She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother (25 page)

“Pumpkin,” she whispered, “I can’t wait.”

After the gasp-inducing lusty romp between Sal and his bellhop, culminating with many impassioned kisses and his hand down my pants, Mom looked at me, raised her eyebrow, then winked and giggled. The rest of the episode played beautifully, to overwhelming cheers from the audience. My heart was filled with pride, but more so with gratitude to Matt and the writers for entrusting me with such a big storyline, and in the season premiere, no less! But most of all for the fact that Mom was with me. She had been there for Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and seen every other performance since then, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and believe me there was a lot of ugly along the way. But after every show, after every performance, whether a huge Broadway hit or a tiny off-off-Broadway flop in a church basement, she was always smiles and praise, smiles and praise. As we exited the theater, friends and colleagues offered their congratulations upon meeting
her, and she just graciously smiled and purred, “Now those are easy words for a mother’s ears to hear.”

In the car to the party, Mom was fluttering with excitement, but starting to fade. It had been a long day for her, and she said that she and Donna might have to make it an early night. A brief moment of quiet passed, then, breaking the short-lived silence, she asked, “Now, pet, tell me something. When Tom is out here with you, does he hear your lines and help you rehearse and all?”

I answered, “Yes, Mom, he does and he’s really great and helps me a lot. Tom is a natural director and actor.”

To which she quickly replied, “Well, I bet you two had some fun rehearsing that scene!”

She laughed hysterically at her little joke, so much that it became infectious and Donna and I joined in, laughing uncontrollably until we reached the party site, all of it lost on our driver, who must have thought us insane. And we were.

M
OM AND DONNA
returned to the balmy Deep South the next day, and Mom was able to have her next treatment of chemotherapy, which seemed to sit well with her this time, causing significantly fewer side effects than usual. She spoke on the phone with Tom at the shop, reliving all the moments of the premiere, thanking him for letting her go with me in his place. He would be with me in New York for the official premiere.

She gushed, “Sweetheart, you are just a dear, I am so
lucky to have you as a son-in-law; I just count my blessings every day that I was blessed with such wonderful partners for my two boys. You and Andrée are just angels. She is such a great mother and wife, and, well, you are just perfect with Bryan.”

She leaned back ever so slightly, and somehow lost her balance, falling backward onto the cold tile floor of the kitchen. Tom later told me he had never heard screams of pain so anguishing. The telephone receiver had fallen, and he could hear her call for help, mixed with animal cries of agony. He heard Donna come rushing in to call 911, hung up the phone, and ran out of the shop. He actually arrived at her home before the paramedics.

Jay called me in L.A. with the news that Mom might have broken her hip, and as it turned out, that was exactly what happened. She’d shattered her femur in three places and needed serious surgery, including a rod and screws.
This is it
, I thought, speaking with my godchild Ramsey, who was now the charge nurse on the orthopedic recovery floor of East Jefferson Hospital. She informed me that this was not good, not good at all.
What next?
I thought. How much more could she take? People her age, in her condition, rarely recovered from such a break. The doctors had to wait a few days to make sure her Coumadin levels were right, as she was subject to life-threatening blood clots, but when all was set, she sailed through the surgery with no complications.

I now had completely given in to the fact that it was just a matter of time. I cried for a few minutes as I had when I’d learned of my father’s death, but then it was time
to get to work, to get home. As soon as possible, I flew into Louis Armstrong Airport and made my way to the hospital. Preparing for the worst, I realized my true job, my sole purpose, was to try to take her mind off the pain and, as always, entertain. That I could do, and that I would. As I exited the elevator at the ninth floor, Ramsey and I locked eyes, and she could see the heartbreak in my face.

She smiled as she hugged me, saying in a calming tone, “B, she is really doing well. We are amazed. Go in and see her; you’re not going to believe it.”

I knocked and opened the door, and there she was—lipstick on, a bit of blush, and a turban to match her bed coat. My mother’s eyes lit up as I entered. “Oh, baby dear, you are a sight for sore eyes and a sore hip.” We hugged, and she introduced me to her sitter, Mary, who was preparing her lunch tray. “Mary, this is my son Bryan, he’s on the show
Mad Men
I told you about, on AMC Sundays at ten p.m., nine Central. Mary is just the sweetest. Oh, what do we have today—is it Galatoire’s or Commander’s Palace?” she joked about the dreary hospital food. “Oh, and Mary’s a deacon at her church, so we have wonderful prayers, isn’t that just perfection, pet?”

“Nice to meet you, Mary; she must have you jumping already.”

Mary laughed softly. “Oh, we are just having a grand time, ain’t that right, Miss Gayle?”

“Most definitely,” Mom said. “Doodle bug, I’m not supposed to have sweets, because I really need to lose more weight, both of my doctors agree that it will help me with the healing. I know how much you love bread pudding,
so join me for this delicious luncheon, I’ve already got my hat on, pecan.”

A
LITTLE OVER
six weeks later, Tom and I were actually taking her to dinner at Commander’s Palace, where for generations our family had shared so many celebratory dinners and jazz brunches. Family friends had been the proprietors, and now the Grand Dame of New Orleans cuisine was in the able hands of the next generation of Brennan descendants. Mom was dressed in a smashing red ensemble complete with a matching red turban, and the crowning detail, the two bee pins, talking to each other. As she entered the Palace, she was received as if she were Dolly Levi entering the Harmonia Gardens. She walked steadily with her walker in hand until she reached the best table in the house, the corner banquette.

As the fluster caused by her arrival calmed, and after we sat, and were slightly settled, Mom said gently, “My dears, I have a little announcement to make. Today, as you may know, the results came in of all my tests, and I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that my hip is healing beautifully and I’ll be back on my cane within a month. The cancer has still not metastasized anywhere in my entire body. The brain scan came back negative—no jokes just yet, please; the doctors were worried about the aneurysm. And three of the six tiny tumors in my chest area are undetectable and the other three have grown insignificantly! Isn’t that just splendid news?!”

We burst into cheers, tears, and applause, and finally I asked what the bad news was.

“Well, I’m doing so well that if I continue this way, the doctor will be able to do my knee replacement in a few months. Well, I guess that isn’t such bad news when everything is said and done. Now, I don’t know about you good people, but I am going to celebrate with just one cocktail.” With that, our favorite waiter approached.

“I overheard some happiness at this table, Mrs. Batt. Are we celebrating something special, I hope?”

“As a matter of fact, we are, darling,” Mom lilted. “It’s sort of my birthday in a way.”

He replied, smiling, “Oh, Mrs. Batt, we’ve been hoping. What can I bring you?”

She smiled as she placed her perfectly manicured finger to her cheek in girlish thought, and one hand on his. “Now, sweetheart, this will eventually be a martini, but I would just adore a Ketel One, up icy, icy cold so that those bitsy shards of ice are just floating on the top, a teensy bit dirty, with a twist, and almond-stuffed olives on the side.”

I glanced across at my sweet mother, her eyes dancing with hope, hope she has always possessed, hope she has never lost faith in, and hope she has always given to me and everyone she has touched in her beautiful life. I thought for a moment of how this story would and must end one day, but for this night and right now and forever, I would celebrate this magical and ineffable great lady. She ain’t heavy, she’s my mother.