David followed the hospital social worker along the paint-faded corridor, past trolleys laded with starched bed sheets and medical equipment.
“Teagan is steadily deteriorating,” said the social worker. David nodded as he kept pace.
“Her physical pain is being managed,” continued the social worker. “But she is distressed over leaving the children.” David saw Teagan’s brother and his wife in hushed conversation at the end of the corridor. He offered a self-conscious smile, then followed after the social worker.
They stopped outside a room. “She’s in here.”
David was not sure what to expect. He had not seen Teagan, his former wife for some time. He paused, then went in.
Teagan was propped on an angle, blue cotton nightgown, a tube draped along one arm. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing haltingly. She did not appear as bad as he had imagined. He thought her face less puffy then when he had last seen her. Perhaps the cancer treatment drugs had been discontinued. But there was a pained expression to her face.
“David’s here,” said the social worker as she moved to the other side of the bed. The social worker gestured David to come forward. Teagan moved her head slightly and her eyes partly opened.
“Hello, Teagan,” said David as he placed his hand on Teagan’s. It felt warm soft and soft.
“David,” Teagan gasped looking towards him. ‘I’m dying.”
“I know,” replied David, “I …” Words failed him.
“Just listen,” offered the social worker.
“I’ve hurt you,” Teagan said.
“We hurt each other,” responded David. His throat went taunt.
Teagan turned to move her head and murmured something. The social worker lent forward.
“Do you want a drink?” the social worker ask.
Teagan nodded slightly. The social worker reached for a plastic cup with a straw and held it to Teagan’s lips. Teagan took a sip, then straightened her head and looked towards David.
“Stephen. Stephen, he makes scrambled eggs,” said Teagan haltingly.
David was perplexed at what Teagan was saying about their adolescent son. He had seen little over the past couple of years. He looked to the social worker for help.
“I think Teagan is saying that Stephen likes to make scrambled eggs for breakfast.”
Teagan nodded.
“Sure, I’ll let Stephen make scrambled eggs.”
“Sports. Different sports,” added Teagan.
David could barely hear Teagan speak. He turned to the social worker.
“I’m slightly deaf. I can’t make out what Teagan is saying. Can you help me?”
“Teagan has told me that her strategy for managing Stephen was to get him involved in different sports,” offered the social worker.
David felt a sense of guilt. He had not been able to deal with Stephen. Teagan and he had argued over this and in the end he had left it all to Teagan to manage. The only recent contact he had with Stephan was when he went to watch him play.
“I know. Stephen loves baseball and rugby. I was pleased you got him involved in sport. He’s made some good mates.”
David stopped as Teagan continued speaking.
“Stephen. Don’t bully Stephen!”
“I won’t bully Stephen. We have our problems, but I’ll work it out.”
Teagan drew a deep breath.
“Stephen’s not to bully Lachlan!”
“Yes,” said David. His thoughts were flooded. He had thought Teagan unconcerned about Stephen’s domineering behaviour towards their ten year old son, Lachlan. “I’ll protect each of our children.”
Teagan spoke—slower, quieter. She said something about their youngest son, Ian, who had just started school. But David could not understand Teagan’s words. He looked at the social worker, but her expression showed she had not heard either. Teagan closed and opened her eyes, muttering. “Hugs,” David thought she said.
“I’ll hug Ian,” responded David.
Teagan’s eyes lolled and closed. Her breathing shallowed.
David waited, not sure what to do.
Teagan’s eyes opened again, unfocused.
“I’m a good mum,” whispered Teagan. A plea or assertion—David couldn’t tell.
“You’ve done good,” answered David, trying to hold back tears. “I know the boys; Stephan, Lachlan and Ian, are the most precious to you, to us.”
“I’m a good mum,” Teagan repeated more urgently.
“You are a good mother,” said the social worker as she lent closer to Teagan’s face and softly stroked her hair. “David’s been telling me that you were like a lioness protecting her cubs.” David had also said he resented that Teagan had caste him as the predator. But the social worker did not repeat that.
Teagan spoke and rolled her head to one side and back again. The social worker knelt so her face was next to hers. Teagan spoke again. “You’re saying you want it to be over with,” expounded the social worker while clasping Teagan’s other hand.
David lifted his free hand to wipe the tears draining down his face. Teagan made short, stilted breaths.
“Do you want to rest?” asked the social worker.
Teagan’s lips moved slightly.
“David’s brought Lachlan and Ian with him. Do you want to see them?”
Teagan’s expression softened. “Was that a smile?” thought David. He could not be sure.
“We’ll bring the boys in,” said the social worker to Teagan. Then, looking up at David. “Why don’t you get Lachlan and Ian.”
David nodded. He looked towards Teagan, lightly squeeze her hand and let go. Then turned and walked towards the doorway.
Teagan’s brother and his wife were waiting in the corridor, along with a nurse.
“Teagan’s asked to see the boys,” David said. “I’ll get them.”
“OK,” remark Teagan’s brother coolly. His wife offered a kindly smile.
The two younger boys were waiting in a room at the end of the corridor, with their older brother Stephen and other family members. David’s head was full of a thousand thoughts; hurt, anger, frustration. So many things he wanted to say to Teagan. There was no time for that now. He had done what the social worker had asked–offered reassurances to Teagan about their children. But he knew that Teagan would hold to her children to last of her conscientious. He felt out of place, useless.
“Good by, Teagan,” he said to himself
Unpublished 2003