1984

My aunt, Mother's oldest sister, had died of cancer. Near the end she required a colostomy. In caring for Aunt Rene, my mother had changed the colostomy bag on several occasions. Of course, it was a distasteful task and Mother had determined then that she would never have one. So it was somewhat surprising to me that she announced her decision in November to have colostomy surgery.

I went up to be with her two days after the procedure and she seemed to be doing very well. She wanted a permanent wave, though. "A what?"

"A permanent."

"Here in the hospital?"

"I feel so ugly," she sighed.

"Okay."

On my way to the beauty supply house I had to wonder what would make it this important to have her hair done. It is years later now and looking back brings events into focus like a wide-angle lens gives the larger picture. "Do you love me enough to go out and kill a bear to keep me safe or slay a giant to rescue me?" Every woman's question really, of her man. "Will you climb a mountain to find me; cross an ocean to see me? Be my prince?"

In her kingdom there was no prince, only a companion who had stopped romancing her years before. Perming my mother's short, gray, fine hair in her hospital room was to her heroic. The furtive nature of the whole experience made it all the more enjoyable. It was smelly and wet and a bona fide challenge to get permanent rods wound around the silvery wisps of hair without ruining her sterile hospital sheets. The smell of permanent solution was still hanging heavily in the air when Mother's doctor came in for his daily rounds. Sitting up in her bed, newly coiffed and wearing her pinkest lipstick, Mother admitted shyly that, yes, her daughter had curled her hair right there in the hospital. The doctor tsked and looked over at me like I had lost my mind. It had made my mother so happy, though; the glow on her cheeks as she cut her eyes over to look at me, her co-conspirator, made a smile creep slowly across my face. I shrugged my shoulders lightly as the doctor shook his head and turned back to Mother.

Mother went home a few days later feeling well. There was a new hope being built in her heart as her body slowly healed. Her energy was returning and the thoughts of her death were not so prevalent. My father planned a trip to New York City. Bought tickets and everything. It seemed a little soon after Mother's surgery, but he was determined to go. In the night before his departure, Mother suddenly spiked a very high temperature -104, actually. Accompanying the fever was tremendous abdominal pain. Daddy took her to the hospital and called me. I was, of course, two and a half hours away and I had an eighteen month old baby and two daughters in elementary school. But, I needed to come be with Mother in the hospital because Daddy had a plane to catch.

"Really? You're going to New York City with Mother in the emergency room at the hospital?"

"Yes. Yes, I am." This from her prince, her knight in shining armor; for better or worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, unless you've made plans to go to NYC.

I packed up myself and my baby son and drove the distance through small north Texas towns to the hospital. I knew Daddy was overhead somewhere going north, escaping the unknowns of the emergency room, leaving his bride to whatever the fates ordained. I just wanted to get to Ft.Worth to hold her hand. My mother should have been dead by the time I arrived. The fever and pain heralded the onslaught of a massive infection that had filled her abdominal cavity with a death-dealing rancid fluid. Fortunately, Mother was stubborn and needed to go to the bathroom, and she was somewhat delirious in her suffering. Nurses had not answered her call for help soon enough, so she got up to go to the bathroom alone. The combination of willfulness and delirium made her journey too arduous and confusing, so she fell, hard, onto the gray linoleum floor of her sterile hospital room. A serendipitous bursting of putrid bloody fluid from her fragile body spewed its deadly poison across the cold floor upon which lay her prone and vulnerable body. The fluid had been hiding, intending to kill her quietly before its heinous purpose could be discovered. My mother's falling had actually raised her from the dead.

The elevator bell dinged Mother's floor and I exited with my son in my arms. "Where'd he get those big blue eyes? They are the size of a half dollar!" Cute old man noticing cute little man. It made me smile. I had no idea that my mother had just tripped into her temporary salvation. When I breezed through the door to her private room, nurses had just finished cleaning up the sea of liquid and the doctor was on his way.

"Had you not fallen," the doctor began,"it might have taken us too long to discover the problem. I'm afraid you might have died. This was very serious. Is your husband here?"

"No, but my daughter is." The doctor looked at me quizzically.

"When will Mr. Strickling be coming?"

"He's in New York. Dropped me off at the hospital this morning."

From the look on the doctor's face it was clear he understood that she had no prince. The doctor wiped his face with his right hand, leaving it clasped around his chin as he contemplated an appropriate response. He put his left hand on Mother's shoulder, sighed, and assured her that he would take good care of her. With that, he turned to look at me, smiled resignedly, and walked quietly out of the room.

I stayed with Mother for two days, at her home at night and the hospital during the day. My daughters were in school, so my husband had found a friend to care for them until he came home in the evenings. Mother was feeling much better when I left. Massive doses of antibiotics were coursing throughout her body killing the deadly infection. I wanted to go home before I saw my father again. Children do not have perspective on the lives of their parents when they are small. In any case, rising inch by inch to the level of one's parents can be somewhat disillusioning. We never thought they were flawed. Of course, when we come full circle we have to admit that we never thought we were so flawed, either. When my father chose to leave my mother desperately ill in the hospital so he could go have fun, my heart chose to respect him a little less.

A few days later, he returned, rejuvenated from his escapade. Oh, and he had remembered to bring my mother a gift. Amethyst earrings from Saks in New York. They might have looked good on her as she lay in her casket had she not had the good sense to go to the bathroom. Thanks for thinking of her, Daddy.