AND DEATH BETOOK HER
By
RAUL RAMON RUBIO

Her eyes would see me
Her love enrapt me
But I was blind
I could not see
Then death betook her
And left me only
With my memory.

I

This is not a man’s job. Especially if he’s latin. And if you think that’s macho well then I’m as macho as macho can be because this is not a man’s job. This job calls for constant tenderness and softly spoken words. On the verge of a breakdown, why do I feel so out of whack? I’m not the one who’s injured here yet I feel an overwhelming urge to break into a bawling fit. She’s eighty-five and it seems that every six months or so some tragedy befalls her. The latest one occurred a few days ago and it wasn’t even her fault. She had stepped out of a car and closed the front right side passenger door but unbeknownst to her and the driver her coat had gotten caught in the door. When the driver took off, the car dragged this soft, supple, old, eighty pound fragile being bouncing down the street. Fortunately, as fortune would have it, she was dragged a short distance but in that miniscule moment though her life was spared, her good fortune, her skull was fractured and her left humerus was also broken. She suffered fractures to the temporal bone, her cheek bone, and she had bruises throughout her body. The misfortune being that none of the breaks were treatable by a cast. So whenever she made the slightest of movements with her shoulder, her facial expressions, her reactions to humor or sadness, her act of being, all these caused excruciating pain and the only solution was pain killers and anti-bacterial drugs to fight off infections. Oh, had I said she had bleeding in the brain and blood loss through her ear and nose? This was her scenario for weeks to come but the worst was her lost memory of the event and her conception of the gravity of the injuries. So she constantly attempted to do things which she couldn’t and as a result her pains would awaken her consciousness and she asks why it hurts so much. I try to explain to her what happened but she does not believe me. In fact she calls her girlfriend to pick her up to go play bingo not realizing she can barely walk on her own. When I tell her again she can’t go and accuses me of not liking her girlfriend and trying to govern her. She screams, I scream.

This is not a man’s job! This job calls for constant tenderness and softly spoken words.

A few years back he remembere a grandmother in her seventies giving up her faith in god after her granddaughter had been raped and killed. She wondered how could a merciful god allow such happenings. I ask myself the same question. How could a benevolent being allow such things to happen? Why should someone so old and fragile, after having survived for almost a century, have to suffer such ills. Speak not to me of faith and divine intervention, he thought., his thoughts went on, for as long as man wages wars in the name of freedom or god, as long as leaders rob the countries coffers in the name of commerce, as long as the rich take advantage of the poor, the powerful take advantage of the weak, the only sure and safe haven is to not fall for the grand deception. And do not speak to me of blind faith for I can see clearly. Today’s wars are between three sects of the same religion, Judaism, Christianity and Islam. All with Abraham as their figurehead, all with vengeance in their hearts. And all for what? Belief! Believe it or not! He believed not!
Don’t get me wrong though, he thought as he tried to put a better light on humanity, I do believe in the goodness of humankind. After all we do walk down the street seeing strangers and we do not attack each other. Were humankind evil, all you would see would be fights on the streets.

But, Yes! There is no god!

He walked out of the hospital for a short respite when life again played a trick on him. He had just denounced the existence of a god when he bumped in to a co-worker. “Hi Julio, what’s going on?” “Hi Joe, just visiting my mother.” He went on relating his mother’s accident. “Why are you here?” he asked Joe. “I’m here to see my brother. He’s been in a coma for two months. He had a terrible motorcycle accident suffering a few broken bones but all those have healed. They did have to take out a big piece of his skull to relieve pressure on the brain. Today they will be replacing that piece. In a coma there’s a scale of three to fifteen with fifteen being like you and me and three being the worst. He was a three. In fact, they had asked us if he would want to donate any organs and should they pull the plug on him. We said no and since the accident he has come out of the coma for a brief moment a couple of times but he relapsed. The good thing is that now he’s an eight on the scale and we’re confidant he’ll recover.” Julio took a deep breath. “Oh Joe, that’s such a sad tale.” “Yea, Julio, but your Mom’s isn’t that much better, just don’t give up. I’ll be praying for my brother and I’ll say a prayer for your Mom also.” “Thanks Joe. I’ll keep your brother and your family in my prayers also.” A swell of emotion swept through Julio, then the two shook hands and gave each other strong hugs. Prayer? Belief? Was this a sign to regain a lost faith? But the reality of circumstance reared it’s head again and Julio realized that his disbelief was as strong as Joe’s belief and in a sort of mysterious union of energies his skepticism didn’t feel bad. It was just something that was and in the end they both wanted something positive to occur.

His mind continued to wander: 'It seems I have lost it. As much as I try not to I keep breaking down. Just when I feel I have my strength back my nerves begin to jitter and I feel lost.'

His emotions took over and he just just wanted to cry. But a man ain’t suppose to cry and what good would that do. He’d still have to take care of business. The last twelve hours, no, that’s not right. That’s wrong. He couldn’t think straight. He had not slept regularly for at least four days now. No sleep the first seventy-eight hours, staying at the hospital with her for three days. A nap here and there but never longer than an hour. Maybe only four all together. He didn’t really know. It was just guessing. His mind is off track. A caring nurse wondered whether he was suffering from caregiver exhaustion. That wasn’t quite the term she used. But he couldn’t think of it now. It didn’t matter, he thought she may be right. He had had emotional collapses, three or four events in the last twenty-four hours and finding it hard to rest. She awakens at all hours with pain or wondering when she’s going home. They’d been home for two days. He needed someone to take care of her for a day so he could get some rest but she would not allow anyone but him to spend the night. He would have to force it on her. He was too exhausted and he couldn’t think. He was very tired.

“Julio, tengo que ir al baño.” “Ahora mismo, Mami. ” She has to go to the bathroom. And when she says she has to go he has to move fast. He helps her out of bed and gingerly walks her to the toilet seat as the pain writhes throughout her body. You can see it in her grimace but she doesn’t complain, she keeps on walking. He spins her around so she can sit on the toilet seat when she says: “Ya me oriné.” “I’ve pisssed on myself’ “No importa, Mami, cuando acabes, yo te limpio.” ‘It’s okay Mom. I’ll clean it up when you’re done.’ She started urinating as she stood in front of the seat waiting for him to pull down her diaper. He undoes the side Velcro tabs and as he removes it she begins again and the urine drops on his arm as he reaches between her legs to get the diaper that’s caught up in the back of her gown. He giggles thinking of a golden shower, remembering a prostitute describing to him how she would drink a quart of water sometime two, before visiting some of her clients who enjoyed getting pissed on, golden showers she called it. He finds it strange that this is the only humor he experiences but he’ll take that miniscule moment of relief. The urine flows down his arm and drips on to the floor from the tip of his elbow. He gets the diaper free and throws it on the floor where the urine was dripping from his arm. He grabs a towel and wipes her clean. She yells ‘ya’ and begins to sit. Just in time as she begins to defecate. She just sits there looking at him and he looks at her. After a few seconds she asks: “¿Que miras?” “Pues a ti!” “At you.” he says and laughs. She looks away. He cleans the floor, puts the wet towels in the hamper and washes his arms and hands. He begins to go out of the bathroom when she begins to rise. She grimaces. “Espérate, Mami!” Wait a minute. He grabs her by the arm and havs her hold on to the wall bar for balance. He grabs the toilet paper and wipe her ass. “Ya!’ she says. I’m not finished, he replies and continues wiping. Now he gets a new towel and with some no rinse cleansing foam from the hospital he again clean her legs and her privates. Then he adds a little baby powder and puts on a new diaper. ‘Tomorrow I’m buying the pull up diapers instead of the tabbed ones.’ He thinks, ‘ The briefs are much easier to deal with.’ He walks her back to the room and instead of putting her to bed as she wants he sits her on a chair so he can freshen the bed. Besides he’s suppose to get her out of bed now and again to prevent bed sores. She doesn’t like to be in the chair but when she sees him making the bed she hunkers down and looks at the television. He tells her she has to stay there while he prepares dinner. She says no. She wants to go back to bed now! They argue. She insists. He tells her he’ll strap her to the wheelchair if she insists on gettingup. ”Tu eres capaz!” ‘Your capable of it!’

This is not a man’s job!

II

He never wanted to strap her to the bed nor her chair nor anywhere. But she wouldn’t stay put. She really believed she could get about on her own and when he wasn’t looking she would get up and try to walk only to fall. It had happened the other night. He was sleeping on the floor near her hospital bed. He thought he could hear her if she tried to get out of bed. In her condition she could not do it quietly. But he had not counted on his tiredness. He had succumbed to a deep sleep when suddenly he heard a crash and jumps up off the floor, looks at the bed and she is not there. He turns and at his feet behind him, she is laying on the floor next to a coffee table she had fallen onto and off. Her forty or so framed family photographs strewn about the floor.

¿Pero que tu haces, Mami? ¡Ay Dios mío! He crys. ‘What are you doing?’ ¿Porque no me despertaste? Why didn’t you wake me? ¡Porque no te quería molestar, mi hijo! She says in a trembling voice. I didn’t want to disturb you my son! He wants to hug her, he almost crys but my sleeplessness overtakes him and he yells: “Well, now you’ve disturbed me! And I need to sleep! Can’t you get it? I’ve told you a hundred times. Wake me and I’ll help you!” He’s ranting! He can see him doing it, almost an out of body experience but he cannot stop. She interrupts loudly! ¡Okay! ¡Ya! !No me grites mas! She scolds! ‘Okay stop! Don’t yell at me anymore.’ He stops and helps her up. He wants to kiss her and hug her but she is so fragile his hug might hurt her and he’s too busy helping her to kiss her. He gets her into bed and hopes she hasn’t broken her hip again. ‘O lord!’ He thinks and wonders about atheism. He needs help. He’ll take it from anywhere. But he knows there is only him. It’s amazing how fast the thoughts can travel through one’s consciousness, this is too much to handle. He tucks her in and she looks at him with a saintly smile and says: “¡Perdóname! Forgive me.! She lifts her arms so that she can hug him. He bends over and she hugs him and kisses him. His tears flow uncontrollably. He says: “I’m sorry, Mom! It isn’t you! I’m over fifty years old. I should know better.” She kisses him again and says: ¡Hasta mañana! ¡Te quiero mucho!
¡Y que dios te bendiga!