“Just pull the plug if I have been in a coma for thirty days. That is my limit. After thirty days, that means I am resting and do not wake me. Let me rest.”
I was in earshot of Trish talking on the phone. I continued measuring the Cinnamon Plum Tea to put in the tea ball. Water was already steaming for Irish Cream Tea and the coffee was perking away. This was my morning routine before customers would arrive at The Heavenly Angel Tea Room in Dade City. I have to admit my ears perked as I listened for more.
“That’s right. Now remember all of this or I’ll come back to haunt you.” Trish’s cute giggle escaped.
I began to mentally do math. I knew approximately how old her children were. Therefore, she had to be ten or fifteen years younger than I. We had been working together for about three weeks.
Was she ill? Was she having life or death surgery?
I don’t know why I was wondering about why she was doing this because Jim and I had finalized our funeral plans just a few weeks prior to this. I think it was because I knew she was much younger than I and so full of life.
“Sorry about the telephone call. That was my daughter.” Trish picked up the container to get crushed ice while promising to also prepare a pitcher of ice water.
“That’s okay. I’m doing fine here. Cinnamon Plum is almost done and Irish Cream is just beginning to seep. I poured the first batch of Cinnamon Plum into the big carafe.
“I had to do this you know. First there was ovarian cancer, then open-heart surgery, then last year, I had a heart attack. I battled the cancer when my first child was just three weeks old. That was so long ago but it’s my heart … I just don’t know.”
Her voice did not change pitch. She did not talk slower or become more dramatic. She was just sharing a “by the way” moment. Trish was bright, articulate, and very educated about restaurant work, unlike me ...
I was intrigued with this upbeat person who apparently had been through so much. So, being the curious one that I am, I began to ask questions. Trish told me about her life as she laughed and made light of each memory.
She grew up right smack in the middle of nine children. Her parents were in the restaurant “training” business. They would have to move about once a year to train new people. She had three unsuccessful marriages and eight children. (Five were adopted.) She also was a foster mother to children that did not have homes. She loved children and laughed even more as she told about the day two of the foster children finger-painted each others’ face with toothpaste.
“I laughed so hard that day. I will never forget how they looked.”
Trish was already past the moment (death plans) while I lingered there, mesmerized by this true heroine and icon of faith, hope, and Americanism.
Long after I had finished my day’s work and returned home, I was still thinking about Trish. Since her children are not nearby, she is pretty much on her own. Do we get stronger when we have more storms in our life? How can she face this alone and with such ease? Does our physical life here become even more precious as we face the inevitable?
Even as Jim and I faced each other at the Olive Garden, I was still pondering over all these questions. I was making pretty lively conversation but still wondering and amazed by the courage of Trish.
Finally, out loud I said to my husband, Jim, “We really do have a great life, don’t we?”
