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Janie and Roberta
(conclusion)
Friday, April 23
From the time Roberta arrived, Janie had never rung the bell that Roberta kept by her bed. Last night, Janie rang the bell for the first time. She felt like she could not take her next breath. Roberta stayed at Janie’s side, propping her back up as high as she could get it. This would help her breathe more easily, Roberta thought. When this didn’t help, she put the oxygen on and turned on her brand-new cable t.v. and Janie started to relax a little bit. Eventually she fell asleep and Roberta went back out to her sofa bed in the living room to get some sleep.
A little while later, Janie walked to the living room to wake Roberta up. Again, she could not breathe. She wanted more pills. Janie hit Roberta because she would not give her more. Roberta knew Janie was suffering from extreme pain, but she also knew she couldn’t give Janie any more. It would kill her. Janie was already taking eight pills a day.
I wanna go like Mama did. I wanna go easy. I wanna go peacefully. I wanna go painlessly. Please just let me go, Janie wrote.
The next morning Roberta said, “Janie, I promised you not another night like last night. So now let’s talk. Let’s have that talk.” Roberta had always let Janie make her own decisions. She had explained to Janie before she moved to San Clemente that she would no longer be in charge of her own medications. She also told Janie that her dog Lacey could not stay because the apartment complex did not allow dogs and that they would try to find a home for Lacey close by so that Janie could visit her. Janie had understood and agreed to all those things. Now Roberta had to comply with Janie’s ultimate decision: Janie wanted to go into hospice. She knew she was going to die soon.
“I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch,” Janie wrote in her notebook.
Roberta drew a big heart with an arrow going through it. She wrote “I love you” inside of the heart.
“I love you, too,” Janie wrote.
Roberta picked up the phone and called the doctor to inform him of Janie’s decision. She read him the poem that Janie had written about her pain:
The pain is getting too much God
I’m so unhappy here. Please
release from the heartache
pain and tears,
I’m only 60 but I’ve lived
many lifetimes, before this
one and this one beats
them all,
Pain inflames body soul
and mind,
I want to join all those
that have gone before me
In heaven with God.
The doctor knew it was time. He had anticipated this; he was just waiting for Janie. The top priority became tackling Janie’s pain so that she would be able to go gently. Roberta thanked the doctor and hung up. She made several more phone calls to notify the family of Janie’s decision.
Janie and Roberta sat outside on the patio table. “All the family’s coming over tonight,” Roberta told Janie. “All the kids. Everybody’s going to come to say goodbye, but you will recognize them, you will. For several days you’ll still recognize everybody. Everybody will be together and we’ll probably be outside and we’ll just talk and say what we need to say. Huh, Janie? And write what we need to say, huh?”
Today Janie wrote to Roberta, “Will you stay until I die?” Roberta had known all along that her days with Janie were numbered, but never did she think it would be less than one month. Roberta had envisioned trips over to the pier, walks along the beach, and a lot of fresh air for Janie.
But the ticking clock in the background had forced Roberta to become practical.
Roberta asked Janie to create a wish list, just like their Mama did before she passed. Janie wore four rings. Two of them would go to her son Shawn and his future girlfriend. The other two would go to her two nieces Erin and Alison.
Part of the wish list included what would be done at Janie’s memorial service. Janie wanted the service to be somewhere where you could see the Pacific Ocean. She joked about playing “Blue Hawaii” by Elvis. Roberta and Janie had a good laugh about that one. Janie also wanted “Amazing Grace” and “Ave Maria” because it was played at their mama’s service. After rethinking it, Janie told Roberta she really would like Elvis’s “Blue Hawaii” after all because it reminded her that her ashes and Lacey’s ashes would one day be dispersed over the Pacific Ocean. Janie and Roberta laughed and then they cried. Janie’s death had become real.
April 26: Day 17
Janie was in a dreamlike state. Roberta continued administering the hospice medication every hour as usual and Janie’s pain had gone down. She kept slipping in and out of consciousness. One of the hospice nurses advised Roberta to place a baby monitor near Janie so that Roberta could listen to her breathing. The hospital bed arrived in the afternoon, but Roberta knew that Janie couldn’t feel herself being lifted into it.
Roberta and Don had agreed to alternate shifts to administer Janie’s medication. It was Monday morning and Don’s shift had ended around 8 a.m. Roberta couldn’t remember, but she went to check on Janie at 8:40 a.m. She was still breathing.
Roberta went to check on Janie again at 9 a.m.
“No, no, no,” Roberta cried.
She called for Don.
Janie was gone.
Roberta did not have time to dwell. She had to continue to do what she thought was best for Janie. In life it was advising her not to smoke too much, reminding her to drink water, telling her jokes to lift her spirits. Now in death, Roberta needed to prepare Janie’s body. She knew Janie was extremely private and would not want anyone to see her in this state. Janie always insisted on bathing herself. Roberta needed to continue honoring Janie’s wishes even now, even when Janie no longer had a say. Roberta called the Omega society to come and pick up Janie’s body for cremation. She called the older of her two nieces, E rin because she could not do this alone.
Roberta and Erin worked quickly to changer Janie’s diaper because Janie had not wanted a catheter. They began changing Janie into a new nightgown so she would look fresh and clean when the hospice nurses arrived.
Roberta and Erin turned Janie over. Suddenly, black bile came out of Janie’s mouth. They both gagged. Roberta stopped herself from vomiting. She knew she had to clean Janie up. There were so many things she had to do before the hospice nurses arrived. Janie would not want them to see her like this, Roberta kept reminding herself. She would not want them to undress her. She would want them to see her clean.
Saturday, May 1
There was one more thing Roberta needed to do for her sister. Janie’s memorial service took place on a sunny Saturday afternoon on May 1 at Linda Lane Park in San Clemente, overlooking the ocean. Three tables displayed flowers, pictures of Janie, and Janie’s framed artwork. Her ashes stood in a floral floral urn that Don had picked out. From the ribbons, tablecloth and urn to the Pacific Ocean and the cloudless sky to the hint of blue that Don and Roberta wore in their clothing, Janie would have been happy to know her favorite color radiated everywhere. “Ave Maria” and “Amazing Grace” played from the speakers. And of course, as Janie had requested, Elvis’s “Blue Hawaii.” Roberta had kept her promise.
Distance, age and time had forced Janie and Roberta to grow apart. Yet those things no longer mattered when Roberta found out that Janie was going to die. Every day could have been Janie’s last. So Roberta cared for Janie without hesitation and found strength in herself she never knew she had. Roberta had no regrets because she knew that she had said everything she needed to. Janie was finally at peace, and in many ways, so was Roberta.
Like Janie, Don was also a very private person yet he cried openly as he talked about the sadness of Janie’s death and the comfort in knowing she was finally at peace. Janie’s nieces talked about how their aunt never forgot their birthdays and always gifted them with a little something every year. Roberta spoke about her time spent with Janie in her eulogy, which she called “17 Days with Janie,” its title a vivid reminder and tangible measurement of just how short their time together had lasted. 
© Copyright 2010 Jennifer Lee
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