A few months before she'd asked me to speak at her funeral and I cried. No, I wouldn't. There would be no funeral and she would make it. Like garlic, she was resilient. After, she held me as I sobbed and when I was finished, when I was again intent on forcing life to keep her, to give her the time we needed, she stared into my eyes and I knew. I knew it would be soon.

As she faded, I sat beside her. Tangled beneath a wadded gown and hospital covers, her thick, dark hair was matted. Machines whirled and beeped as I stayed near. Eyes closed, I knew she couldn't continue to fight this battle. New blood would give her life for another day, but the reality was clear. She was leaving soon.

When she finally opened her eyes, I tried to offer a smile through my tears, but merged souls already have an understanding. They seem to know, to communicate without words. She found my hand and squeezed. Finally I had to ask.

"Geege, what should I say? What should I tell them?"

Oblivious to her wishes and stymied in my own sorrow, I must not have heard her whispered reply, or perhaps I was simply filled with too much anger, but in patient verse she repeated herself.

"More Garlic." She said.

And again, her words brought me back. It was to be our last visit in the kitchen--a brother and a sister, aging and looking back, but finally with enough understanding to contemplate life with certain humility. I wish I'd understood then that the prophecy of her final words would impact me so greatly.

A pot simmered, and she'd finally stopped her sacred ritual with the illustrious bulb. Then she turned to me in serious tone.

"Name me someone who hasn't been called to the stage of life after being chopped and smashed, and yet, aren't we still expected to somehow enhance the show? You know, it might just be the finale and that's all right too, but I think we just have to give it our all."

She lived two years with her donated liver--not nearly enough time, but forever for someone like Geege. You see, in her struggle she ultimately discovered that each day is indeed a gift and tomorrow does not always come.

And like with her garlic, in the end she was chopped and smashed, but she gave it her all.

Page 2 of 2 :: First | Last :: Prev | 1 2 | Next