pause

So here we are.

I’ve been faced.

This time not only by the Three Nerd-Ma-Teers, Wil Shane and AJ …(really fucking well, I might add)…

…but by life.

Please forgive this pause in your regular scheduled programming, but I just feel compelled to write. I’ll probably look back in a few days and delete this on account it may sound like a desperate entry from a one-woman-show…but frankly, I don’t know what much else to do.

INT – BED – NIGHT

Tanned legs tangle under sheets. Skull cap warms head.

SFX: Phone ring.

Blindly find watch. 11pm. Wait, where am I? Oh, I’m still in Kauai. Yes, I’m still on honeymoon. Phew. Why not get up and have another Mai Tai.

I hear a voice.

It’s Stef. (my sis).

Stef: Annie. It’s me.

Wait. I’m not still in Hawaii. I’m not still on my honeymoon. I’m in LA and it’s 4am. Right. I got back yesterday.

Annie: Hey.

Stef: Hey.

Pause.

She holds back tears.

Stef: They’re giving her 48 hours.

Pause.

Shock.

I hold back tears.

Annie: I’m checking flights.

Stef: Hurry.

Annie: Ok.

Pause.

Stef: …and Merry Christmas.

Annie:…Merry Fucking Christmas.

For one second I close my eyes. Maybe if I close ‘em tight enough I’ll wake up and THIS will be the dream…or the nightmare.

Pause.

Nope.

Shit.

INT-LAX AIRPORT - XMAS NIGHT

10:30pm. My parents friend bought us $1200 dollar tickets. Each. The most direct flight is on Delta. But Delta doesn’t have medical emergency fares. However, they will show ‘In Her Shoes.’ How sweet of 'em.

I clutch my now husband’s hand. Husband? I have a husband? I’m married? 17 days ago I was planning my wedding. Now we may be planning a...don't say it. Don't say it. She'll pull through. I brought my computer. I'll have downtime. I'll work on my project. I know it. I know it.

We try and buy a beer, look at pictures, laugh at a dude in a bad fanny pack…anything to forget I’m flying to Key West, Florida to see her.*

*Her: Nancy. Nan. Nanner. My step-mom of 20 some years. She’s just as much my mom as my real mom. Sometimes even more so. So for the record, she’s my mom. 61 years old. Cancer. Fucking Cancer. Fucking Fuckity Fuck Fuck Cancer that decided to take a turn for the worse. Just cuz it can.

INT – KEY WEST AIRPORT – DECEMBER 26TH

It’s 9:45am Florida time. Luau-hour Hawaii time. Three dramamine’s later we land in the Conch Republic and deplane a puddle jumper. The Conch Republic. The place I spent my youth. First job, first tan, first..well, you know. I don’t even remember getting off in Tampa and making the connection. I check my phone. No message. No news is good news, right?

We wait for our bag…and wait for our bag…and wait for our bag. A newlywed couple plans to jet ski on day two, a toothless man shares a story about fishing, a mystic-tanned frat boy tells his buddy how he got ‘mad tail’ last night.

I want to puke.

INT – LOWER KEYS HOSPITAL – WAITING ROOM - DAY

It’s now 10:45am. People clutch Kleenex. My Uncle and Aunt stare at their shoes. Familiar Croatian greetings fill the heavy air. How doing shots of Slivovitz ‘to toast the new couple’ feels like years ago.

Annie: Dobra Chika Piea.

Uncle Paul: Dobra Annietsa.

I smile.

Aunt Kathy: She’s waiting for you.

Hold it in.

Someone says: …And we’re counting on you to lighten the mood.

Great. Fucking great. (Sigh). Glad I brought my wigs. Awesome.

INT – NAN’S ROOM – ICU- DAY

Death Cab for Cutie was right. The ICU stinks of piss and 409. The graceful, beautiful, strong body of a woman I saw not 2 months ago, has been replaced by a 90-pound chemo skeleton complete with tubes and beeps. I hug my father. I hug my brother. I hug my sister.

Annie: Hey Nan. It’s me.

I grab the hand that comforted me through bad break-ups and bad perms.

Annie: I told you I’d make it.

I touch the leg that taught me to shave around the knees and stay moisturized.

Annie: I love you.

I stroke the hair…that perfectly red hair…that sat proud through every dance recital, volleyball game, and awful school play.

The tears flood.

Nan: Let’s go.

She wants to go. Where? She tries to get up. My sister eases her back down. My sister. My fucking little sister. The same one that used to bite her arm and blame it on me is now an amazing adult who inspires me every second.

We watch the monitor. Nan's poor heart beats…138…135…139. She’s running a motionless marathon. Her lungs keep filling.

Annie: Thank you Nan. For everything. For being there…for loving my Dad…for teaching me how to pluck my eyebrows.

A veiny hand removes the oxygen mask.

Nan: Looks like you need it now.

We laugh.

We cry.

She’s right.

Through all of this she had not lost her mind. Or her sweet spirit that lives in her beautiful green eyes.

Stef and I sing 'Margaritaville' and ‘Momma’s Little Baby Likes Shortening Bread.’

We reminisce about the time my Dad took off his pants so we could win a family scavenger hunt. And the time we couldn’t stop laughing during an opera dinner theater so she had to dunk our heads under the table. And try not to laugh herself.

We promise to walk the treadmill, keep a clean house, and try to get my Dad to buy something other than nerdy white Reebok tennis shoes.

We sit in silence. We drink bad coffee. We visualize the absence of pain.

Fucking Cancer.

INT – NAN’S ROOM – ICU –DAY

It’s 1:21 pm. About 2 and 1/2 hours have passed. I have to pee so bad but I don't want to miss a second. The IV fills with just a little more morphine. The breathing gets harder and harder. Each beep takes her a little farther from us, and closer to somewhere else.

Somewhere cancer can't touch.

She reaches for my Dad. Literally reaches into his arms. The oxygen mask comes off as the doctor recommended. My Dad holds her, I hold him, Brian holds me, Stef holds Brian, Mark holds Stef, Stef holds the phone so my step-sister, Kath, in San Fran can say goodbye. My other step-sister, Cindy, is on the way from the house. She was with Nan all night but went to take a shower. She won’t make it in time. Her time was last night. Nan wouldn't have made it through without her.

My Dad whispers sweet promises in Nan's ear. A single tear streams down her face. The nurse stealthily turns off the LCD screen.

The beeping stops. The breathing stops. Time stops.

1:28pm.

My Dad holds her.

This isn’t happening. They had plans. They just retired. They were going to go to Croatia and Ireland and sit in their PJs all day.

It’s not fair.

My brother turns to Stef and I. Him being the older brother; the one who used to ruin our basement Christmas pagents, tackle us in the snow, and make us rebound while he did nightime lay-ups in the driveway, has something to say.

Mark: I'm proud of you girls. Stef, you were the quarterback, Annie, you came if for the hail mary pass, and I was the coach.

He cries.

We hug.

Like we have never hug before.

INT – LOWER KEYS HOSPITAL – HALLWAY - DAY

The linoleum floor is cold. I stare. The nurse, Jennifer…sweet Jennifer, is cleaning her up and doing whatever they do after they die. Voices are talking but I can’t make anything out. An old man patient walks by with his wife, taking his daily walk up and down the hallway with an IV stand as a crutch. As he passes, I see his butt as he forgot to tie his gown. I can also see his balls. I laugh.

For a second.

-----------------------------------

And so the rest is the rest. Funerals, euolgys, funny stories to make others laugh, making that first phone call to her friends, hearing her cell phone ring, finding that Gap shirt you gave her that she didn’t have a chance to wear, forcing yourself to eat, watching your father break down at the sight of her old workout shorts, making collages of pictures, visiting the cemetery on her old bike, praying that nights turn to days but thankful you have Johnny Walker Red, a computer, and a good friend…a really good friend, listening to her favorite Donna Summer song and trying not to cry, saying goodbye to family, picking out the familiar Catholic hymns that reminds you of crushing on Brian Hartwell, chatting about the “bright side,” wondering how you’ll go back to pointless auditions, unfinished screenplays, and ipod mixes.

I’m not the first to lose a parent too early. Or the last.

Or even anyone with anything profound to say about this entire experience. I’m not gonna waste time saying….make sure you live life more or hug your loved ones or whatever. Yes, I will find inspiration in her fight---god, she fought hard---, in her love to my Dad, and in her desire to LIVE.

But, all I know is death changes you. From the core.

As Ben Gibbard says…

...love is watching someone die.

So whose gonna watch you die?

Elbow and Send.