The Five Word Goodbye

What Endures Through Time

(Prompt - A child who carries on their parent’s work or legacy in some form)

The Five-Word Goodbye

Helen’s pasty skin was thin and bunched up like old leather. Except for her milky green eyes and mannerisms, barely any resemblance remained of her younger self.

Mary reached across the hospital bed and gently stroked Helen’s salt colored hair. A long curl fell across her shoulder and rested on her pale-blue nightgown. The strand looked as fine as silk but felt coarse like a horse's mane against Mary’s hand.

“I love you so much mom” Mary steadied herself as she choked back the emotion that churned in her gut. She had said the words often, but she knew that today they meant more.

Helen strained to peel open her eyes and look at her daughter.  Her slight expression was understanding, motherly, even though she had traded roles with Mary a long time ago. To outsiders, Helen’s expression would have been impossible to discern. Not to Mary. She knew that a slight lift of her mom’s eyebrow, or a half blink of her heavy eyelids told a story of love. 

The only thing Helen had ever wanted was for her daughters to find their place in the world. To discover their purpose and never shrink from pursuing it. Mary found that purpose as a nurse. When her mom was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s Disease, pursuing a career in nursing seemed like the natural choice. Instinct told her that she needed to prepare herself for the days ahead as the disease progressed. 

Even in the beginning, when Helen’s care was simple, Mary was appalled at the number of failures she observed in medical settings. Doctors and nurses seemed to always be in a hurry, test orders were mis-conveyed, medication dosages, wrong. But the dearth of empathy for extremely sick patients is what left Mary disgusted and determined to make a difference, even in a small way. When she graduated from nursing school at Northwestern she made a pact with herself that she would quit before she would let burn out destroy her humanness. She quickly became stellar at her job. Efficient. Disciplined. Her skin was thick, but her heart remained soft. Both necessities in her chosen field. In the face of every patient, Mary saw her mom.

When Mary and Helen's other daughter Julie travelled with their mom on humanitarian trips abroad, they gleaned first-hand knowledge - almost by osmosis -about what strong, compassionate women should look like.  As they visited poor hospitals in under-developed countries they watched in awe as their mom seamlessly interacted with political figures - mostly men, medical administrators - also mostly men, and doctors - mostly men. Helen’s resolve was unwavering. She was shy by nature and non-confrontational, but the finesse she wielded when she advocated for children who had complicated needs made her seem like a different person. She was unapologetic, fearless. She called the children the least of these.

“They all have a story, all of them, never forget that,” she explained after a particularly difficult trip to an orphanage in the Philippines.

Her daughters never forgot. Like their mom, they developed thick skins, yet somehow managed to remain pliable with kindness. Mary more than Julie. Mary chose nursing - Julie, International Law.

Anticipating a time when their mom would no longer be able to speak, Julie and Mary decided to canonize Helen's life through interviews. 

“OK, today is a day for telling me things,” Mary would say as she grabbed the TV remote, turning off the TV with one hand while switching a hand-held recorder on with the other. Day after day she would slip into the chair next to Helen’s bed, flip on the recorder and read a prompt, usually related to a specific decade, agency, continent. Sometimes she just let Helen ramble as things came to her. Mary knew that her mom's experiences were a treasure trove that needed to be mined and was dogmatic in her determination to dig - using music, old photos, food - in an effort to stimulate Helen's senses and trigger long buried memories. Julie planned to create a library once all the stories were told.

Helen's recollections were sometimes clear and others they came as fragments - of her time as a consultant with Unicef, a program manager for the UN, wading through garbage with children who scrounged for scraps in a Manila dump.  Mary loved the stories her mom told about her many tangles with administrators who insisted on doing things the way they had always been done. Over many years Helen's dog-with-a-bone persistence dismantled rules-based paradigms, replacing them with practical programs that were grounded in a framework of compassion. One small policy after another, one human being after another – Helen changed the trajectory of countless children, especially girls. 

“It’s the baby steps that matter,” she would say, “Can’t eat an elephant in one bite.” As her daughters grew into strong women in their own right, they came to understand the wisdom in those words.

Eventually, Helen became too weak to speak and Mary quietly tucked the recorder away in a drawer, shifting her focus toward helping her mother go through what was ahead with as much dignity as possible. Neither Helen, nor Mary ever shied away from hard conversations about death - God - an after life. In fact, they seemed to savor the almost one-like connection that deepened between them as a result of those conversations. Knowing what was coming created an unexpected depth between them and a gratitude for the small moments, which were many as Helen's health declined.  Fragile love flowers bloomed again and again into a fragrant bouquet of understanding and sacrifice - meant to wilt, then blossom again in memory. As Helen’s needs increased, Mary put her own aside.

##

A light breeze blew through the screen door, bringing with it the aroma of fall. Mary was sitting quietly in an armchair strategically placed in the corner of her mother’s bedroom. She was charting her mom's decline and listening to Yo Yo Ma’s, Cello Suites by Bach. Helen appeared to be asleep.

Other than peeling paint, overgrown weeds and the out of place hospital bed and medical supplies that had taken over Helen's room, her New Hampshire home hadn’t changed in the 40 years that she had lived there. Helen had never valued things much, she just didn't have much use for them. She was too practical, and her conscience wouldn't let her buy fine things when so many across the world went without food and basic medical care.

“You can’t take it with you, so why would you want to have to dust it,” she would joke. 

Her small dressing table looked like a prop from a 1960’s sit-com. On top of a large yellowing tatted lace doily, crocheted by Helen's grandmother, sat an empty perfume bottle that hadn’t been opened in decades, a very used wooden hairbrush – Helen’s wiry hair still twisted in the bristles - and a hand held mirror with a pearl-handle.  A photograph of Mary and Julie when they were girls sat off to the side under Rosary beads that were neatly draped over an adjustable oval mirror. 

An untouched water glass sat next to the photo as a stark reminder that Helen hadn’t taken anything by mouth for several days. The IV line that protruded from her arm was the only source of hydration, its main purpose now, to alleviate pain. All nutrition had been stopped according the the plan Helen had created with Mary's help many months prior.

Mary gently lifted the sheet and soft chenille afghan from her mother’s feet and repositioned them under a pillow to make her more comfortable. Her body was skeletal, skin on bone, ash colored, cold. Helen glanced with eyes half open, half closed as Mary lovingly lifted her legs and tucked them in. Holding her eyes open, even for a second, felt like running a marathon to Helen. Movement was work. But she wiggled her middle fingers ever so slightly to gain Mary’s attention. 

Mary quickly moved to her mother’s side. 

“Do you need something mom?” 

With contorted lips, Helen, painstakingly whispered “pwuh uh -yuoh.”  Her words would have been unintelligible to anyone else, but Mary knew exactly what her mother meant. “I’m.. proud .. of … you.”

Drool slid from the corner of Helen’s mouth along her jawline as she tried to speak. She groaned with frustration at her statuesque and dependent state. Quickly, without hesitation or any expression of concern, Mary pulled a tissue from the box on the night table and gently dabbed the moisture from her mother’s face. She knew that even those faintly whispered words had required an incredible amount of energy. She kissed Helen’s forehead and carefully pulled the sheet and blanket up under her chin – like a mother tucking in her child.

“I’m proud of you too,” Mary said smiling as she gently squeezed her mother’s thin forearm. "More than I can ever say."

She straightened her mom's pillow.

“Comfy?” 

Helen blinked one slow blink and let her eyelids rest.

Mary’s phone vibrated in her sweater pocket.

##

“Hey Juls. I’m so glad you got through,” ….  “Yeah, she’s awake. Hold on a sec.”

“Mom, it’s Julie calling from the airport. I’ll put her on speaker so you can listen - ok?”

Helen opened one eye half-way and tried to nod.

Mary tapped the screen and put the cell phone on speaker then set it down on the side table near Helen's head.

“Hi mom. I’m so sorry I can’t get there. Flights are grounded because of the hurricane off the gulf. I hope you can hear me.” Julie’s voice sounded agitated and emotional, but controlled. 

“She’s listening Juls, you’re on speaker.” Mary explained.

“Mom,” … Julie paused, intentionally slowing her words to a less frenzied pace.

“I want to tell you. I NEED.. to tell you… I need you to know….” 

Julie’s voice became throaty with emotion and she was unable to speak. As the seconds passed her silence was interrupted with a cacophony of airport commotion and noise.

“Damn -it!” she grumbled.

An arriving flight, announced over the loud-speaker, drown out Julie's voice. She was annoyed but took a deep breath, regained her composure and waited for the broadcast to end - then started to speak again.

“Mom, … Because of you, … I am.," she sad clearly and with resolve.

Helen’s almond-shaped eyes popped open and she gazed at the ceiling. Diamond water droplets formed on her lower lashes and slipped along the deep wrinkles that spread from the bottom of her temples, then trickled across her high cheek bones.

“You are the reason I do this work, and a big part of why little girls across the world have opportunities that women in your generation and the generations before yours didn’t have.”

Helen’s eyes rolled and drifted as her breaths became quick and shallow.

“Thirty-seven countries voted in favor. They’re going to strengthen your work mom. We’re not done. I just wanted you to know … We’ll never give up.”

Helen’s head spun with memories of the Fourth Women’s Conference in Beijing. She and her friend and colleague Jin Mai had worked tirelessly to raise awareness about the treatment of little girls in China and were elated when they received an invitation to join Hillary Clinton as delegates representing the US at the historical conference.  Thousands of international figures, NGO representatives, politicians, humanitarians and media were in attendance - all there with one goal - to advocate for the human rights of girls and women across the world. It was no small irony, and darkly poetic that the conference was happening in a country that was notorious for human rights violations.

Julie’s voice was soft but certain as she continued.

“I saw Jin Mai’s son Chris. He was there with his daughter. He’s SO much like her mom and his daughter, Mai-Mai ….  her name is Jennifer Mai, but he calls her Mai Mai - isn’t that great? … She looks so much like Jin Mai.  Jin would be so proud if she could see them.

We went out for a drink after the last session and Chris told me stories about Jin’s relentless fight for humanitarian causes.. She never tired mom.  Not until the day of her heart attack 5 years ago.  She never gave up. I know the two of you lost touch when dad got sick... I know you loved each other .. I just thought you'd want to know."

Helen’s mind whirled in braided memories.

##

“Come on, we’re gonna be late!” Jin Mai yelled across the U-shaped balcony that overlooked the the hotel lobby from the eighth floor. She waved her arm in a sweeping motion toward Helen, whose room was on the other side. "Hurry up!" She yelled, trying to get Helen to move faster. 

Helen nervously straightened the pink and purple floral scarf that wrapped her neck and pulled her hotel room door closed. She tugged and smoothed the sides of her pencil skirt, straightening it along her thighs. She wasn’t accustomed to wearing suits, and in fact found them terribly impractical and uncomfortable, but today she wanted to look her best and decided to don a two-piece tweed ensemble. It just seemed appropriate for the momentous occasion. She even dotted her pale cheeks with a smidge of peach rouge and sprayed her amber curls with hair spray in hopes of making her unwieldy hair behave.

“Wow, you look great.” Jin’s compliment took Helen off guard.

“Uh – thanks. Not like anyone will notice. I feel like I’m in a straight-jacket.”

“I noticed,” Jin said, elbowing Helen in the ribs. “Really, you look great. Relax, it’s not like you have to speak or anything.”

Jin Mai’s hair was tightly twisted into a silky bun, not a single black strand out of place. Her grooming reflected an entirely different persona to her easy going and gregarious nature that always seemed to put others at ease. 

“Doesn’t that thing give you a headache?” Helen asked as she patted Jin’s bun with her palm. "You could set a coffee cup on that thing."

“Funny. No, it doesn't give me a headache. I want to be taken seriously for once. I’m sick of people treating me like an intern, or worse, a college kid in my 20’s. I figured the Asian schoolmarm look might garner some respect. I'm not lucky like you, I don't actually look my age.” Jin Mai chuckled at her own joke. 

“Yeah right, I'm the lucky one because I actually look 45, and you look 28, even though you're 6 months older than me. Lucky? That's a good one Mai.... You look nice yourself.... And by the way, we’re not late,” Helen chided.

“Whatever. My mom always said if you’re not 30 minutes early, you’re late.”

Helen rolled her eyes as they stepped into the elevator. It was packed with female delegates. The conflicting perfumes made Helen's eyes burn.

Helen took a deep breath as she and Jin Mai exited the elevator. The herd of women rushed past them as if they were late.

"Geez! That was special. How in the heck do they wear that stuff?!"

The escalator to the mezzanine level was packed with conference-goers all headed to the general session where Hillary Clinton was slated as the key-note speaker. The grand auditorium hummed with the rustle of clothes and muffled voices. Women's heels clacked against the concrete floor. Several committee members had taken their place on the platform, while mic checks sent reverb screeching across the large room. The sea of people looked like a massive, inter-racial collage. 

“Can you believe this?! Someone pinch me. Do I look ok?” Helen fidgeted and pulled at the sides of her skirt. “

“Ouch! Whad'ya you do that for?” Helen scowled as she pushed Jin’s hand away from her cheek.

“You told me to pinch you,” Jin Mai joked.

“It was metaphorical Mai - Geez - What is this high school?!” 

“You look fine, stop fussing,” Jin Mai demanded. “We actually made it…. stop messing with that ridiculous suit and look around."

"My suit's not ridiculous." Helen self consciously examined herself, pulled on the ends of her jacket sleeves and brushed the front of her skirt with her sweaty palms.

“It's not ridiculous, it's just not you. You're way too uptight. Relax my friend. Today’s the day, I can feel it in my bones.”

“What't that supposed to mean?"

“The solidarity. I think we may finally have solidarity. Do you know what it would mean for women's rights - for the little girls around the world? Things could actually change.” 

Jin Mai and Helen pushed through the throngs of bodies and stood against the back wall of the upper balcony. They observed in silence as the thousands of people who had come from all across the world searched for their seats in the massive room. Once the final committee members were seated, the esteemed Secretary General, Gertrude Mongella took her place on the platform. In reverence, the room became hushed. You could hear an earring drop.

Jin Mai sneezed and it echoed across the auditorium. Helen held her face in her hands and tried act nonchalantly while they both pinched their lips tight as they tried not to laugh out loud.

The session was called to order.

##

Another announcement blasted on the airport loudspeaker, interrupting Helen’s memory. 

“Sorry. Gawd this is so frustrating!” Julie blurted. 

A family of six - with a toddler who was having a crying fit rushed passed pulling old suitcases and rolling backpacks that scraped and screeched against the tile floor.

“I am so sorry. Give me a sec while I try to find someplace quiet.” 

Julie threw her large carry on over her shoulder and hurried down a short hall toward the entrance to the USO lounge. No one was around so she went inside - hoping that no one would notice or ask her for ID.

“Mary, … mom… are you still there?”

“Don’t worry about the noise Juls. It’s ok. We’re here. Mom’s still listening, aren’t you mom?”

Helen’s eyelashes fluttered for a split second.

“She said yes.”

"I'm in the USO lounge. There's no one here but that could change." Julie took a deep breath and continued. 

“Mom, the pandemic changed the conference format, but the attendees were all so motivated. The pent-up energy was palpable - even with the small group of us who actually attended in person. I swear the shut-downs lit a fire under people. Some of the women I met were just girls in ’95. You should have heard their stories mom – you would have loved it. The progress they are making … it would blow you away. So many stories - I wish I had time to share them all with you. Anyway, I just kept thinking that their stories were possible because ….. ” Julie’s voice coarsened..... “because of women like…. you .. and Jin Mai. They kept chanting Women’s rights are Human rights. It was powerful." 

The hint of a smile lifted the corner of Helen's mouth and her countenance lightened even with her eyes closed. One long inhalation and her breathing slowed.

“Mom, ….....” 

Julie wiped a flood of tears on the sleeve of her sweatshirt and cleared the mucus that had formed in her throat. In a broken, almost unintelligible voice she whispered.

“Mom… Because of you, I…. I Am.”

Mary picked up the phone from the side table and held it near Helen’s ear. “Say it again Juls.”

“Mom, because of you - I AM.” Julie’s voice was clear and determined, full of love. 

Mary set the phone on the side table, took her mother’s frail hands into her own and whispered in Helen’s ear.

“Mom, because of you, … I am,” she said tenderly. 

Mary had miraculously managed to hold the tears at bay for years, but they finally poured from her eyes as the dam of emotions exploded. Helen took one last - unhurried - shallow breath and exhaled the last vapor of life. 

At that very moment - as Julie sobbed in a distant airport and Mary fell to her knees at her mother's side - a thread of sunlight streamed through the French window on the west side of the bedroom illuminating a small photograph that hung on the opposite wall.

A young woman with jet black hair, pulled into a tightly woven bun stood arm in arm with a curly blonde who was neatly dressed in a tweed suit and floral scarf. The smile on their faces beamed white and full of hope as they pointed above them to a large banner suspended above the empty stage.

United Nations 

Fourth World Conference on Women

Beijing 4-15 September 1995

(Written in honor of Jane Hull-Harvey and the countless women who have advocated for Women’s Rights around the world)