Deidra Alexander's Blog

June 26

I don’t know if I can do this for six more weeks. I don’t know if I want do this for six more days. Please God, please make this stop. I don’t care how. Just please stop it.

I put together a just in case box. I gathered my will, insurance, burial wishes, and pictures of me and Logan in a box under my bed. I want everything to be together so that no one has to worry and make those decisions later.

I remember how hard it was after Dad. No one knew where anything was or what he wanted. I remember having to answer questions and make decisions a thirteen year old shouldn’t have to make.

I wanted to leave instructions and messages about the important things. I wanted to be sure nothing was lost or missed. I need to take an inventory of everything in the house and explain each item’s significance and who should keep it after me.

There was a little picture of Allie with Mom and Grandma. Mom was wearing a blue and white cotton dress and Grandma a green striped dress. Grandma was wearing red lipstick. I think everyone wore red lipstick then, even Grandmas.

Allie was about twelve months old, a big, chubby baby with red hair. Mom’s hair was still dark. It wasn’t long after that picture was taken that Mom started dying her hair. She loved Allie’s hair so much she took Allie to a salon and had her hair dyed to match.

The top of my head is barely visible at the bottom of the picture, cut off by the camera. Even then the world revolved around Allie.

I put a yellow sticky note on the back of the picture.

Allie,

I know you always hated your hair growing up, but Mom loved it so much, she had hers dyed to match yours. Love Jo

I deposited the picture in an envelope with her name on it and placed it in the box.

Next I picked up a spiral notebook, brown with pink flower. I didn’t want a yellow tablet or a plain spiral notebook, nothing generic. I wanted everything in this box to be an expression of my personality, so that, if later didn’t come, anyone looking in this box would have a sense of who I was.

I began my inventory in my spiral notebook. This was an inventory of my worthless things and what they mean to me. So that maybe when I’m gone, someone will understand and cherish them too. I think everyone should have a just in case box.

 ***

Item #1 – Fondue pot

I love chocolate and cheese, separately, not together. What’s better than something you can use for both? Allie, this is yours. You are the only one I know who loves cheese almost as much as me and maybe loves chocolate a little more.

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June 24

I’ve been sick for the last few days. I’m too tired to make one more trip to the restroom. Charlie brought me a bowl and I just lie on the sofa, while he and Allie take turns dumping it. I know they’re both worried. I can hear them talking in the hall.

“I don’t know how long she can do this,” I heard Allie say.

And I agreed with her. I don’t know how long I can or want to do this.

You think you’ll do anything, give anything to live, but when it comes down to it, sometimes you wonder if it wouldn’t be easier just to let go. I’m worried I’ll feel that way before this is all done and over. Maybe that’s how Mom felt, she just couldn’t go on.

I heard Livia join in the conversation in the hall.

Livia brought Logan in to see me before they left. She wanted to show off his new outfit. I didn’t know which to look at first, the blue argyle sweater vest and plaid pants or the fact that he and Livia were wearing matching outfits.

“Shouldn’t I stay here and help with Mom,” he silently begged Allie for help.

“How sweet. But your Aunt Allie and Charlie have everything under control. Besides your mother wants you to go out and have a good time,” Livia said, getting her keys out.

“Great,” Logan replied though he didn’t sound the least bit convinced.

Allie shoved a bowl of cream of mushroom soup at me. Usually, it was my favorite, but today it was revolting.

“It’s homemade,” she said, coaxing. “Mrs. Wood at the market made it.”

I would have been shocked if Allie had cooked anything “homemade”. Her children weren’t even sure what a grocery store was for. The waitresses have her number on speed dial. She once tried cooking for a few weeks and got calls from restaurants checking to see if everything was ok.

I lied, telling her I’d try some later. I’d be lucky to keep the crackers down.

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June 23

I moved to the sofa today, perhaps a change of scenery would help me feel better. I was hoping just getting out of bed would be enough to perk my spirits and reduce my feelings of illness. Perhaps if I didn’t stay in bed, I’d feel less like an invalid. I was also hoping if I was closer to Charlie’s office, he wouldn’t feel like he had to spend every minute watching over me. If he was within calling distance, maybe he’d work for a while instead of hovering.

“Is there anything I can get for you, Dear?” Livia asked, as Logan came into the room swinging his tennis racket dangerously close to a lamp.

He was dressed in khaki shorts and a red t-shirt.

“I’m ready for my tennis lesson,” he replied, his backhand coming within inches of a long mirror.

“Logan dear, change into your tennis whites. Club rules,” Livia informed us.

Tennis whites? Both Logan and I were perplexed.

“White shorts and shirt,” Charlie explained.

“I don’t have tennis whites,” Logan said.

Livia picked up her phone, called the club and cancelled Logan’s tennis lessons. But if he thought he was going to get a Livia free day, he had another thing coming to him.

“I can take a hint. I understand the need to shop better than anyone,” Livia said, grabbing her purse and Logan. “There are some days when all you want to do is bury yourself in a little retail therapy.”

With that, she swept Logan from the room for a day of shopping.

***

Allie came as dressed for work as Allie ever was. She was in slacks instead of a skirt. With Allie around, I was able to convince Charlie to work for a while. He’d been neglecting his project and I am tired of his constant reminders to eat and drink. I know he means well, but it gets annoying. I know I need to eat and drink and if I could I would, but I can’t without getting sick.

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June 17

Tomorrow is the big day, first day of treatment. I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning. I wanted to stay there, hiding, hoping tomorrow wouldn’t come. Then I realized this is my last day of freedom at least for a while. I don’t know how radiation and chemo will affect me. Most people have some form of illness with it. I heard of a few friends of friends who weren’t sick at all and even start feeling better. I’m hoping I’m for the later, but fear the former.

I thought I’d paint the day away. I had pictures taped to the wall of landscapes that looked like they’d come from a French fairy tale. The more I worked, adding more color, the darker the painting became. It began to look like a storm was waiting just on the horizon to take over my painting and my life.

I heard Livia’s voice calling to Logan, she had decided to show off her “grandson” to Louise today.

“It was not funny and your etiquette classes start next week,” Livia called after Logan.

She didn’t sound happy.

“Do you know what your son did?” she asked, pacing in front of my easel.

“No, but I’m sure it was an accident,” I tried soothing.

“Accident? Burping the National Anthem isn’t an accident,” she fumed.

It seems Louise asked him if he played an instrument and right there at the table in the middle of the club, he burped the National Anthem. I wish I could have seen their faces. I told Livia I’d have a talk with him.

But she insisted I didn’t.

She laughed, “He’s a pistol, that one.”

She even commented on my painting, saying, “You’re not half bad. Your paintings I mean, they’re actually quite good and I know art. I have been the chairman of the Arts Committee for more than eight years now.”

I heard Livia talking to Allie in the hall.

“She’s painting. She’s really very good. I should have realized. She has that artist personality. Doesn’t care about her appearance, a kind of obsessed with something else look.”

“I don’t feel like fighting,” I called out after Livia left, “So if you’re here for round two, forget it.”

“I’m not here to fight.”

Allie paused behind the easel.

“She’s right, you know. Did you ever think you were meant to be an artist?”

I lied when I said, “I haven’t thought about it in years.”

I had thought about it, not every day, but periodically I would wonder if I could have been an artist or if I could still be one. After a while of day dreaming, I’d put away the fantasy in regards for reality. Knowing that someday when the time was right, when I had less responsibilities and more time, I’d come back to it again.

“You quit because of me,” Allie replied.

“I quit because of circumstances. You weren’t even out of high school.”

“I made you quit. I practically insisted.”

So Allie felt guilty.

“It was my choice. I made a decision.”

“I couldn’t do anything without you. I should have gone to college alone. I didn’t need you. I’m sorry I took your dream from you,” Allie insisted.

“I didn’t quit because of you. I quit because of me. I was scared and you were an excuse. After Grandma died, I had no one to go back to. I was alone too.”

That was the truth. It wasn’t Bryan’s fault. It wasn’t Allie’s fault. It wasn’t my parents’ fault. Ultimately it was my decision and my fault. I had no one to blame. If it didn’t work out now, it was only my fault. I had taken responsibility for everyone else except myself. I had been avoiding myself out of fear. As long as I never tried, I’d still have the dream. If I failed, then I would have the truth, it was just a silly dream. I might as well be dreaming of winning the lottery. At least with the lottery I’d have a chance. Once I tried and failed, my dream of being an artist would be over.

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