The Wave Kristen Crusoe (best life changing books .txt) 📖

circular sofa, old, battered, covered by several handmade Afghans. Pillows abounded, of every size and shape. Clair imagined how many tears of joy and frustration, anger and rage had soaked into them. Tonight, we will add some more, she thought.

Clair dropped her bag on a chair and began rummaging through cupboards, opened the fridge and was able to put together some eggs, cheese, toast and what looked like homemade marionberry jam. There was also a can of tomato soup she heated up, believing the heat would sooth them both. The kettle whistled, tea was made, and Clair brought it all over to the couch and table.

‘Can Mike come join us?’ she asked, sipping the warm, rich tomato soup.

‘No, I’ll take him a tray later. I gave him one of his sedatives, he was so upset.’

‘Here, eat, drink. It will ease you. That’s first.’

They sat quietly for several minutes, sipping soup, tea, then digging into cheesy eggs and toast. Clair marveled again at the immediate closeness that came with having cancer. Like the people in the support group, it was like all social filters evaporated, leaving only human care and concern for another.

‘So, tell me about you and Mike. Have you been married long?’ Clair asked.

‘Long, long. Going on fifty years. We were high school sweethearts, married after he came back from Vietnam. He learned how to fix helicopter engines, and from there any engine. We had a good life. I worked as a teacher, but mainly, I was a homemaker. Loved making a home for Mike and our three sons. Oh God, how am I going to tell them?’

Hope began crying again, but not so intense this time, more like the final rumblings of thunder as the storm moves out to sea. Clair sat quietly, letting her grieve. She thought about what the woman had said, about being told there was no more treatment. She didn’t think this could happen, but that as long as you had insurance to pay, you would get treatment.

‘What does this mean for Mike?’ Clair asked. ‘What will happen now?’

‘Hospice. We’ll go home, set up a hospital bed, commode, get ready for him to die. I want him to be able to die at home, not in the hospital. But he has such pain. It’s lung cancer, you know, very painful. And he can’t breathe. Morphine has to be given, every hour. And they gave him a Fentanyl patch today. They don’t do that unless it’s close to the end, everyone’s so goddamn afraid of giving patients pain medicine. It’s absurd. So, sure, there are addicts. Help them, treat them, but don’t punish us. People with real pain need their medicine. They said it will be quick, you know, his death. Once he gets his pain under control, he’ll pass pretty easily. Morpheus, God of dreams, I hope he takes my Mike somewhere beautiful. I’ll need to call the boys. They’ll want to be here. And the grands. Oh God, the babies. They love Grandpa Mike. This will be their first death.’

Clair let Hope talk, working out her plans for how she would get Mike home. But inside, she felt a cold wave of fear. What in God’s name would she do, if this were her, if she were told all care was futile? Just a few months ago, she wanted only to die, to join Devon. She still felt certain that he was there, waiting for her, but she wasn’t so ready to die anymore. Life had become worth living again. Even with this new despair about Adam, still, she was more than just his wife, more than a teacher. She was discovering for the first time in her life, that she was a person of substance, with heft. She felt her bones, her skin, felt the blood flowing through her arteries and veins. Lifting her hands to her face, she traced the bones, thinking about Ben, and how they had the same high, strong cheekbones. She might have lost her breasts, but she had found her heart, and it was strong enough for this.

Hope rose, taking her plate and mug to the kitchen.

‘Hope, I’ll clean up. You go to Mike. I’ll see you in the morning, OK?’

Clair stood and walked over to where Hope leaned against the counter. Opening her arms, she hugged the woman, trying to share some of her own strength.

‘Morning, yes, it will come. Whether we’re ready for it or not.’

Clair watched her walk across the central floor, around the couch, and into the hallway, leading down the side of the building. Clair looked towards the opposite end, seeing another hallway. She walked down towards a light at the end. A small window opened onto the parking lot, LED lights casting a sulfurous glow against the dark backdrop of dense firs. Looking out, she saw a deer, and then another. She remembered once, long ago, she had an animal spirit card reading. It was a rare party she had attended, a sort of sorority initiation. She had gone along because her mother insisted. As the leader of the reading passed out cards, and then interpreted their meaning, Clair was surprised to learn that a deer was her totem animal. She had hoped it would be something more dramatic like a bear or a wolf. She had forgotten about it until now. A deer was quiet, contained. She kept to herself, was fleet of foot, and would flee at the first threat. She was also a fighter when threatened, especially to defend her offspring.

As she watched the two deer walk slowly cross the tarmac, stepping carefully, alert for sounds of danger, ears moving like satellite dishes, she felt a kinship. Like the deer, each step must be deliberate, without haste. Clair knew she would have to navigate her uncertain future with nothing but her own wits. Watching the two deer disappear into the forested area behind the cancer center, Clair said to herself, I am OK, I think.

Chapter 20

Clair

The halls and