My Journey with Farrah - Alana Stewart [86]
“Your hair is getting longer,” I said. “It’s this long now.” I held up my finger and thumb about two inches apart. She tried to lift her hand to her head, but she couldn’t quite make it.
“Do you want me to read the Lord’s Prayer?” I asked. I showed her the Christian Science book that I often bring. “Yes,” she answered softly. I read to her for a while, first the prayer, then Psalm 23 and several other passages. I put the book away and took her hand again. I could tell she was thinking about something. She tried to form a word with her lips but couldn’t manage it. I said, “I wish I could read your mind.” Her eyes looked momentarily frightened, and I wanted to ask, “Are you afraid?” but I wasn’t sure if I should. I didn’t know quite what to say; what was appropriate. Do you talk to a person about dying? Do you tell them not to be afraid, that it will be all right? Or do you just pretend everything is fine? I don’t know…I don’t know. I wish someone would tell me.
She was still looking into my eyes as I was softly rubbing her arm. I had this urge to tell her about my upcoming biopsy at UCLA; that my Pap smear had come back irregular and that they are going to have to put me under and do a surgical procedure in order to get a proper biopsy. It’s a year ago exactly that we were in Germany and I had the “cancer for a day.” I wanted to tell her that I’m kind of nervous but that didn’t seem appropriate, either, after what she’s been through. I had this maudlin thought that maybe if it was positive, I’d be joining her in the not too far-off future. I sure couldn’t do what she has done. Nor would I want to.
Finally, the nurse came in and gave her the pain medication, and soon her eyes were closing. I kissed her on the forehead. Then I remembered. “When they move you out of ICU, I asked if they could put a cot in your room so I can spend the night. We’ll have a slumber party.” She opened her eyes and tried to say something, but nothing came out. I kissed her again and said good-night. I walked alone out into the balmy June night. I wondered how Ryan was doing. Redmond. Her daddy, Jimbo. How will they all make it through this? How will I?
Farrah Fawcett passed away on June 25, 2009.
THE FINAL CHAPTER
WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE?
My thoughts have been filled with Farrah for such a long time that I’m not sure what I’ll think about now. I guess it’s not as easy as that. It seems she’s all I think about. I go to sleep thinking about her and I wake up thinking about her. A huge, gaping hole has been left in my life and my heart. Who will I laugh with and complain to on the phone late at night? Who will I talk to about silly, superficial things—like hair, shopping, the latest bronzer? Who will I commiserate with when my kids are going through hard times? Or when I’m dating someone (if I ever do again!) and I want her wise and always insightful take on it? And saddest of all, who will I make pecan pies with when the holidays roll around? During the last couple of years, when our conversation was dominated mainly by cancer, Farrah and I always found something to laugh about. I believe that’s one of the reasons Farrah was able to keep up her fight for so long; her humor, as well as her indomitable spirit and dogged determination, pulled her through and defied the odds. Until now.
When I embarked on this journey with her, neither of us had any idea where the path would lead. We hoped we were steering toward a happy ending, a cure for her cancer. But in not knowing, we put our faith in medicine, God, and each other. This experience has changed my life forever, and the lessons that eluded me in the past are finally sinking in. I wish I could wrap them all up in neat little packages and give them to my children for Christmas, so that they don’t have to learn them the hard