Tasmanian Devil

My Aunt Kathy answered the phone .... a voice that took me back to my childhood.  Her kids were younger than me; I remember the chaos of their family when they came to visit. They lived in Canada, Chicago and any place my Uncle Bill’s sales job required.  My Aunt Kathy unlike my mom, screamed at her kids with wild threats that never materialized.  And my Uncle Bill would scream back, always to defend the kids. 

I knew when Aunt Kathy heard my voice she would think the news was bad.  I hadn’t spoken to her since my grandmother’s funeral. 

I said “We put my mom in hospice today.   I uh, uh just thought you should know.  We don’t think she will die real soon, but she’s not doing well.” 

I went on with the details .... the shortness of breath, the dementia, that she could no longer stand up on her own.   I skipped some of the details that I thought my mom would prefer I not share. 

Aunt Kathy told me how much my mom has always meant to her.  Then she said, “Your mom has never once complained about Párkinson’s.” 

None of this surprised me. 

She switched to telling me about her new washing machine.  And how her and Uncle Bill were headed off to a cruise that will take them from NYC to Bermuda and then all through the Caribbean.  Uncle Bill screamed in the background with corrections over the details of the trip. 

Aunt Kathy said, “I hear you are headed to Tasmania.  Hmmm, Tasmania? I can only think of that little Tasmanian devil, an ugly little creature.” 

I told her I needed to be somewhere just to get off the phone.  And so I wouldn’t have to listen to my Uncle Bill screaming in the background. 

I thought:  There does exist that Tasmanian devil ... the ugly creature that tortures my mom.  And it’s just a matter of time ....such a long battle.  Since she was 50 with a tough battle for the past 15 years.