Wings
“S’okay Mommy.” She said. Her voice seemed exceptionally tired and small. “We did it before. I’ve got wings and will fly right through.”
My smile was tight, not very reassuring. We HAD done this before. We had done all this before: the testing , the surgery, all of it. I was sick of it. Why couldn’t my little girl be better? Just better?
Her drawn face looked out the window. “Where would you go?” Her eyes were a little wild, a little frightened. The time was near. We played this game when it got to be too intense. With all the doctors and visits, medications and needles; we played a game where we would go anywhere…invent a happy place. We tried to refocus our energies to see better days.
I sighed and closed my eyes. I saw beautiful green fields with gnarled grape vines close to the ground. I felt the sweet, salty wind in my face and smelled the hint of the Chaste trees with their bright blue flowers. I began to describe it, folding my hand over hers. She seemed so old for her years. She’d been through too much for fourteen. Her breath slowed her muscles let go a little.
Shelley came in. She was great. She understood what we were doing: our pre-surgery ritual. She stayed quiet until we had visited Greece in our minds once again. I saw the cart and all the vials. The needles seemed to sing of their cruel intentions in the fluorescent light. She gently caressed Brianna’s arm.
“Ready Sweetie?”
“No Miss Shell. I’m scared. What if…” the hitch in her voice slammed my chest like a wrecking ball.
I wanted this to stop. I wanted to scoop her up and run away. To go back to Greece where it was all okay again; the tumor wasn’t growing. The tears we cried were from laughter not pain. I was dying inside; a slow, agonizing death right alongside my daughter. I bit the inside of my cheek and turned away. The sob that was coming was huge. I squinted my eyes as tightly as possible, swallowing again and again to stop it. It burned inside me. My lips trembled. I squeezed her hand.
“You’ll fly right through.” I whispered. “You’re going to win. You’re too stubborn not to.”
A single tear spilled down my little girl’s cheek. My heart twisted. I choked, collapsing over the sick little girl I couldn’t heal. I cried into her fuzzy panda jammies and said I was sorry.
“I’ll fly Mommy.”
“Bri-fly back to me.” I begged. “I love you.”
We had forgotten that Shelley was prepping her. The IV began to drip. Her eyes glazed and the sleepy smile appeared.
“She’s ready.”
“I’m not.” And at last the sobs came. My shoulders shook, my breath raced from my mouth in jerky gasps. My stomach tightened. I whined, trying to catch my breath and find some words. There were none. I covered my mouth and folded into myself.
“We’ll be back.” Shelley said quietly.
The doctors gave Bri a twenty percent chance. The stints they had put in her heart had failed. The tumor returned,drowing around the stints and to go in again was extremely dangerous. But there were few options. None in their minds.
I sat in the chair next to the my daughter’s cage of a bed. I listened to the gurney wheels giggle down the hall as they stole my baby girl. I tried to imagine our happy place once again. Now it was dark and cold. Brianna wasn’t here or there. I was alone with my grief and it was terrifying. I stared out the window and counted the raindrops running down the glass. Funny. They blurred the tears on my own face. I closed my eyes and waited amongst balloons, flowers, fluffy bunnies and cards. I drifted in and out of sleep.
In what should have been a dream, the doctor’s feet barely touched the floor as he entered. His mask down under his chin like paper towel beard. He did not smile. I gripped the arms of the pink pleather chair with sticky thick fake mahogany trim and glared at the floor. I was waiting for the punch. I sucked in air hoping his news would not knock it out of me.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
The surgery was too much.
“This God damned disease was too much.” I snapped.
“We tried.”
“Failed.”
“She won’t hurt anymore. Her suffering is over.” He was struggling to find soothing words.
“I will feel this forever. Mine is only beginning.”
He sighed, knowing there were no words left. He sat in front of me on the bed where my daughter had spent the last months of her life. He touched my shoulder before he left. I saw the gesture and knew what was behind it but I sat unmoving. I was afraid I would shatter to pieces.
I took one of the stuffed animals from her bed and smelled it. Traces of her shampoo, her breath, her tears were still in it. I would have eaten it if I could; just to keep her with me. I clenched it, angry that it wasn’t her little body I was holding. Hurt that I didn’t say good bye. Guilty that it hadn’t been me.
“Where did you go Brianna?” I screamed into the stuffing. I rocked back and forth trying to comfort myself. “Why didn’t you come back to me?”
I heard gurney wheels giggling up the hall. My eyes raced to the doorway hoping to see my little angel groggy but alive.
“Look Mommy! I’m flyyyyying” the tiny voice laughed. A curly haired girl of about six held her arms up soaring through the hall.
The words gouged my soul. I sobbed at the unfairness, the injustice, my resentment. They stopped at my door.
“Wait.” She said.
I looked up, barely able to focus on the carroty hair and sprinkle of freckles. I tried to smile but my lips quivered so much I could only shake my head and frown to control the sadness.
“You. "She pointed laughing and smiling in a dopey way. The anesthesia hadn’t worn yet. Brianna was goofy like that too.
“Yes Honey?” my voice was almost inaudible.
“ She flew in Grease. Your little girl came in while I was sleeping and told me that. She said “Tell my mom I’m flying to back to Grease.” Her wings are beautiful.”
Embarrassed, her mother whisked her on, afraid of me or that she might catch some of my pain like pneumonia.
I closed my eyes and wept for all the times I hadn’t in these last months. I cried because I was tiny and alone. I sobbed because she couldn’t fly back. In my mind, I saw again those fields, vines and spectacular trees. I heard her laugh and felt a breeze.
The breeze of wings.
I write this in memory of a wonderful and brave little girl. You've touched so many, given more and suffered too much. I wish you peace and above all a graceful wind so you can soar with your angel wings. God blessed us with you Sweetie, even if only for a little while.
Treasure those you love, remember to tell them so. Thank you for coming by; it meant a little bit more today.
