Continent of Ruby, Excerpt

Stacy creates a new email address so that others can write to her mom. She wants Ruby to look forward to receiving messages, to know she is loved.  I know Ruby appreciates the effort, that this is some consolation from the chattering present, but already there is something distant about her, a faraway look that foretells of another place, time – a deeper peace. She is in her heart, but mostly she is in her head.

At this point, there is no need to confirm or seek a guarantee of connections with God, family, or friends; they are either in or out, real or not. She is either saved or lost. There is nothing she can do about any of it now. Surrender is the only way out. But even this is not an easy feat; it takes constant vigilance and overwhelming commitment, regardless of her feelings about her dire diagnosis and diminishing time. It is easy to become distracted, hysterical, and regretful. This is why she must focus. She must not expend energy on others, not even God. Whatever the state of her faith, it will get her to where she is going, but she does not have the luxury of time to worry about that either.

For once in her life she is just “being,” and I know this because I witnessed her refusal of the spiritual goods the hospital chaplain offered when she visited Ruby’s room with a basket filled with bibles, candles, and books about dying. Ruby said, “No thank you,” even before the Chaplain opened her mouth to make the offer. When the Chaplain thought she was being misunderstood, Ruby repeated a clear and resounding, “No, thank you!”

Ruby is like a soldier the minute before the battle. Adrenaline pumps into her senses, keeps her alert and focused, and preternaturally calm and present. Calm because one of the most important battles is happening inside her cerebral cortex. She must, must, must recall the essentials. Judgment Day is a movie of a million bits she must direct, edit, and sift through the chaff to get to the kernels of truth about herself: Beloved? Mother. Best friend? Her daughter, Stacy. Favorite Food/Dessert? Hot restaurant bread with butter, and buttercream icing on cakes. Favorite music? Soundtrack from “Phantom of the Opera.” Regrets? Not confronting the woman who stole her first husband and not making love to another woman – even though she once shared a passionate kiss with one on the couch of her house in New Jersey. Favorite poem? Wordsworth’s “Ode: Intimations of Immortality.” Favorite place in the world? The Spa at Doral. Home? New Jersey Shore. Men? As much as she thought she needed them; and in the end she could take them or leave them.

It does not matter the question or category; what matters is the answer; that she can acknowledge and give each important experience its tribute – for better or worse. All her living reduced to a word, a phrase, a solid truth. This was her life. She was present. Choices accepted. No need for judgment, just knowing she lived the best life she could.

Stacy is starting to get responses from the mass emails she sent out to her friends and family, but I think this connection and support from others is more for her sake than for her mother’s. I admire that Stacy expects the best from the world, her hope that others will respond in kind when asked. I marvel at her ability to put herself out there – all the time – her willingness to make herself vulnerable and open to others. It was like when she swore allegiance and support to her sister-in-law’s parents, who refused any friendship with her after their daughter’s death because memories of her passing were too painful; or the time she paid bills for family members going through financial hardship who never bothered to even thank her. She teaches me the importance of being real and true, no matter what others think. She has always been this way: shocked when others hurt her, crying at others’ indifference, touched by wonderful surprises, thankful when appreciated. Now she needs others around, even though most of them cannot respond the way she would like.

I don’t know if I could share such pain in real-time. I am introverted. I was raised to shoulder pain on my own shoulders. I was hardened by a childhood in which my parents deemed any sign of vulnerability or fear unacceptable. Stacy teaches me to let go.

Yet, many of the friends and acquaintances who now email Stacy and Ruby relate her illness to their own fears of death, the sickness and vulnerabilities in themselves and others. BZFA@aol.com writes: “I just found out my friend from work, the one I helped organize the wedding for last year, had a cerebral hemorrhage last week. She is 29. I can’t believe the sadness in the world. Tell your mom I love her!” Trancy07@aol.com writes: “So much going on in the lives of my friends. My friend Terry’s granddaughter just had hospice come to the house yesterday for the first time. Life is so sad! I will keep praying for all of you.”

Some share their immediate concerns about their fragile psyches and their inability to be there for Ruby or Stacy. BZFA@aol.com confesses that an anxiety attack is imminent. He says, “I don’t mean to sound insensitive by making this issue about my panic, but it has become such an issue for me that I can’t deal beyond that and become a nuisance to anyone else around me.”

Those who try to empathize with Stacy recommend alternative healing for Ruby, such as a macrobiotic diet, i.e., wheatgrass, carrot, beets, apple juice combos. Others share good memories. Some are shocked by her dire prognosis. Still others send prayers, mention angels, and say they will keep Ruby in their thoughts.

The emails continue to arrive all the time, even months after Ruby has died. It is strange to have to acknowledge pending death while living in the immediate present and cherishing memories from a not too distant past. It reminds me of the paradox of a New Orleans Jazz Funeral; in the first part of the march the horns play melancholy tunes recalling the sadness of having lost a loved one, while at the gravesite the music becomes blaring, brassy, and celebratory, honoring the person whose life has just passed. 

Read my exciting memoir, "The Continent of Ruby," available at: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TT5DDWO