A Layne Post
I remember the first day Anaya and I visited with her. Cleo was outside, upstairs on the veranda. (Her name is Cleo which sounds like “Clay-o” not “Clee-o”) It was a beautiful day, sunny but not hot. She was completely delightful. She made silly faces and noises at Anaya, which isn’t terribly common around here, and Anaya just ate it up. We laughed out loud about childbirth, children, and life. She couldn’t believe I didn’t know how to cook fish, and she wrote a recipe down for me. I am so happy to have that; it is on my fridge.
Cleo was beautiful, really beautiful. She was tall and strong. She laughed that she had ‘bochechas’ (chubby cheeks) like Anaya, though it wasn’t true.
She had a 12 year old daughter that was born at 7 months and Cleo had been in the hospital, in labor, for 7 days. My hero. Her daughter needed extra assistance and lived in the hospital for about a month, though she caught up quick and gained weight well. Cleo’s love for her daughter was evident. How proud she was of her progress in school. Cleo loved math and science and found it hard to be away from her daughter, unable to help tutor her.
Anaya grew to love Cleo. I can still imagine those days of Anaya sitting in bed with her, playing with her little elephant toy, while Cleo made a slew of animal noises, all of which greatly impressed me. When Anaya would go to sleep in her sling, Cleo would sing to her. One day Cleo was discouraged; Anaya was quick to cheer her up. Cleo would say that Anaya was her first friend at the hospital. Any day I didn’t bring Anaya, she would tell me I had to bring her soon. Anaya would hang out with her, even when Mommy left. I am not sure there was another person she did so well with. Cleo will always be credited with teaching Anaya to ‘African’ dance. She would say, “Chuqueta, chuqueta,” as she’d shake Anaya’s little bum, and everyone around couldn’t help but break out into smiles.
I looked forward to seeing her. I missed her when it had been a few days. I felt closer to her than any another previous patient.
I remember Anaya’s last day with her. It was another beautiful day. It was sunny and warmer, but a nice cool breeze was blowing. We sat on the red benches outside. Anaya grabbed Cleo’s face and talked very seriously with her. She hopped on her good leg, and Cleo insisted that Anaya always preferred her bad leg. Anaya showed off her new whining noise, which Cleo thought was too funny. She assured me it would pass quickly and Anaya would find new noises soon. We laughed out loud, as usual, and talked about her home town. Cleo taught me a few phrases in her home language, and we giggled at my attempts to remember. I was convinced she could teach me, and I could learn. I told her I’d bring a notebook the next time.
We talked about how I wanted her to move in with us. She told me she had been having a difficult time sleeping and needed morphine to calm the pains in her leg. Because of that, she would have a hard time living away from the hospital. She was convinced she would get better, and I assured her as soon as she improved some, I wanted her to move in. I didn’t care if our room out back was ready, she was welcome in my guest room.
She was starting treatment the next day, and if the tumor and swelling in her leg didn’t improve, they would start her on a new type of treatment and re-start her 6 month time frame. We were hoping for the best. It would be her second reset. That is a long time.
The next day was my day in Dermatology; however, I usually pass by Oncology just to say, “Hi,” while I don’t have Anaya. Cleo had been wanting to see a picture of Anaya as a newborn, so I brought a whole book; I thought it may be distracting while on treatment. While visiting with the last patient in Dermatology, my friend Alice showed up. She told me Cleo was bad. I knew Chemo would be hard, but it seemed worse than usual. I wrapped things up quickly with the girl I was talking with and rushed into Cleo’s room. Her Mom was there with her. I thank the Lord for that opportunity. It was hot; she was sweaty. I had 1 hour before I needed to leave, so there I knelt. I held her hand, fanned her with a piece of paper I found in my purse. We cried out to God together. She wiped her nose, and when she saw the blood “Meu Deus” escaped from her lips. I knew it wasn’t a good sign. I couldn’t hold the tears. She gave me a half grin and told me her leg would go down.
We never looked at Anaya’s pictures; she was too uncomfortable, I never even offered. I would take it the next day and we’d see how it was going.
On the way home I wept. Ugly, gasping sobs, as I begged God, “Not now. Not this one. Heal this one. Let it be the first. Please.” That night in my bed with my air conditioner on, I could only think of her, and how I wanted her to be in that kind of comfort.
Early the next morning, while playing with Anaya, Jon came in. I should know by now. Maybe I did and didn’t want to believe. I said things like, “Why are you up?” “Go back to bed!” “I’m fine!” He came and put his arm around me and I knew. A text message had come with the news. Cleo died. Her mom and aunt were with her.
It was stunning. Fast. Devestating.
That was a hard day for me. Actually, it is still raw.
I’ve been to the hospital once since.
I miss my friend…
crying w you hon.
So sorry for another difficult loss. How terribly sad! But great that you and Anaya were able to provide some joy in her last days. I really appreciate your blog entries and hope to be as diligent about posting when we get to Uruguay in a couple of weeks. We spent the evening with your parents Friday night and had a great time catching up. I’m sending up prayers for you! Take care.
Oh Layne, again I ache and weep with you. And I wish I had words to lessen the pain, but I know there are none. I’m glad you had Cleo and that she had you.
Oh Layne, my heart aches for you. But I’m glad you were there and that she could get to know you and little princess. Thinking about you guys constantly. Lots of hugs
thanks for sharing this precious part of your hearts with us <3 love you!
1 Corinthians 15. 54-58 says it all – death is swallowed up in victory – but oh the pain and sorrow it brings to us – and as vs. 58 says it so well – we labor not in vain in the Lord –
dear Lord bless Jon and Layne as they labor for You, surrounded with the sting of death – weeping in the midst of so much pain and sorrow. Bless them with Your Glory. Thank you for Cleo and the small part she had in their walk and work with You. Let them see Your Glory in all of this pain and suffering.
I loved hearing every word of yours and Anaya’s friendship with Cleo. I thank God for her Layne and know you and Anaya will dance that African dance one day on streets gold…..
Oh how we long for the day when hateful Death is finally swallowed up … when we no longer know its painful sting. Meanwhile, dear Layne, we do weep with you. Sob for the pain and sorrow. I wish it could lessen your loss, but I know it cannot. I am so very sorry.
But one day …. one day …. just imagine the day you and Anaya will see Cleo again! Meanwhile, I pray for Cleo’s daughter, for you and Anaya, and for others who will miss her. She must have been such a treasure!
So sorry Layne- so glad you got to be her friend.
I miss her for you too. I just KNOW how much you and Anaya meant to her. I KNOW she treasured up those times in her heart. I KNOW they eased the pain of being away from loved ones. The pain was not for nothing! I am so sad with you, I am lifting up words of comfort for you and He will deliver them. I love you..
Layne – thank you for sharing your time with Cleo, God bless you and give you strength to do His Will.
Weeping with you, Layne. You were such a dear friend to her indeed, and those moments with her brought life and joy to her. Praying for comfort and strength.