Spicy Elf

We are officially in death week, which is longer than a week and doesn’t always involve death, but I can be pretty dark when the mood strikes me, and around this time of year, it’s every day. My death week involves the 8 days preceding my birthday and my birthday itself. My husband and I just sort of hold our breath between now and June 26^th and hope nothing too weird / evil / lame / annoying happens between now and then. On the 26^th we toast the passing of another death week, hopefully with nothing bad happening. We don't plan anything for my birthday, since that seems to bring on horrible events. I am sure more than one of you are thinking ‘It can’t be too bad, isn’t she being a bit histrionic?’ My mom’s death anniversary is yesterday. My father’s death date is June 23^rd. I got to identify my father’s corpse on my birthday. My brother almost died boating June 20^th, 1996.

Do you get the point or do you want me to continue?

I insist everyone I know and love look twice before crossing the street, don’t eat tomatoes and don’t play Russian roulette between now and the 26^th.

Last night I dreamed of my mother. We were in her hospital room and she was in bed. I was wearing my croquet whites and a sun bonnet. This room was the one right next to the nurse’s station. She was only there for the last 24 hours of her life. They put her there when she made a turn for the worse and could no longer move her body anymore. It was a small room and the nurses kept flitting in and out and they had fairy wings on. I was sitting next to my mother and I had her hand in mine and I was trying to convince her that it would be so much nicer to play a couple games of bridge then to die. I figured we could play Newlywed Bridge since there were only two of us and it would be fine. She had already had a stroke and was no longer responsive but I didn’t want to stop interacting with her, I was just trying to find a way to keep her around a little longer. I find this particularly strange because when she called me four years ago to tell me she was giving up, I completely understood her decision, even if I wasn’t happy about it. Five years of fighting a depilating disease had taken its toll, her quality of life was deplorable and she was getting sick all the time. The alarm went off and I woke up crying.

I hate death week.

(This picture is from 1990, it was taken on my graduation from the first college I attended. I am on the left in croquet whites. My friend Erica (not Hellga but a different Erica) is on the right.)