I woke up with a start. It was shortly after 2:00 AM and I must have been dreaming because something had scared me awake.
“John,” I whispered as I nudged my husband. “John, wake up,” I said.
Never being one to even hear the dog barking or the children crying, it was a difficult task, but I finally got him to wake up.
“What is it?” he asked.
“What’s the weather supposed to be like tomorrow?”
“How should I know?” he asked with a note of irritation.
“I want to fly out to the Cape to visit Pat and Dick for the day. I just have to see her,” I pleaded. “I’m afraid she’s going to die soon.”
After Pat and Dick retired to the Cape, Pat began her third round of cancer treatments. My own mother had started her second round, though I kept that a secret from Pat. I was afraid for both of them.
John said, “I’ll check the weather in the morning. Now, go back to sleep.”
In the morning he checked the weather and agreed that he’d be able to fly us out to the Cape for the day. I scrambled around to find someone to take care of the children, and then called Pat to tell her we were coming out. She was delighted as two other friends were going to be there as well. She sounded so vibrant on the phone I began to feel a bit silly over the fuss I was making. Perhaps I was being melodramatic, but never mind, it would be good to see her anyway.
The day dawned crisp and clear with John piloting us to our destination. Dick met us at the Chatham airport and our day began in earnest with a full schedule of Pat’s planned activities. John and Dick did some clamming; and Pat, Sue Eldert, Velma Dean, and I walked along the shore and chatted about how beautiful the Cape was and about what all our children were doing. Pat fixed us all a delicious homemade vegetable soup with fresh baked bread.
I marveled at how Pat looked—as hale and hearty as she had sounded on the phone. All was well. What had I been so worried about? She chatted on comfortably about how she and Dick were leaving on Wednesday to visit his twin brother and wife in Phoenix. She explained that when they returned, she would head up to Brigham and Women’s in Boston to start receiving treatments in a clinical trial of a new drug. “I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again,” she declaimed with optimism. All was promise and sunshine. When John and I flew home—a stunning sunset of pink, red, and purple lighting up the western horizon—I was feeling relieved.
One week later, Sue Eldert called to say that Pat and Dick had arrived in Phoenix as planned on Wednesday, but on Thursday afternoon Pat had said, “Dick, I need to go home right now.” They got back on a plane and flew to Boston where they checked her into Brigham and Women’s. Sue further explained that she, Molly Wooden, and Libby Peard had driven up to Boston on Friday knowing that it would be the last time they’d see Pat. Sue then told me that while they, Pat’s four daughters, and Dick reminisced and sang songs, Pat had died.
In addition to my immediate grief, I felt hurt that Sue hadn’t called me so that I could have gone to Boston, too. But, in retrospect, we had enjoyed a beautiful day on the Cape together. I really would not have been happy having my last image be of Pat in a hospital bed connected to tubes and wires.
We had a perfect last day. And I will always cherish that.
Copyright DJ Anderson, 2017
