At Witt's End

18

The massive glass doors swooshed closed behind Lora as she began one more unbearable trek down the tiled corridor. Michael dragged his feet in resistance. Impending disaster circled his young shoulders like the time his dad suffocated his cat. Nursing home employees hustled past the pair, intent on keeping to their daily schedules as the ever-intrusive call lights blinked impatiently.

A nurse aide emerged from one of the resident's rooms pushing a wheelchair. She situated the resident, a man in his late eighties, next to the wall in the hallway. Another aide selected a clean set of sheets from a linen cart before entering the man's room. The man's chin rested on his chest. He sighed deeply without waking.

Michael paused in front of the man and looked up at his mother.

"I think he's sleeping. I don't think he's the one we're looking for,” Lora said. She put her ear close to the man's face for a moment before continuing down the hall.

Lora walked in and out of each resident's room, Michael leaned on the door jamb. He'd let her walk three to four doors down the hall before running to catch up. He stayed close, but out of her way. On previous visits he had squatted on the floor creating a make-believe gravel pit with make-believe front-end loaders like the one his dad drove. When that bored him, he spread out on a bed and counted ceiling tiles with his fingers. This time he created a new make-believe Dad. One that wouldn't hurt them anymore.

Lora poked her head around the door frame. “Don't go too far. I don't like it when I can't see you.” She continued down the hall to investigate the condition of each resident.

Lora walked deeper into the skilled-care unit. She scanned the length of the hall hoping to see staff scurrying to a resident's room. Sadie had told the crossers that a sudden gathering of medical staff could be an indication of someone on the cusp.

Michael hooked his fingers on each side of a door frame and swung like a hinge into one of the resident's rooms. He lost his grip and tumbled to the floor. With lightning speed, he sprung upright, retreated back into the corridor and pressed his back flat against the wall.

He heard sobs and sniffles coming from the people standing around the bed. He looked for his mom. He didn't see her. Michael slinked back into the room and inched his way closer to the bed. He skirted two pairs of legs so he could see why the people were crying.

The daughter of the dying woman held her mother's hand to her cheek and sobbed. “We're here Mother. We love you.” The words came in gasps. The others in the room brushed at tears and held fast to one another.

Michael listened to them tell the woman she had suffered long enough. They told her to let go. He tiptoed closer and peeked around one of the men.

A nurse entered the room and took the woman's vital signs. She jotted the information on the chart. She motioned for the woman's son to join her at the rear of the room and whispered something to the man. The man moved back toward his sister and embraced her as he burst into tears.

Michael moved to the bed and looked at the woman. She looked just like Sadie did when she was sleeping. He leaned against the bed and propped his chin against his fist.

The woman's daughter reached down and smoothed her mother's hair before placing a kiss on her cheek. She straightened her gown and gently pulled the covers up to her chin. Each family member took turns planting a kiss on the woman's forehead saying their final good-byes.

Michael's index finger tapped its way along the bed sheet until it was within inches of the deceased woman's hair. He casually looked up at the daughter, who stood next to him as he wound his finger around a strand of white hair. Chin bobbing against his fist, he said, “Are you dead?"

The nurse asked the family if they had a funeral director they wanted her to contact. One of the woman's daughters pulled a cell phone from her purse. With fingers shaking, she dialed the first of many.

The deceased woman opened her eyes and smiled at Michael. He smiled back and nudged the toe of his tennis shoe against the tile floor. “Are you dead yet?"

The woman sat up effortlessly and moved to the edge of the bed. “You were waiting for me, weren't you? I saw you go by several times the past few days.” She placed her hand on Michael's head and ran her thumb through his bangs. “I'm glad you waited. Now I don't have to go alone."

She slid from the bed. When her feet touched the floor, she reached for Michael's hand. “Are you ready?” The light around the woman began to intensify as she effortlessly walked away from the bed.

Michael looked toward the door. “We need to get Mom."

Michael felt a cool breeze spread through the room and he noticed the woman's gown moving with the air currents. A thunder rumbled in the distance. Michael ran to the door. “Mom. It's time to go. There's a dead lady in here who wants us to go with her."

The woman's family gathered around her bed one more time, their tears flowing without reservation. A few family members milled outside the door to escape the sorrow. The finality was more than they could bear.

The nurse gently guided one of the woman's daughters to a chair. “You don't have to leave yet. Take all the time you want. The funeral director won't be here for another half hour.” She gave the daughter a brochure from the mortuary they had selected. She circled the phone number. “The funeral director will contact you to make arrangements if she doesn't hear from you by tomorrow morning."

The deceased woman's body wavered and rose off the floor, spears of light penetrating her translucent image. The intensity of the rumbling drew closer.

Michael looked back at the lady who held both arms out to him. She shouted, “Hurry, Michael. I can't wait much longer. We've got to go."

"Mom. Hurry,” Michael screamed, his gaze darting frantically down the corridor. Hearing his name called by the dead woman, he looked back toward the intensifying glow. “Wait. Wait for us. Mom's coming."

"Now, Michael. If you're coming, you've got to come now.” The strength of the breeze spiraling through the tunnel pulled her further into the light. “I can't wait any longer,” she shouted over the rumble filling the room.

Michael ran toward the light shielding his eyes.

"Wait. Wait for me.” He reached toward the woman.

"Step forward, Michael. Step into the light.” She continued to shout encouragement to the boy as she slipped further into the vortex. Her hair lashed like a pennant in the wind. She stretched to reach for Michael's hand.

As he grasped the woman's hand and was lifted upward by the current, Lora rounded the doorframe. She screamed in horror. “Noooo. Michael, noooo. Don't go."

Michael reached for his mom, fighting against the vortex pulling him backward toward the woman. “We have to go, Mom. Hurry and come with me."

Lora tried to grab her son, struggling against the wind that now drew her toward the light. Her clothes whipping in frenzy against her body, Lora shouted, “Don't go. We have to find your father."

Tears streamed down Michael's face as he fought the momentum. “No Mom. I don't want to. Please come with me to the other place."

Lora dropped to her knees and cried out against the roar. “I can't. I can't go against his wishes.” She reached toward Michael. “Grab my hand.” Seeing Michael fight to reach her, she said, “Come on, baby. Just a few more steps."

His fingertips brushed briefly against the back of his mother's outstretched hand, then Michael's arm dropped to his side. The momentum of the wind pulled him back toward the dead woman. His chest heaving with sobs, he turned away from his mother and reached for the woman's hand. “I'm ready."

Michael looked back toward his mother as they faded into the distance. “I love you, Mom,” he shouted. “Don't let Dad be mean anymore.” The pair faded into the tunnel, beginning their walk down the corridor of light.