A Gentle Death: Part 3 - Charlotte
By Barbara O'Neil Ross
Part 3: Charlotte
Two weeks after we start with hospice, I am given the chance to pick among several volunteers described to me. Charlotte sounds like a fine choice, a down-to-earth retired therapist with a devoted following.
The minute I see her I know this is going to be someone who will play a significant role in our lives. She's an empathetic and pragmatic New Englander - straight short hair , kind eyes and a sense of humor. She's quick to see what's needed. She finds a book stand so that John doesn't have to hold up the hefty nautical tale he's currently reading. He's having an eye problem and needs a patch. I've sewn a crude black one. Charlotte creates one that fits perfectly over his glasses and stitches a “J” on it in contrasting white thread. She knows how to convert a pullover sweater into a cardigan with zipper.
Charlotte brings her handwork and sits peacefully with John while I do errands. She's here when the Pacheo Brothers come with three tables John has recently worked on. They are helping John finish the job. Charlotte helps me get him into a comfortable position to carve his initials in the mahogany. She encourages me to join the Mt. Auburn Club and use the pool there. She is a steady calming presence. We need her. While preparing John's breakfast I find myself dropping the egg in the disposal and putting the shell in the mixing bowl.
When John and I watch TV in the evening, I sit in a reclining slate blue chair by his bed. I hold his hand with my right hand; my left hand is on the rump of our beloved cat, Pawla. She rests her chin on my knees. Sometimes I weep silently. I feel these two are all I need to be content. Charlotte would understand.
