2015
Before Mama passed away five years ago, she left three gifts for my sisters and me. On my sister Mari’s front porch sat the wooden rocking chair Mama gave her. Mari received the rocking chair because Mama always worried that her mind was always on the go. Mari was the middle child and had a way of constantly feeling as if she was missing out on something in life, which led to her oftentimes living in limbo. “If you don’t stop overthinking things, you’re going to put your brain into overdrive, baby girl. It’s okay to go slower sometimes,” Mama would say to her. The rocking chair was a reminder for Mari to slow down and take a few moments to embrace life, to not let it pass her by.
Our oldest sister, Lyric, received a small music box with a dancing ballerina. When we were children, Lyric dreamed of being a dancer, but over the years, she packed that dream away. After growing up with Mama, who was a lifelong wild child, Lyric began to resent the idea of a career based on passion. Mama lived her life in the most passionate way, and at times, that meant we didn’t know where our next meal would be coming from. When the rent was due, we’d be packed up and off on our next adventure.
Lyric and Mama fought all the time. I believed my sister felt responsible for us all, feeling as if she had to mother her own mother. Mari and I were young and free; we loved the adventures, but Lyric hated it. She hated not having a solid place to call home, hated the fact that Mama had no structure in her life. She hated that her freedom was her cage. When the opportunity came for Lyric to leave, she left our sides and went off to become a fancy lawyer. I never knew what happened to the small music box, but I hoped Lyric still held on to it. Always dance, Lyric, Mama used to say to my sister. Always dance.
My gift from Mama was her heart.
It was a tiny heart-shaped gem she’d worn around her neck since she was a teenager, and I felt honored to receive it from her. “It’s the heart of our family,” she told me. “From one wild one to another, may you never forget to love fully, my Lucille. I’ll need you to keep our family together and be there for your sisters during the hard times, okay? You’ll be their strength. I know you will because you already love so loudly. Even the darkest souls can find some kind of light from your smile. You’ll protect this family, Lucy, I know you will, and that’s why I’m not afraid to say goodbye.”
The necklace hadn’t left my neck since Mama passed away years ago, but that summer afternoon I held it tighter in my hand as I stared at Mari’s rocking chair. After Mama’s death, Mari was shaken to her core, and every belief she’d been taught about spirituality and freedom felt like a lie.
“She was too young,” Mari told me the day Mama passed away. She believed we were supposed to have time that was closer to forever. “It’s not fair,” she cried.
I was only eighteen when she passed, and Mari was twenty. At the time, it felt like the sun had been stolen away from us, and we didn’t have a clue how to move forward.
“Maktub,” I whispered, holding her close. The word was tattooed on both of our wrists, meaning ‘it is written.’ Everything in life happened for a reason, happened exactly how it was meant to, no matter how painful it seemed. Some love stories were meant to be forever, and others just for a season. What Mari had forgotten was that the love story between a mother and daughter was always there, even when the seasons changed.
Death wasn’t something that could alter that kind of love, but after Mama had passed away, Mari let go of her free-spirited nature, met a boy, and planted her roots in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin—all in the name of love.
Love.
The emotion that made people both soar and crash. The feeling that lit humans up and burned their hearts. The beginning and ending of every journey.
When I moved in with Mari and her husband, Parker, I knew it wouldn’t be a permanent situation, but I was completely thrown off when I caught him leaving that afternoon. The late summer air was sharp with the scent of autumn’s chill waiting in the shadows. Parker hadn’t heard me walk up behind him—he was too busy tossing a few pieces of luggage into his gray sedan.
Between his tight lips sat two toothpicks, and his navy blue designer suit lay perfectly flat against his skin with his folded handkerchief in the left breast pocket of his blazer. When the day came for him to die, I was certain he’d want to be buried with all his handkerchiefs. It was an odd obsession of his, along with his collection of socks. I’d never seen someone iron so many handkerchiefs and socks before I met Parker Lee. He told me it was a common practice, but his definition of common differed from mine.
For example, having pizza five days a week was a common practice to me, while Parker saw it as unnecessary carbohydrates. That should’ve been a big warning sign when I first met him. He had many red flags along the way. A man who didn’t like pizza, tacos, or pajamas on Sunday afternoons wasn’t someone who was meant to cross my path.
He bent forward into his trunk and started shifting his suitcases around to make more room.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
My voice threw him off kilter and he jumped a few inches into the air, banging his head against the hood. “Shit!” He stood up and rubbed the back of his head. “Jesus, Lucy. I didn’t see you there.” His hands ran through his dirty-blond hair before he stuffed them into his slacks. “I thought you were at work.”
“The boys’ dad came home early,” I said, referring to my nanny job as my eyes stared at the trunk of his car. “Do you have a work conference or something? You should’ve called me. I could’ve come back to—”
“Does that mean you’re losing pay for today?” he asked, cutting me off and avoiding my question. “How are you going to help with everything? With the bills? Why didn’t you pick up more hours at the coffee shop?” Sweat dripped from his forehead as the summer sun beat down on our skin.
“I quit the coffee shop weeks ago, Parker. I wasn’t exactly bringing home the bacon. Plus, I figured if you’re working, I could be helping more here.”
“Jesus, Lucy. That’s so like you. How could you be so irresponsible? Especially with everything going on.” He started pacing, tossing his hands around in anger, pissing and moaning, confusing me more and more each second.
“What exactly is going on?” I stepped toward him. “Where are you going, Parker?”
He stood still and his eyes grew heavy. Something shifted inside him. His state of annoyance transformed to reveal his hidden remorse. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” My chest tightened. “For what?” I didn’t know why, but my chest began to cave in as an avalanche of emotions overtook my mind. I was already predicting the doom of his next chosen words. My heart was set to break.
“I can’t do it anymore, Lucy. I just can’t do it.”
The way the words burned from his lips made my skin crawl. He said it as if he felt guilty, but the bags in his car showed that even with that guilt, he’d decided. In his mind, he was far gone.
“She’s getting better,” I said, my voice shaky with unease and fear.
“It’s too much. I can’t…she’s…” He sighed and brushed the back of his palm against his temple. “I can’t stay and watch her die.”
“Then stay and see her live.”
“I can’t sleep. I haven’t eaten in days. My boss is getting on my case because I’m falling behind, and I can’t lose that job, especially with the medical expenses. I worked too hard to get everything I have, and I can’t lose it because of this. I can’t sacrifice anymore. I’m tired, Lucy.”
I’m tired, Lucy.
How dare he use those words? How dare he claim to be exhausted as if he was the one going through the hardest fight of his life? “We’re all tired, Parker. We’re all dealing with this. I moved in with you two so I could look after her, to make it easier for you, and now you’re just giving up on her? On your marriage?” No words from him. My heart…it cracked. “Does she know? Did you tell her you’re leaving?”
“No.” He shook his head sheepishly. “She doesn’t know. I figured this would be easiest. I don’t want her to worry.”
I huffed, shocked by the lies he was throwing my way, even more stunned by how he somehow believed those words to be true.
“I’m sorry. I left some money on the table in the foyer. I’ll check in with you to make sure she’s okay, to make sure she’s comfortable. I can even wire you more money if you need it.”
“I don’t want your money,” I said, my voice unsympathetic to his pained expression. “We don’t need anything from you.”
He parted his lips to speak but shut them quickly, unable to form any sentences that could make the situation any easier. I watched every step he took to reach his driver’s side door, and when he did, I called his name. He didn’t turn to look at me, but his ears perked up, waiting.
“If you leave my sister right now, you don’t get to come back. You don’t get to call when you’re drunk or check in when you’re sad. When she beats this cancer—which she will—you don’t get to step back in and pretend you love her. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
Those two words were the same he’d used to promise himself to Mari through sickness and in health. Those two words were now forever drenched in agony and filthy lies.
He stepped into his car before driving off without once hitting his brakes. I stayed in the driveway for a few moments, unsure of how to walk inside and tell my sister that her husband had abandoned her during her storm.
My heart cracked again.
My heart broke for my sister, the innocent one in a world full of ruthlessness. She’d given up her free spirit life to live a more structured one, and both worlds had turned against her.
I took a deep breath and placed the palm of my hand around my heart-shaped necklace.
Maktub.
Instead of running like Parker, I went to see Mari. She was lying in her bed resting. I smiled her way, and she smiled back at me. She was so skinny, her body pushing each day to fight against expiration. Her head was wrapped in a scarf, her once long brunette hair now nothing more than a memory. It made her sad at times, staring into the mirror, but she didn’t see what I saw. She was so beautiful, even in sickness. Her true glow couldn’t be stolen away by such changes to her body, because her beauty stemmed from her soul, where only goodness and light resided.
She’d be okay, I knew she would, because she was a fighter.
Hair grew back, bones regained strength, and my sister’s heart was still beating, which was reason enough to celebrate each day.
“Hey, Pea,” I whispered, hurrying over to the bed and crawling into it to lie beside her. I lay on my side, and she turned on hers to face me.
Even in her weakness, she found a way to smile each day. “Hey, Pod.”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
She shut her eyes. “He’s gone.”
“You knew?”
“I saw him packing when he thought I was sleeping.” Tears started rolling from the corners of her eyes, which she kept closed. For a while, we just lay there. Her sadness became my tears, and her tears articulated my sadness.
“Do you think he’ll miss me when I die?” she asked me. Whenever she brought up death, I wanted to curse the universe for hurting my best friend, my family.
“Don’t say that,” I scolded.
“But do you think he will?” She opened her eyes, reached across to me, and held my hands in hers. “Remember when we were kids and I had that awful dream about Mama dying? I spent the whole day crying, and then she gave us all a talk about death? About how it isn’t the end of the journey?”
I nodded. “Yes, she told us we’d see her in everything—the sunbeams, the shadows, the flowers, the rain. She said death doesn’t kill us, it only awakens us to more.”
“Do you ever see her?” she whispered.
“Yes, in everything. In absolutely everything.”
A small whimper fell from her lips, and she nodded. “Me too, but mostly I see her in you.”
Those words were the kindest I’d ever had delivered to me. I missed Mama every second of every day, and to have Mari say she saw her within me meant more than she’d ever know. I moved in closer to her and wrapped her in a hug. “He’ll miss you. He’ll miss you while you’re alive and healthy, and he’ll miss you when you’re a part of the trees. He’ll miss you tomorrow, and he’ll miss you when you become the wind brushing against his shoulder. The world’s going to miss you, Mari, even though you’ll still be here for many years to come. The second you’re better, we’re going to open our flower shop, okay? You and me, we’re going to do it.”
All our lives, my sister and I had been in love with nature. We always had a dream to open a floral shop, and even went so far as to attend Milwaukee’s School of Flower Design. We each earned degrees in business so we’d have all the knowledge available to us. If it weren’t for the cancer, we would’ve had our shop. So, once the cancer was gone, I planned to do everything in my power to bring that shop to life.
“Okay, Mari? We’re going to do that,” I said once more, hoping to sound more convincing, hoping to bring her ease.
“Okay,” she said, but her voice dripped with doubt. Her brown doe eyes, which were shaped like Mama’s, were filled with the deepest look of sorrow. “Can you get the jar? And the bag of coins?”
I sighed, but agreed. I hurried to the living room where we’d left the jar and the bag of change sitting the night before. The Mason jar was wrapped with pink and black ribbon, and it was almost full of coins. We had started the jar when Mari was diagnosed seven months ago. The jar had the letters NT written on the side, which stood for negative thoughts. Whenever one of us had a bad thought race through our minds, we’d place a coin in the jar. Every negative thought was leading to a beautiful outcome—Europe. Once Mari was better, we’d use the money to go toward us backpacking across Europe, a dream we’d always wanted to bring to life.
For every present negative thought, the coins were a reminder of better tomorrows.
We had eight jars filled to the top already.
I sat back down on Mari’s bed, and she pushed herself up a bit then grabbed the bag of change.
“Pod,” she whispered.
“Yes, Pea?”
Tears raced down her cheeks faster and faster as her small frame was overtaken by emotion. “We’re going to need more change.”
She poured all the coins into the jar and when she finished, I wrapped her up in my arms where she continued to fall apart. They had been married and healthy for five years and it only took seven months of sickness to make Parker vanish, leaving my poor sister brokenhearted.
“Lucy?” I heard as I sat on the front porch. I’d been sitting in the rocking chair for the past hour as Mari rested, trying my best to understand how everything that unfolded was destined to happen. When I looked up, I saw Richard, my boyfriend, hurrying my way as he leaped off his bicycle and then leaned it against the porch. “What’s going on? I got your text message.” Richard’s shirt was covered in paint as always, a result of him being the creative artist he was. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls. My phone was on mute while I drank my sorrows away about being declined an invite to yet another art gallery.”
He walked up to me and kissed my forehead. “What’s going on?” he asked again.
“Parker left.”
It only took two words for Richard’s mouth to drop. I filled him in on everything, and the more I said, the more he gasped. “Are you kidding? Is Mari okay?”
I shook my head; of course she wasn’t.
“We should get inside,” he said, reaching for my hand, but I declined.
“I have to call Lyric. I’ve been trying to for hours, but she hasn’t answered. I’m just going to keep trying for a while. Do you think you can go check on her and see if she needs anything?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
I reached out and wiped some yellow paint from his cheek before leaning in to kiss him. “I’m sorry about the gallery.”
Richard grimaced and shrugged. “It’s okay. As long as you’re okay with dating a turd who’s not good enough for his work to be showcased, then I’m okay with it.”
I’d been with Richard for three years now, and I couldn’t imagine being with anyone other than him. I just hated how the world hadn’t given him a chance to shine yet; he was worthy of success.
But, until it came, I’d stand by his side, being his biggest cheerleader.
As he went inside, I dialed Lyric’s number one more time.
“Hello?”
“Lyric, finally.” I sighed, sitting up straighter as I heard my sister’s voice for the first time in a long time. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“Well, not everyone can be Mrs. Doubtfire and work part-time at a coffee shop, Lucy,” she said, her sarcasm loud and clear.
“I actually only nanny now. I quit the coffee shop.”
“Shocking,” she replied. “Listen, do you need something, or were you just bored and decided to call me repeatedly?”
Her tone was the same one I’d known for most of my life—complete disappointment in my entire existence. Lyric had a way of putting up with Mari’s quirks, especially since Mari had finally settled down with Parker. Lyric was, after all, the one who introduced the couple to one another. When it came to my relationship with my eldest sister, it was the complete opposite. I often thought she hated me because I reminded her too much of our mother.
As time went by, I realized she hated me because I was nothing more than myself.
“Yeah, no. It’s Mari.”
“Is she okay?” she asked, her voice drenched with fake concern. I could hear her still typing away on her computer, working late into the night. “She’s not…?”
“Dead?” I huffed. “No, she’s not, but Parker left today.”
“Left? What do you mean?”
“He just left. He packed his bags, said he couldn’t deal with watching her die, and drove away. He left her alone.”
“Oh my God. That’s insane.”
“Yeah, I agree.”
There was a long moment of silence and me listening to her type before she spoke again. “Well, did you piss him off or something?”
I stopped rocking in the chair. “What?”
“Come on, Lucy. Since you moved in to help, I’m sure you haven’t been the easiest person to live with. You’re a lot to handle.” She somehow managed to do what she always did when I was involved in any situation—she made me the villain. She put me at fault for a coward walking out on his wife.
I swallowed hard and ignored her comment. “I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”
“Is Parker okay?”
What? “I think what you meant to say was ‘Is Mari okay,’ and no, she’s not. She’s dealing with cancer, her husband just left her, and she hardly has a penny to her name, let alone the strength to keep going.”
“Ah, there it is,” Lyric murmured.
“There what is?”
“You’re calling me for money. How much do you need?”
My stomach knotted at her words and a taste of disgust spread on my tongue. She thought I’d called her because I wanted money? “I called you because your sister is hurting and feels alone, and I thought you might want to come see her and make sure she’s okay. I don’t want your money, Lyric. I want you to start acting like a freaking sister.”
Another moment of silence passed, along with more typing.
“Look, I’m swamped at work. I have these cases coming up for the firm, and I can’t be pulled away from them right now. There’s no way I’d be able to get by her place until maybe next week or the week after.”
Lyric lived downtown—a short twenty-minute drive away—but still, she was convinced it was too far away.
“Never mind, okay? Just pretend I never called.” My eyes watered over, shocked by the coldness of someone I’d once looked up to in my life. DNA told me she was my sister, but the words she spoke conveyed that she was nothing more than a stranger.
“Stop it, Lucy. Stop with the passive aggressive approach. I’ll drop a check in the mail tomorrow, all right?”
“Don’t, seriously. We don’t need your money, and we don’t need your support. I don’t even know why I called you. Just mark it down as a low point of mine. Goodbye, Lyric. Good luck with your cases.”
“Yeah, okay. And, Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to get that coffee job back as soon as possible.”
After a while, I stood up from the rocking chair and walked to the guest room where I’d been staying. I shut the bedroom door, held my hand around my necklace, and shut my eyes. “Air above me, earth below me, fire within me, water surround me…” I took deep breaths and kept repeating the words Mama had taught me. Whenever she’d lose her balance in life and feel far from grounded, she’d repeat that chant, finding her inner strength.
Even though I repeated the words, I felt like a failure.
My shoulders drooped and my tears began to fall as I spoke to the only woman who had ever truly understood me. “Mama, I’m scared, and I hate it. I hate that I’m afraid, because that means I’m somewhat thinking what Parker was thinking. A part of me feels like she won’t make it, and I just feel terrified each day.”
There was something so heartbreaking about watching your best friend fall apart. Even though I knew death was simply the next chapter in her beautiful memoir, it didn’t make it any easier for me to grasp. In the back of my mind, I knew each hug could be the last, knew each word could be goodbye.
“I feel guilty, because for every good thought I have, five negative ones pass through. I have fifteen coin jars filled in my closet that Mari doesn’t even know exist. I’m tired, Mama. I’m exhausted, and then I feel guilty for almost falling apart. I have to stay strong, because she doesn’t need anyone falling apart around her. I know you taught us girls not to hate, but I just hate Parker. God forbid, but if these are Mari’s last days, I hate that he tainted them. Her final days shouldn’t be filled with the memory of her husband walking out on her.”
It wasn’t fair that Parker could pack his bags and just escape to a new life without my sister. He might find love again someday, but what about Mari? He’d be the love of her life, and that hurt me more than she’d ever know. I knew my sister like the back of my hand, knew how gentle her heart was. She felt every hurt ten times more than most people. Her heart resided on her sleeve, and she allowed everyone to listen to its beautiful heartbeats—even those who were undeserving of hearing the sounds. She prayed they loved her heart’s sounds, too. She always wanted to feel loved, and I hated that Parker made her feel like a failure. She’d leave the world feeling as if she had somehow failed her marriage, all in the name of love.
Love.
The emotion that made people both soar and crash. The feeling that lit humans up and burned their hearts. The beginning and ending of every journey.
As the days, months, and years passed by, Mari and I heard less and less from both Parker and Lyric. The pity check-ins grew less frequent, and the guilt-driven checks stopped coming through the mail. When the divorce papers landed in the mailbox, Mari cried for weeks. I stood strong for her in the light, and teared up for her heart in the shadows.
It wasn’t fair how the world took Mari’s health and then had the nerve to come back to make sure her heart was shattered into a trillion pieces too. With every inhale, she cursed her body for betraying her and ruining the life she’d built. With every exhale, she prayed for her husband to return home.
I never told her, but with every inhale, I begged for her healing, and with every exhale, I prayed for her husband to never come back.