Sisters of Mercy
Ann Alexander
Allison Ward administered the lethal combination of the narcotic and barbiturate cocktail which Eric Johnston consumed willingly. He then lay back in his bed, his young body emaciated with disease and he waited to feel the effects of the drugs. Eric was tired, too weak to continue the struggle against a relentless disease and he welcomed death. It was his choice and that of his mother, Elizabeth, the only family he had for support. He had come home to be in familiar surroundings and now he took comfort in being so near to those things which had once been such a big part of his life.
His high school graduation portrait, so full of youthful vigor and eagerness to begin life, still hung on the wall. Below that was the Bidwell High School Class of ‘79 gathered together for a final picture on the bleachers edging the football field. He wanted to reach out and touch them as his mind filled with the memories of football games, parties, and Friday night cruising. It all seemed so real yet so distant.
He continued to view the evidence of his life as through a video camera, an interested observer but no longer a participant:. He’d always been a 49er fan and the team’s red, white and gold banner stretched over his old dresser. Eric even had a red and white jersey with the number 16 printed on the front and back, Joe Montana’s number. He would never see them play again. A large, stuffed Snoopy dog stood in the corner beside the sliding closet door. The white was now a brownish color, one ear was ripped and both eyeballs were missing but Snoopy had been given to him for his fifth birthday by his grandfather and had been his companion through his childhood years. Eric’s eyes roved about the room, taking in the faded curtains with their torn lace, the tinted blue light fixture centered on the ceiling, the printed wallpaper of little boats and trains. He was at home.
Eric’s thinking started to fog and he began to have trouble focusing his eyes which now rested on his mother. She was trying to smile through her tears as she held tightly to his hand.
“Don’t cry, Mama,” it was hard for Eric to speak, “This way is best. We’ll meet again on the other side.” Those were his last words before his mind entered unconsciousness.
Elizabeth Johnston’s tears flowed freely as her son’s respirations became less frequent and more shallow but she continued to hold his hand. Allison Ward held onto Elizabeth’s other hand, attempting to offer tangible strength and comfort. But these were not the only attendants at Eric’s bedside. Allison and Elizabeth were accompanied by Barbara “Babs” Carson and Misty Yerrington and these four women all joined hands while gently beginning to sing, “Jesus keep me near the cross....”
The evening light had faded into night leaving the bedroom aglow in soft candlelight from votive candles lit in memory of others who had died a similar death. Giant shadows moved in reflection on the walls as the women swayed in time with their singing, finishing the old hymn “....till my raptured soul shall find rest beyond the river.” And Eric Johnston breathed his last.
The room was silent for a long while, each woman alone with her individual thoughts and prayers. But the deed was done and it was time to disperse. Allison left first, followed by Babs then Misty at fifteen minute intervals. Elizabeth was left alone with her son. Though her heart was anguished, she knew she’d done the right thing. Eric’s suffering was over, not drawn out for agonizing months just waiting for the inevitable. He was at peace now and though Elizabeth took comfort in this, she could not hold back the tears which she shed over her son’s deathbed.
When Elizabeth regained enough composure and self control, she made the appropriate phone calls to the doctor and the local mortuary. Eric had been under a doctor’s care and there would be no cause for an autopsy. The direct cause of death was a pneumo carinii infection.
After they had taken away her son’s body, Elizabeth was left alone in her house. This is what she wanted, to be alone in her grief. Allison, Babs, and Misty had all offered to come stay with her but Elizabeth had refused. Alone now, she wandered through the house, turning on the lights, letting past memories fill her as the light did their home--Eric’s little-boy laughter and cries, the pitter-patter of his bare feet, the loud music of his teen years and worry-filled late nights. He’d been a happy boy yet she’d known he was different and Bidwell, his home town, was too small for him. So as a young man, he moved away to “The City” where his heart and talent could flourish, where he could keep his pride and self-respect intact. But when he finally returned home it was in defeat, stricken down in the end stages of Auto Immune Deficiency Syndrome. And Bidwell was still too small for him. There were no support groups for him or his mother, his old friends had made themselves scarce, and their neighbors were afraid of him. So Eric and his mother, Elizabeth, were isolated in their time of physical, emotional, and spiritual need.
But they had a choice and could score one more victory before going down. The disease was destroying Eric’s body but he would not let it destroy his mind and spirit. He chose his time of death when there was no more purpose or pleasure in life. Elizabeth supported his decision in philosophy as well as in deed. For them, this way was best.
