Just Breathe Again by Mia Villano Page A

killin’ you inside, but you have to remember when it gets to that point, Miss Lydia won’t know what is happenin’.  She’ll be asleep and the only thing she’ll know is what she is dreamin.” Hooty rubbed Jeannie on her back as she handed her a pen. Jeannie started crying again. She took the pen and signed on the line, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she sealed her daughter’s fate.
      “You know as dumb as this sounds, she is more worried about you. She wants to make sure you are going to be okay. Her fear is you’ll be sad, Miss Jeannie, and that scares her.” 
      “Of course I’ll be sad. I am going to be devastated. She’s always worried. When her dad died she was the one there for me. I don’t know where she gets this strength, Hooty.”
     “She gets it from the faith that you done gave her, Miss Jeannie. That’s what keeps her goin.”
      Jeannie nodded her head not wanting to go into a discussion about God and faith.
       Hooty stayed for a while longer and checked to make sure everything was there. She made a couple of phone calls to the office and said she would be back the next day. If anything were to happen during the night, they were to call her.
      They made it through a couple of weeks without anything major happening. Jeannie noticed Lydia was getting weaker. It took more effort to get up in the morning, and she slept continuously. Her speech was slurred and at times she didn’t make sense. This started to move along faster than anyone anticipated and faster than Jeannie could bear.

Chapter 8
     
    L ike an unexpected storm appearing out of nowhere, Victoria called to say she planned on coming down to visit. There was no preparing for her arrival happening the next day.
      “Honey, I’m going to be there tomorrow. The remodeling is done with the house and I’ll be there for you. How’s everything going?”
      “Well, they;re going, Mom. Lydia’s getting worse faster than we expected. Just so you know, she does not look like the Lydia you are used to seeing. She doesn’t act like Lydia. I want to prepare you for what’s happening.” Jeannie hoped warning her with how bad things were would scare her into not coming. She was too busy a month ago when she needed her mom the most.  
      “What do you mean, prepare me for?” she asked.
      “Lydia is dying, Mom. She sleeps all day, and is hooked up to oxygen. She has a hard time walking and has to take a wheelchair. There are hospice workers here and a lot of her friends stop by to spend time with her.”
      “Okay. I can handle sickness, honey. Maybe she will be doing better when I get there,” she said, refusing to comprehend how serious things were.
      “Mom, she isn’t going to get better. There is no getting better. She is going to die soon. You need to realize this.”
      “We can talk about this when I get there. I don’t need to get upset right now.”
      Victoria felt everything was about her. Somehow she found a way to make this her problem. That is how she was ever since Jeannie could remember. Victoria Bridgeport, fifty eight years old and not a wrinkle on her surgically altered face. Five feet eleven inches tall and rail thin, she modeled in the sixties for a local department store. To any one she met for the first time, she was more than happy to bring this fact up. Victoria had no tolerance for overweight people. If Jeannie gained a couple of pounds, she humiliated her to lose the weight. Victoria always fretted over her looks and didn’t leave the house without being made up and dressed to the hilt. She had no patience for sloppiness, and when Jeannie grew up, she forced her beliefs on her. 
    Fifteen years ago, Jeannie’s dad Max died of heart failure. He had a heart attack on the seventh hole of the golf course in Florida. No better place for him to take his last breath then his favorite spot. An avid golfer, Jeannie’s dad would have been a pro if he didn’t meet her mother