Oxygen

“Uncle Reggie?”

He turned around.

The lines on his face were deeper than I’d remembered, and the whites of his eyes were crimson. He rubbed his face with his rugged hands, slowly stood up, and turned towards me. 

It’d been at least two years since I’d been home, and his hair? Grayer. I noticed, too, that his pace was slow, donning a cane for support. He paused, looked at me wryly, and, pointing downward, said, “Hip replacement. Two weeks ago.”

I dropped my bags on the floor. We held each other close and wept. I pushed my face into his chest because I couldn’t bear to look at her, diminished in the bed by all of the machines and tubes and unbearable sounds. 

Staring up at him, I asked, “What happened, Uncle Reg?” 

His tears dotted the top of my hair as he spoke. “Aunt Gigi couldn’t get ahold of her. She wasn’t answering the phone, so I went over to her condo to check on her and see why she wasn’t picking up. She was lying on the floor…” he choked back tears, … “and barely breathing. I called the paramedics.”

He stood back as I broke away and walked over to the bed. I held her hand, and it was cold. Her hair matted to her head. The machines were pumping up and down, whooshing and beeping and grinding. Oxygen forcefully poured into her lungs, making her breathe. I laid my forehead on the bed, wishing she would wake up and hug me, tell me once more how much she loved me, and hold my face between her palms.

I hadn’t called her in three days. Who knew how long she’d been lying there, suffering and needing help? It was too much to bear.

“The news isn’t good,” Uncle Reggie said. I softly wept as he continued. “The doctor said you need to make a decision, soon. Whether to keep her on life support and hope that her brain recovers enough to wake up, or…”

His silence spoke volumes. “Or… whether to let her go,” I said. Now the tears were streaming and there was no stopping them. 

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Please come and stay with Aunt Gigi and me,” he said.

“I need to go to the condo and get settled there. I need to think. ” I picked up my bags and hoisted them over my shoulder. 

“Don’t you want to speak with the doctor?” He asked. 

“I will…but I need a minute. I want to drop off my stuff and wrap my head around…this…whatever this is.” She looked so pale. “I’ll be back this afternoon and pull the night shift. I don’t want to be away from Mom too long.”

I stood up. Uncle Reggie took me in his arms and hugged me like he never hugged me before. Like he couldn’t let go. Like I was his lifeline to Mom. 

The three had been inseparable friends since third grade: he, Gigi, and Mom. They grew up in a small town just north of San Francisco and, together, attended SF State, partying, studying, hiking, and enjoying all the Bay Area had to offer. 

Mom met Dad in college, and they got married. Gigi and Reggie fell in love with each other and married between these life events. They decided to stay as a pack and settled in Sausalito, their condos within yelling distance of each other and both with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Mom told me that Dad wanted to move south, but she’d refused.

“Aunt Gigi and I will be with her until you get back. She went down to the cafeteria to get us some coffee.” He took up the chair next to her bed, staring blankly in her direction.

He turned around before I left the room. “Hannah?”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Honey, I hate to put this on you, but the hospital will probably need a medical power of attorney on file so you can make decisions for her. Do you know where that is? In the house?”

“Uh…” my head swam. I shook it and held it in both hands. “I, uh…oh yes…” thinking of a past conversation. “Mom told me all her trust documents were in the safe. I need to find the code.”

“Please, Hannah, that’ll be important. Let me know if you need help looking for it.”

The trip to the condo was a blur, my mind consumed with the vision of Mom, gripped by what looked like a mechanical octopus, tentacles splayed over her, going in and out of her, like the Kraken, attacking and dragging her underneath the waves. 

It was hard for me to breathe.

I dropped my bags inside the door. The living room still held evidence of the paramedics who were called to save her life. Needle packaging and parts of IV hoses littered the carpet, and a large stain, hopefully just IV fluid, stained the beige carpet. My stomach lurched as I picked everything up and threw a towel over the stain… like that would fix it.

The refrigerator had leftovers of Mom’s meal from possibly the night before, bucatini pasta with pesto and roasted chicken nestled in. I heated and inhaled it, tasting home, love, and hugs in each bite. 

The safe. I pushed away from the table, put my dish in the sink, and headed for the garage. She had a secret spot for the code, written in her tiny handwriting, vertically, on the side of a beam. I memorized it and unlocked the safe on the first try.

It clicked open. I threw the pile of stacked papers onto the dryer to sort through them, seeing if I could find her trust. Three years of tax returns, bank statements…and a large manila envelope labeled “Trust” written with a thick, black Sharpie pen. 

I sat in the living room with a cup of camomile tea to calm my nerves. It never occurred to me that at seventy years old, my Mom would end up like this, tethered to machines for life support and me, having to make the hardest decision of my life. 

Flipping page by page… “blah, blah, blah, legal stuff…Madeline Clarke assigns Hannah Clarke as successor trustee if she’s incapacitated…” My throat closed up, and again, it was hard to breathe. I put the trust down on the coffee table and closed my eyes. I thought about Mom and her strength, and I pulled on that to keep going. She was a single mom since I was four years old, and she knew how to play both roles, never leaving me wanting or yearning for my father. Dad died when I was young. I don’t even remember him. I’d once asked, “Why didn’t you ever remarry?” She never answered directly, only with “We can do life on our own."

It was just the two of us, strong, fierce, and proud women. We also had Uncle Reggie and Aunt Gigi for emotional support. The four of us were, in a sense, family.

There they were. The End of Life Plan and Advanced Health Care Directive. My hands shook as I poured over them. Her wishes were clear: no continued life support if she was incapacitated with no chance of recovery. And I had the power to end her life. To fulfill her wishes. I was the genie in the bottle…obeying her command. I wanted to crawl back into the bottle and tighten the lid.

I needed to get back to the hospital, so I placed the trust back in its envelope and, peering in, I noticed a white sealed envelope. It was sitting at the bottom of the large envelope, and I hadn’t noticed it before. 

I plucked it out. It had my name written on it, in Mom’s handwriting. 

Hannah Renee

Maybe Mom stashed some money away, and she wanted me to have it. I slit open the top portion and pulled out a letter. I checked. No money. 

Dear Hannah, 

I’m going to start this letter with a clique. “If you’re reading this letter…” I’m probably dead or lying in a hospital bed, unable to breathe on my own or make any decisions on my own. In either case, my soul is gone. Physically or metaphorically. I needed to give you the power to make decisions for me. So I am. They’re not easy decisions, especially if you need to take me off life support. I wouldn’t want to make that decision for anyone, either. But I’m your mom, and you’re my daughter, so…sorry, honey. Please fulfill my wish if I cannot make it for myself. I don’t want to drain you, financially or physically. My soul will need to move on, and I'm at peace with that.

I stopped and wept, knowing she was right. I had to see the doctor and get more information on whether she had a fighting chance or if she’d lost the battle already. 

Was this the end? 

Of the letter… 

I turned it over. 

More writing.

The next thing I need to tell you, sweetheart, is one of the biggest regrets of my life, followed by the biggest reward of my life. 

When your dad and I married, I was the happiest woman in the world. We were both young, working, making money, and playing just a little too hard. Your dad and I started having problems about a year in, and then things started going bad. He was drinking more and more and traveling for weeks on end for his job. We were, basically, just roommates. Our love came and went, we fought, and then we made up. Our marriage was a roller coaster.

One evening, while your dad was away, it was a particularly bad week between your dad and me. Gigi was out of town, and Reggie came over for dinner. Hannah, this is where I tell you my regret: Reggie and I slept together that evening. I needed him like I needed oxygen to breathe. My marriage was in shambles, and I needed life support - Reggie gave that to me. 

And now, my biggest reward: YOU. I discovered I was pregnant shortly after Reggie’s and my evening together. I know you are his daughter, Hannah, because of timing and because of the similarities between you two. Your walk, his walk, your eyes, his eyes, your smile, his smile, and the way you both love tons of pepper on your food.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was over the moon. I could breathe again…I had a purpose, someone to love and care for, and I was now your life support.

Did your father ever know? Probably, which is why he wanted to move south. But I couldn’t leave Reggie, or Gigi for that matter. She’s like a sister to me, and I regret betraying her. She didn’t know about the affair, Hannah, and I was never brave enough to tell her. 

Does Reggie know? Yes. Which is why he’s been a father figure in your life ever since your dad died. He’s been there for you, and he’ll be there for you now.

I know this is a bomb. I was going to keep my secret forever, but Reggie said you needed to know. So…here it is, with my dying breath.

Please know how much I love you, Hannah.

Forever in your heart, Mom

I dropped the letter in my lap, too devastated to move. There was no one to turn to, no one in the house to scream at or to celebrate with. 

How did I feel? It was too soon to tell, but Uncle Reggie, who is now, I guess… Dad? 

Wow…that in itself…I closed my eyes. 

Thinking back, Uncle Reggie had been there for all of my major milestones. Birthdays, the start of each school year, holidays, graduations, everything. I grabbed my coat and tucked the manila envelope under my arm. 

I dropped the Advanced Health Directive at the nurse's station and headed for the room. Reggie was still there, half of a leftover sandwich on a plate next to him and a cup of black coffee.

“Where’s Aunt Gigi?” I asked him.

“Home. She wasn’t feeling well, so I sent her home to rest. She wants you to come to our house tonight so you won’t be alone.”

I walked over to Mom and stared down at her lifeless body, too tired to cry and numb at the same time. Then I turned to Reggie. His eyes were permanently filled with tears like he hadn’t stopped crying all day. 

“I know, Uncle Reggie…uh, Dad,” I said and handed him the letter. As he read it, tears stained the ink so that most of the words spread like spiderwebs. 

“It wasn’t my story to tell, Hannah. It needed to come from her,” he said, looking over at Mom. 

The doctor walked in. “Are you Hannah?” He asked.

“I am. That’s my mom,” I said. I sat down, knowing what was coming. 

“You have a decision to make, Hannah,” the doctor said. “Your mom’s prognosis is dire; her brain activity is non-existent, and her organs are not able to function on their own.”

I looked at Reggie. “Dad?” I asked him, tears streaming down my cheeks, my vision blurry. 

Reggie nodded.

The doctor looked at me. I choked the words, “Take the oxygen off of her. Take her off of life support. Her soul needs to move on…” 

I leaned down and kissed her, whispering, “I love you, Mom. Thank you for giving me my dad.”