Breathe

Thursday, June 7th, 2007

2:39am

“Hello”, I groggily respond into my Virgin Mobile Kyocera flip phone as I lay on the living room couch.

Silence.

“Hello”, I repeat, a bit irritated. All I hear is heavy breathing, like a burly bear hovering over a pot of honey. I'm about to cuss out the caller when I realize who it could be.

“Mommy?”

Click.

Fuck! It's probably a prank caller and I was in no mood to get pranked. Chad, my petty ass boyfriend, and I had a fight a few hours prior and I wasn't in the mood to deal with him, either. I wrapped my well-loved maroon comforter and hauled myself right to the living room couch I shared with 6 other people in a brick brownstone home in Bushwick, Brooklyn.

At some point, I heard one of my roommates, Sharon, coming home. It seemed like she was checking to see if I was still alive. I'm a heavy sleeper, but a light breather, so I don't move much when I sleep. Glad that Sharon looked out for me, at least.

Now, I'm awake and annoyed as hell. I had to be at work in 6 hours and I wasn't going to waste it upset over a prank call. I did, however, reflect on why I answered the phone…

Wednesday, May 30th, 2007

9:15am

“Ms. Jeffries?” Doctor Malenga asked.

My sister and I both turned our heads.

“Um, Ms. Lauryn Jeffries.” My older sister.

“Yes, doctor?”

“You need to sign these papers, along with Ms. Lorena Jeffries.” That's me.

“Of course.”

We're in our mother's hospital room, reading over her medical directives. She's been in the hospital for 3 days. My sister called me 2 days ago and I hopped on a flight to Indianapolis yesterday. I informed all 3 of my employers–my Internship Coordinator, my Service Coordinator, and my supervisor at an arts organization, that I would be out of town due to a family emergency and it might end up being longer than a week.

My coordinators were fine with that, but my supervisor…she wanted me back at work Sunday morning for a major event. I guess she thought my family lived on the East Coast instead of the Midwest.

So, here I am, signing my mom's final medical directive. Metastatic breast cancer is a bitch. My mom had been fighting this battle for nearly 10 years. I still remember getting the call from my sister during junior year of college–telling me to get home as soon as I could. I was at a rehearsal for my first major university play. I told my director, who also happened to be one of my favorite professors. Next thing I knew, my college bestie drove me home.

Seeing my mom look so small and fragile then, when I had just turned 20, was nothing in comparison to seeing my mom look drastically smaller, like she shrunk 5 inches and was made out of glass. I put on my brave 27 year old face for her, but she knew. We all knew. Inside, I was ready to crack like busted fireworks on New Year's Eve.

I actually predicted last New Year's Eve, in 2006, that my mother wouldn't make it to 2008. I didn't know how I knew. I just did.

I watch my mom’s cherub cinnamon-hued face. She's still smiling despite what's coming. She can still laugh. She can still cry. She can still hug.

The doctor leaves.

Lauryn, mom, and I…we’re wrapped in the tightest embrace we’ve ever felt. It’s strong. It’s warm. It’s love. It’s heartbreak. It’s knowing that our family will never be the same.

Thursday, June 7th, 2007

7:25am

“Hey Rena”, Aaron, another roommate, greets me as I’m headed to work–the arts organization.

“Hey Aaron.”

Hesitating, Aaron continues, “Um, I heard you and Chad arguing last night. Are you two okay?”

Cringing a bit, but relieved to speak, “No, we’re not, Aaron. There’s a lot going on, but thank you for asking.”

“If there’s anything you need, you know that Sharon, Mikayla, and I got your back, right?”

I smile. Sharon, Mikayla, Chad, and I all met at a unique hostel in Bed-Stuy. Sharon and Aaron worked at the same club. Sharon’s an “atmosphere dancer”--she hypes up the club kids. Aaron is one of the best DJs at the club. Sharon introduced Aaron to Mikayla and we all hang out whenever we get a chance.

Chad is slightly older than the rest of us (by 10 years between him and me). I like mature men, but I should have seen the red flag in him when he flirted with women younger than me…and especially when he said, “You’re not the only Black woman I’ve been intimate with.” Yeah, we definitely are NOT okay.

Aaron gave me a brotherly hug before going back to bed. I grabbed my Cross Colours shoulder bag (a gift from Lauryn) before heading out the door. Nope, I don’t say a single word to Chad. I’m trying to keep the peace for the moment.

I stop and smell the fresh air and feel the warm embrace of the sun before heading to the train station. The J train is packed, per usual, but nothing out of the ordinary. I’m able to get a seat. As I sit down, my cellphone buzzes.

It’s Lauryn.

I know. I hesitate. I know.

“Hi Lauryn.”

“Lorena, it’s mom. She…she, um…”

“You can tell me, Big Sis. I understand.”

“Sunshine, Mommy’s dead. She died early this morning.”

I can't breathe. I can't see. I can't feel. I can't breathe.

“I should have been there.” Lauryn spoke my thoughts, but how did she know?

“I went home last night. I usually stay with her, but last night, one of the nurses said I should sleep in an actual bed. So, I did. I should have been there.”

I still can't breathe. “Where are you now?”

“On my way to the hospital.”

“Okay. I’m flying home tonight.”

“Okay. I love you. Be safe.”

“Love you, too, Big Sis!”

I flip my phone shut.

I can't feel. I’m completely numb. I can't breathe.

Friday, June 1st

12:30pm

“Okay, Mom. I hear that this hospice is wonderful. The staff seems really organized and caring.”

Mom laughs, “Well, I hope so.”

It’s just the two of us. Lauryn is a minister and had a church meeting to attend.

“You need anything? Want me to pour you some water? Need me to sneak in some butter pecan ice cream?”

“Ooh, you are my daughter, indeed. I really could go for some butter pecan ice cream right about now.”

“You’re in luck. They have it on the menu, so sneaking isn't necessary.”

We both laugh. We continue talking, just sharing as much time together as possible. We both know this is the last time we’ll be together…our last conversation. We make it count.

“Well, I have to get ready to head back to New York, Mama.”

“Why so soon, Baby Girl?”

“We have an event on Sunday and I’m working as a lead.”

I don’t want to leave. She knows it.

“You can't stay longer?”

“I told all my bosses, but this one is a stickler. I don’t like her, Mama.”

“Don’t say that, Baby Girl.”

I sigh. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gives me side eye. I give her side eye. We laugh again.

“Get home safe, now, little girl.”

“I will, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I sit on her bed and hug my mother for the very last time. I remember the scent of cocoa butter and vanilla. How the scent reminds me of her sweet nature. I remember her caress, so soothing and gentle.

Most of all, I remember her words, “I’ll be watching you, Baby Girl.”

I give her one last squeeze. “I’ll be waiting, Mama.”

I get up, grab my favorite shoulder bag, and start to walk away. I stop, turn, and wave to my mom for the last time. She waves. I feel water on my cheeks, so much like hers. She smiles back with tears in her eyes.

I close my eyes and take a breath.

Thursday, June 7th, 2007

7:50am

I close my eyes and breathe.