Monkey Business

jamie’s valentine’s day curse

Saturday, February 14, 9:00 a.m.

This is officially the worst Valentine’s Day ever.

I lift the phone in the ICU waiting room and wait for the nurse to answer.

“ICU?” the nurse says.

“Hi, Donna, it’s Jamie. Can I come in?”

“Of course. Your mom is here.”

“I know. Thanks.” I rub the antibacterial cream into my hands and open the door. I wave to the nurses.

My mother is sitting on the wooden chair in my bubbe’s room, staring vacantly out the window. Her eyes are heavily shadowed, as though she hasn’t slept in months.

I sit on the metal stool beside her. “How is she?”

“The same,” she answers, her voice shaking. “Terrible.”

My grandmother is lying on the bed, eyes closed, too thin, too pale. Her heart is too weak. Her almost transparent skin sags around the thin bones of her face. There is nothing the doctors can do.

“What did the nurse say?” I ask softly.

“Any time now.”

I’m not shocked. You always expect your grandparents to die. My other grandparents are already gone. But they’d always been old. But not my bubbe. I thought she’d be around forever.

Okay, I can deal with her leaving, but I can’t deal with it if she can’t. I want her to call me over and tell me it’s okay. That she’s okay about dying. That she’s looking forward to the next step. Looking forward to being with Zadie. That she’s not scared. I can deal with no longer seeing her anymore, but I can’t deal with her fear. After going through the Holocaust, and burying her husband, I can’t bear to have her go through any more pain. How horribly unfair.

I’m exhausted. I’ve been making jokes for days, trying to keep my bubbe going, trying to make her laugh. Yesterday, I even juggled bananas for her. She tried to smile.

I hate being here.

I hand my mother a heart-shaped chocolate. She doesn’t smile.

Valentine’s Day has always been disastrous. At ten, Maddy Weiner, the tiny brunette who sat in front of me in the fourth grade, ripped my homemade Valentine’s Day card in quarters and tossed it like confetti around the schoolyard. I went to the nurse and told her I had to go home, because my heart was broken.

In high school, I sent a dozen red roses and a singing telegram to my girlfriend of two weeks, right in the middle of biology. She broke up with me at lunch.

And then there was the bike accident. Which happened to be on February 14.

All in all, never a successful holiday for me. But I’ve never felt more alone.

I wonder if Layla misses me.

I take my mother’s hand and squeeze. And we wait.