My
mother-in-law was always late. Something always seemed to happen:
a slip strap broke and had to be pinned, the hem of her skirt or pants
unraveled, the heel of her shoe broke, or something equally drastic
occurred, like spilling coffee, tea, or food down the front of her
blouse. It never failed. She was accident prone, but only
when it was time to go somewhere. When Esther was diagnosed with
pancreatic cancer and undergoing chemotherapy, she was even late for her
treatments.
“You'll
be late to your own funeral,” my father-in-law, Bill said with a wink
and a smile, but Esther's habitual lateness wore down everyone's nerves
and patience.
“I'll
get there when I get there,” Esther said as she took her time getting
ready to go. “The Lord gives us plenty of time.” She
smiled and patted Bill's arm. “Plenty of time.”
“There's
not enough time in the Lord's day for you. You always try to get a
little more,” Bill said as he kissed his wife.
There
was never any argument just the calm give and take of a well worn
discussion that no one ever won, no one but Esther. She always had
the last word -- with a little help.
Bill
couldn't handle even a little pepper. He couldn't taste it, but he
felt it. Over the years, Esther had determined exactly how much
pepper it took to send him running to the bathroom moaning, as it did
its fiery work. The moments passed with Bill in the bathroom and
Esther quietly smiling while she did the dishes.
This was the norm, until they found out Esther had cancer.
Esther
was determined not to let it change her or her life. Bill tiptoed
around the house and Esther until she peppered his food one night.
He ran to the bathroom moaning and holding his stomach while Esther
placidly cleared the table and did the dishes. My husband, Nick,
and his brother, Larry, snickered, forgetting their fear and grief as
their father raced up the stairs.
“Don't
you two have something better to do? Take out the trash? Get
ready for work tomorrow?” Esther jiggled the pepper mill in her hand.
Nick
and Larry beat a hasty retreat, Larry to the garbage and Nick to his
room to lay out his work clothes. Neither of them wanted to be
present for the confrontation they knew was coming.
When
Bill came back down the stairs Esther was putting the dried dishes into
the cabinet. He watched her from the doorway as she moved about
the kitchen, occasionally stopping to catch her breath from the
pain. She closed the cabinet doors and picked up the broom from
the basement stairwell, walked over to Bill and handed it to him.
“It's about time you started helping around the house," she said.
Bill
took the broom, and under Esther's eagle eye, swept the kitchen linoleum
to her satisfaction. She took great pleasure in directing him to
get under the edges of the cabinets and between the stove and
refrigerator, ordering him here and there as one speck of dust or a
cobweb, invisible to Bill, was thoroughly removed. Bill knew
Esther wasn't going to allow her family to treat her like an invalid;
she had enough of that taking care of her mother before they could
marry. They both knew she wouldn't be around long, but what time
they had left together would be shared the way they shared everything in
their life -- in Esther's own time.
When
Esther finally gave in to the cancer and died, the family was grief
stricken, but none more so than Bill. He had lived every moment of
his life for Esther. She was his sun, his moon, and his heart.
On
the day of Esther's funeral the family gathered at the funeral home for
the last time. Everyone waited for Esther's casket to
appear. It didn't. The clock ticked on. People shifted
in their seats and talked quietly. Bill checked his watch.
Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty minutes late. The
funeral director asked Bill to follow him.
“I'm
so sorry about the delay, but something has gone wrong,” the funeral
director said.
“What?”
Bill asked.
“Well,
it seems the cart's wheels are stuck. We have to get one from
storage. The spare is being used for another funeral.”
“Mr.
Southwick,” one of the funeral home attendants called to the
director. “We got it fixed. Should I tell Jerry not to get
the other cart?”
Bill
laughed and shook his head and checked his watch. Twenty-five
minutes. Esther was always thirty minutes late. She
would arrive on time, her time.
The
funeral director looked like he thought Bill had lost his mind.
Bill
smiled. “I always said Esther would be late to her own funeral.”
He chuckled as he went back to the parlor.
Bill
sat down and put his arms around his children. I watched in
surprise as he smiled and looked at his children. My husband was
stunned, trying to hold back his tears. “Check your watches,”
Bill said as Esther's casket rolled into the parlor. One by one
Esther's children smiled. I didn't understand. I checked my
watch; it was 1:30. Then Nick laughed. One by one his
brothers and sisters laughed as the rest of the grieving family looked
on in horror. Standing and turning toward the assembled aunts,
uncles, cousins, and friends, Bill tapped his watch. Each of them
checked their watches, some through tears. One by one they smiled
and nodded. I had only heard the stories, but they all knew Esther
very well. She loved making an entrance and controlling time just
a little.
Bill
walked up to the coffin as the attendants raised the lid. “You
just had to have the last word.” He leaned over and kissed
Esther's lips one last time. “I love you, my darling, he
whispered. But I pray there's no pepper in heaven.”
Courtesy of 
Magazine