I hope he’s happy—because if he’s not happy, then what’s the point of staying with her?

February 9, 2013

Journaling is like exercise; it’s hard to keep it up. You have to make yourself do it, and ultimately, I don’t see the point of Went to work, played Tooth Fairy, went to bed.

Tooth Fairy because Maia lost her first tooth, bottom front left. It popped out when she bit down on a piece of breakfast toast, then it skittered across the floor and Huck found it.

I sometimes wish I had an e-mail or a cell phone number for Russ. I would tell him: Your daughter lost her first tooth. What would he do with that news? I wonder. He has no one to share it with.

February 13, 2014

Two things happened today, almost at the same time. One, I was on Salomon Beach, finally reading Eat, Pray, Love, the book that Ayers holds above all others. (She has been to Italy, India, and Bali, so it resonates with her.) Anyway, I was in the midst of the India section when I looked up and saw that yacht, Bluebeard, sailing past Salomon toward Caneel.

No, I thought. But then I remembered that it was this time eight years ago that I met Russ.

I stood up. I was wearing a white bikini, just like I had been when I met Russ at Hansen Bay. I wondered if Russ was on the boat and, if so, whether he could see me. I was tempted to drive to Caneel to check if Bluebeard had anchored out front, but while I was in my car, debating, my phone rang and it was Huck.

It was midafternoon. This was very unusual.

“It’s your mother,” he said. “She’s sick and I’m taking her over to Schneider.”

“What do you mean?” I said. My mother didn’t get sick. My mother was a nurse practitioner who, after years of treating everything from head colds to herpes, had developed a force field around her. Nothing got through.

“She’s being admitted,” he said. “It’s her heart. It’s failing. You and Maia should plan to come over and see her after school lets out. I’ll handle today, get her settled, talk to the doctors, see if it’s better for us to go to Puerto Rico or the States.”

I could have told Huck then and there that Mama would never agree to be treated in the States, but I didn’t want to start a health-care debate.

Her heart failing? It seemed impossible. My mother had the strongest constitution of anyone I knew, and that didn’t even take into account her iron will.

For years I would have said it was impossible for my mother’s heart to fail—because she didn’t have a heart.

March 3, 2014

My mother, LeeAnn Small Powers, died at home with Huck and me by her side. We’d let Maia have her first sleepover, an overnight with her little friend Joanie. We explained the situation to Joanie’s parents and they were very kind.