Mom, said Mom. She was whispering into Grandma’s ear. We’re going to name Gord after you. You’re gonna name Gord Grandma? I said. I was whispering. I thought Gord was Gord. Some nurses came running over then. Just let us be us! I heard Grandma yelling in my head. The young nurse showed us a little note that Grandma had written when she was still attached to the hose. She gave it to Mom. Mom read it to me and Gord. My friends, I’d like to negotiate my surrender! What does that mean! I said.
Gord lay there with us making small noises and small movements. I let her hang on to my finger. The nurse said Grandma had asked them to take out the hose. So she could talk? I asked. So she could die, said Mom. Mom was crying but she was smiling and crying because Mom is Mom. All over the map! I put my hand on Grandma’s stomach. Maybe she would laugh now. Shake, I said in my head. Please shake. Mom told Grandma we were going to be okay. I waited. Mom told Grandma she could go. C’mon, shake! Mom told Grandma we loved her so much, that Momo and Grandpa and Irene and her mom and dad and all her four thousand dead brothers and sisters were waiting for her. Mom kept making lists of people for Grandma. Seems like there were four hundred billion people waiting around somewhere for Grandma to get the party started. Then Mom was singing Grandma’s favourite CCR song. Tears were falling onto my arm from Mom, who was still trying to smile while she cried. Gord made little squeaks in my jean jacket. Mom was singing “Someday Never Comes.” Then we both sang Grandma’s other favourite song. For poor on’ry people like you and like I … I wonder as I wander out under the sky.
I waited for Grandma’s stomach to shake. It didn’t shake. She’d grab me soon and say, Aha, gotcha! The nurses quietly went away. Grandma, Grandma, I said. I’ll give you a hundred bucks. Grandma! I said. Fight!
16.
Here’s a question for you, Dad. If three people go into a hospital and one of them dies, how many people will leave the hospital? If you’re our family, it’s still three. That’s the problem with our family. Or it’s the problem with problems. I’m not gonna sit around outside throwing clothespins into the bucket to make Grandma come back. Just put me in a pickle jar and run outside and play.
I have videos of Grandma on my cellphone. In one I asked her what will happen to her body after she dies. She says ahhhhh, my body! My body will become energy that will light your path. I can hear her yelling at the Raptors. Stay in it! Box out! Arms up! And I can hear her talking about those sharks that survive by playing dead. And about bioluminescence. And about Mom. And about you. And about fires inside us. And about fighting. And about Grandpa and Momo. And what fighting is, even when it’s making peace. Hoooooooooo. You never win games in the exact same way, always adjusting, changing, thinking. Defence is always key. You have to guard. Hoooooooo. Mom and Gord and I are still in the same house. It’s a bit of a disaster. I wrote to T pretending to be Grandma. I said greetings and salutations T! How goes the battle? He texted back and said WTF. Who this. ID or b block. I don’t know what to text next but I think that’s how love goes.
Lou is walking to Canada! I asked Mom if she’d want to bang Lou or at least be his girlfriend. She’s beautiful enough, I think, almost, to be his girlfriend. Mom said no. She said, Ew, Swiv, no. We’re cousins! That’s not normal. So believe it or not, now Mom has finally decided to take an interest in being normal. Better late than never! I asked Mom what on’ry means. You mean like in the song? she said. Poor on’ry people like you and like I ? She said she thought it meant all riled up. As in ornery, she said. Are we poor, ornery people? I asked her. She told me that from now on she was going to write her own plays and direct them. She says she just does not jive with directors even though the word is jibe. She’s still doing the play. I’m going to take care of Gord backstage so Mom can come flying back there and feed her between scenes. Gord is hilarious most of the time. And the rest of the time she’s a basket case. She really takes after Mom.
I read Grandma’s letter to Gord the other day. You’re a small thing and you must learn to fight. And today I saw one tiny blue pill on the floor under the table where Grandma sits. Bombs away, Swiv! I heard her say. Man, you should have seen how fast I fell to my knees.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’m deeply grateful to Sarah Chalfant and Lynn Henry. And also to Erik! Underlined three times. And, finally, to my revolutionary mother, Elvira Toews, for teaching me, ceaselessly, when to fight and how to love.