"Now I finally know," she thought, the voices above her,
beside her, sometimes within her. "Knowing, hearing, feeling
it all," Rose pondered within the darkness. This heavy
darkness that caused her body to sink ever deeper into her
mattress.
"Do you think she can hear us?" came Pessy's voice.
"The doctors say it's good to talk to her even if she
can't," Dovid whispered, his baritone voice even more
melodious in the darkness.
"Mom?" Shula said.
Rose felt a prickling sensation on her arm. That's what all
touch felt like now.
Maybe it was a side effect of the drugs. Maybe it was the
side effect of dying. She didn't know.
Pessy sniffed. "I never even told her how sorry I am for all
the trouble I made as a teenager..."
"Yeah," Dovid's voice a mere rumble, "A lot of things I
should have said..."
"Like?" Pessy asked.
Rose felt the tingling on her arm again. "Confessions?" she
thought, the mattress deeper around her. "Forgiveness?"
"Love," Dovid's voice broke, "I can't remember the last time
I told her I loved her."
"Love," Rose thought, feeling a warm comfort, "That's even
better than confessions and forgiveness."
"Inspiration," Shula's voice said. There were tears in her
voice.
But you're making me so happy! Rose wanted to say.
The darkness silenced her very attempt.
"You put up with so much from us, Mom," Pessy said, "You had
so much patience."
"Not always," Dovid croaked, "I still have the marks on my
leg when she hit me with that stick."
"I can only imagine what you did to deserve it." Shula's
voice was cynical.
Bickering, Rose thought, sadness seeping with her
into the mattress. Talk about love, children. And
forgiveness. And caring. The thoughts wafted into the
dense darkness.
"She cared," Shula said. "She always said that she didn't
want to hit or yell at us. She said she just wanted us to be
good."
Good, Rose thought, the mattress seemed to be melting
beneath her. Good that Shula remembers. Good she knows
how much I cared.
Rose heard the scraping of chair legs and then shoes pacing.
Funny how sound didn't tingle.
"We all made so many problems for her," Pessy sniffed.
"Nah, she always said how much nachas she had from us
- - remember?" Dovid said, "People would say to her, 'May
you have much nachas' and she'd always say, 'I
already do have.'"
"True. But we could've done more. I could have done more.
Just last summer I was so angry at her for not coming down
to help me with the new baby," Pessy sighed, "I didn't
know..."
"None of us knew then. I don't think Mom knew either..."
"It's not an excuse," Pessy said. Rose could visualize Pessy
shaking her head the way she always did when she felt
bad.
"Come on, Pessy, Mom always said that we were the air she
breathed..." Shula's voice was so sweet. So kind...
"Her heartbeat."
"Yeah, that's what she always said." Dovid said in a deep
undertone.
After a few moments, Rose heard only silence.
Was it really silent or was she going - finally? It's not
so bad to say goodbye, she thought, when the parting
words are of understanding.
"How long?" a male voice asked.
The voices seemed much further away now. Further. Much
further. She felt no tingling; no mattress. Rose felt a
lightness. A breeze. Her body was a breeze going upward.
"Did you feel that?" a women's frightened voice said.
Voices. But they were really too far away now, just a
rustling.
Rose felt so very, very light. She hadn't been a perfect
mother, far from it, but they would remember her with
fondness, love, understanding. They knew she cared. They
knew she loved them.
And with that, the breeze within her was freed.
