Turn of Mind by Alice Laplante Page B

when all else has failed.
    Have you ever invoked her? Just curious.
    No. No. On those rare occasions when I needed help, there were others I could ask.
    You’re talking about human intervention. I’m talking about something else.
    You mean, a higher power?
    I mean . . . your diagnosis. Sarah said this tentatively. We’ve never discussed this. Officially, no one at the hospital knows why I retired early. Unofficially is another matter, I suspect.
    I won’t say I didn’t hope there was a mistake.
    No praying for a miracle?
    None whatsoever.
    How about just plain hope?
    None of that, either.
    How can you go on? I don’t understand.
    What is there to understand? I have a degenerative disease. There is no cure for that disease. That is the condition facing hundreds of thousands of people around the world.
    You’re so clinical about it. This is your life, not some hypothetical patient.
    And whatever choice do I have, my dear Sarah?
    I’m sorry. I’m prying. I guess I’m just wondering. How you keep going.
    At some point we die. Except under unusual circumstances, we usually get some advance warning. Some of us know sooner than others. Some of us will suffer more than others. You’re asking, how do you endure that interval between when you know you’re dying and when you actually die?
    Yes, I guess so.
    I suppose everyone is different. To get her through, Saint Rita wanted the impossible: a rose in midwinter.
    And you?
    I was stymied. No one asks me such things anymore. They ask me if I want tea. If I’m cold. If I want to listen to some Bach. Avoidance of the big questions.
    My deathbed wish?
    Well, not death bed! But do you think you’ll stay as practical as time progresses? Or will you ever be tempted to ask for the impossible?
    Part of my condition is that the line between those two things is increasingly blurred. I was looking through my notebook this morning, and apparently on some days I still have my parents with me. Magdalena has recorded some long talks I have with them. I don’t remember any of this, of course. But I like the idea very much.
    So maybe some very impossible requests are being granted.
    Perhaps. Yes. And I’ve been thinking. What you said about how one keeps going.
    Yes?
    A dear friend of mine just died.
    Yes, I heard. I’m sorry.
    And amid the grief and the anger, I found myself feeling gratitude— gratitude that it wasn’t me. So at some level I still see death as something to be put off. It’s not that I don’t think about it—and I won’t say that on bad days I don’t plan for when things are a lot worse. But I’m not ready yet.
    Well, that’s a good thing! Sarah reached over and gave me a hug before gathering her things together. I waved good-bye from the front door, then closed it, and sat down to examine my present. What a delightful prize. It will get the place of honor in the living room, on the mantel, next to the icon.
    Really, I feel utterly blessed today.
    No, it’s not yet time. Not yet.

    We’re in front of the television, which seems to be our habit in the evening. This program is easy to follow. I don’t need to try to hold anything in my head for too long. A game show, where a motley congregation of contestants possesses a seemingly unlimited knowledge of trivia.
    The blond woman loves it. She says things like He’s my favorite and I can’t believe she didn’t make it to the next round. I am having trouble concentrating. I try to do what a new sign in the kitchen commands me: Live in the moment. I have to. There is no other way for me, not anymore. But a young man wearing excessive eyeliner is jumping up and down after demonstrating his superior knowledge of the mating habits of penguins. Do I really want to be in this moment? I get up to leave the room just as the phone rings. I turn back and pick it up.
    Mom, it’s Fiona.
    Who?
    Fiona. Your daughter. Can I