us, the old saying, "home is where the heart is", is more than a saying—it’s our reality.

Our block of duplexes formed a rectangle. All of the front doors of the red brick structures faced outward, toward the street, while the backdoors faced each other like dancers matched with partners.

Darkness descended like a shroud over the daytime sun. Looking across the backyard, I saw the lights and the shadows of people coming to the house. An army of friends and relatives descended upon the place of the dying. A vigil had been established and everyone played his or her role.

I watched through the haze of white lace curtains. The women folk took their places in the kitchen and the men folk stood out on the back porch and talked about everything and nothing at the same time. The warmth of the spring evening allowed everyone to flow from the inside to the outside as fluidly as water that slowly moves down a stream on a starlit night.

I became one of the soldiers as I left my front door and walked around the outside path of the rectangle to Brandy’s house. The front door was open and all were welcome. Soft music played in the background and candles were lit and placed throughout the room.

It was a serene backdrop for an emotional scene. As painful as the experience was for the living, Brandy’s torture was worse. The irony would be that she would die and be able to depart from it, while the rest of us lived on.

I hugged her mother. Her eyes misted and she explained that the end was near. She’s fine, she says as she averts her eyes. Of course she’s not fine, but did anyone want to hear the real answer? I felt helpless, with only words to give—words that could not take the pain away.

I hugged her father. There were no words. With red rimmed eyes, a fresh batch of tears flowed freely. His embrace was that of a man holding on to a life preserver. A man struggling against the current.

The room took on an unnatural quality as all the participants watched the guest of honor fight death in the same way an infant fights sleep at naptime. Both lose the battle as nature takes over.

Glazed looks appeared on the faces of the people joining in a ritual that they had no desire to join. I watched as the friends and family mixed and mingled as if attending a cocktail party.

I silently bid Brandy farewell and wished her parents an ending to their suffering. Taking my leave, I strolled slowly in the night air. The wind touched my face softly and I was grateful for the coolness.

Brandy died that night. I did not witness the final passing, but was relieved that the pain had ended. The street looked like an empty movie theater, with all of the cars and family gone. Her parents had taken her body to a family cemetery two states away. The arrangements had been made a long time before.

From my backyard, I watched the empty house—a lonesome creature, void of human spirit. I waited patiently for their return. The house carried an air of sadness that could only be dispelled by human presence.

Two days after the departure, I lounged in the back yard on a warm afternoon. The sun rested its rays on my body and I sat there contemplating the recent events. A thought nagged in the dark corners of my mind.

I worried about her parents. Could they overcome the loss of their child? Would they seek solace from one another or would there be blame and guilt? My worries were put to rest immediately.

I saw her father come out into the back yard and sit on the wooden bench. The one he had made with his own two hands. After a few minutes, I saw her mother come outside as well. He rose to greet her and she went to him. They embraced and held each other tightly. I understood then that they would help each other through this crisis.

The worry washed away as I witnessed this scene. Peacefulness came over me as I acknowledged their love. Her shoulders began to shake slightly and I knew she was crying. He gently stroked her back.

I became the intruder and felt like a spy—witnessing this very private moment. Embarrassed slightly, I decided to go back inside. I would give them a few minutes and then walk over to their house and welcome them home. Their house appeared happier with their return. All was well.

I took the outside walkway again—giving them, and myself, a few minutes to let the private moment pass. When I arrived at the house I saw that the front door was closed and that the car was not in the driveway. This was odd and it appeared that they were not home. I felt that they could not have left the house so quickly and walked to their backyard--the place I had seen them moments before.

No one was there. I saw the lanky teenager that lived next door and asked where they had gone. He simply stated that they couldn’t have gone anywhere because they had not returned home yet.

This did not register and I stated that I had just seen them. He looked at me quizzically and explained that he was getting the mail for them each day and that they were not home yet.

As his gaze intensified, I gave up the notion and returned home. I went back into my yard and watched their house again.

As the golden sunset reflected on the windows, I pondered my own sanity. Had I really seen the embrace? Even though it was still empty, the sadness had departed from the home as the sunlight touched it with a warm glow. It was then that I knew, together, they had lived through the death.