Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Emmet
I never sleep well in other places. When I wake up the house is silent, and I figure my parents are still asleep. A sense of dread washes over me as I think of the alternative—the worst alternative. I push the thought from my mind, crawl out of bed, and head to the kitchen.
The fridge is bare, with only the essentials, but I grab the eggs and butter and find a loaf of bread that’s past its date but isn’t moldy yet.
Dad said Mom isn’t eating anything by mouth.
She isn’t able to swallow well, and so they put in a G-tube and that’s how she receives her food.
But it’s Christmas morning, and if it’s going to be her last one, I think she’d appreciate a meal.
Or maybe this will all be torture since she won’t be able to eat it.
I don’t know, and I hate that I don’t know what to do to make this right.
I sigh, planting my hands on the counter and dropping my head forward. I hate seeing her suffer, and I know she’s suffering even if she’s pretending she isn’t. There are a ton of medications for her to take, but she won’t take any of them.
Some may say she’s given up, but I don’t think that’s it. I just think she wants to enjoy her last days here, in her right frame of mind. She doesn’t want to be drugged up and sleeping the entire time. I guess I can understand that, and I respect the hell out of it.
With a heavy breath, I decide I need coffee.
Coffee always makes things better, especially in the morning.
I make half a pot, figuring Dad will want some too.
As it brews, I get started on the eggs, scrambling them and making toast. It’s easy and simple, and one of my favorite meals.
Mom made it for us each morning before school.
A door opens and bare feet shuffle on the tiled floor.
“Hey. Good morning, Em,” Dad says, his voice husky.
“Morning, Dad.”
“What are you doing over there?”
“Making Christmas breakfast.”
He chuckles. “And coffee, it seems.” He grabs two mugs from the cabinet and pours coffee into them.
“Does Mom drink coffee still?” I ask.
“Oh, no,” he says with a little laugh. “She likes it in the tube. Says she can still taste it.”
I sigh, gritting my teeth. I turn off the burner on the stove and face my father who is adding sugar to the pink cup.
“How do you do it?” I ask, hating how raspy my voice is.
“Do what?” he says, as if he really has no idea.
“How are you so strong right now? How do you see her like this every day and not fall apart?”
He pauses, then turns to me, putting his hand on mine. “Because I love her, and when you love someone, you will do anything to see them happy.” He gives me the saddest smile I have ever fucking seen, then goes back to making her coffee like he didn’t just tear me the fuck apart.
They don’t have a Christmas tree, and had I known that sooner, I would have gotten one. But despite that, there is still a mountain of gifts as if I am five all over again.
Dad got Mom comfortable in her recliner. She’s leaned back, feet up, with pillows on either side to make sure she doesn’t fall over, and two thick blankets over her, up to her chin.
I never thought I would be looking at my mother like this. Never. Of all the good she did in this world, she did not deserve to go this way. To suffer from cancer that eats away at her body in an uncontrollable way.
I don’t want to sit here and say that anyone deserves this because it’s horrible, but if I did make that judgment, she would be someone who should be safe from the world’s cruelties.
All she did was put good into it, all she did was good.
For years, she took in troubled kids, kids who had families who didn’t want them, and she made them feel loved.
Even if they didn’t act that way, and even if they went on to do awful things—because some of them did—she tried her hardest to love them, especially when they felt unlovable.
“Open your gifts, Em. Come on,” Dad says as he sits beside me on the sofa.
“You guys did not have to do all this,” I say. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Still… my… baby.”
Mom smiles, and I smile back as I head over to the pile and grab one on top. There are at least twenty boxes here. I can’t imagine what all this stuff is, because I don’t need anything.
I open my gifts slowly, making sure to thank them for each and every one. I get clothes, shoes, headphones, a heat pad for my car seat, and the best thing yet—an umbrella.
“If this isn’t the most perfect thing,” I say, holding it up.
“That one was your mother’s idea,” Dad says with a grin.
“It rains there more than I thought.” I get up to give Dad a hug, then I do the same with Mom, kissing her cheek. “Love you, Mom. Thank you for this. Best Christmas ever.”
“Even better… when you were… twelve?”
I think back. “Is that the year you got me that skateboard?” She smiles. “Well, I don’t know if it was better than that.” She lets out a little laugh.
Dad puts on the TV and finds a Christmas movie to watch—Elf. He offers to help me clean, but I tell him absolutely not. I’ll have to get another suitcase to bring all this stuff back with me, but that’s not a problem. I can do it tomorrow before I head to the airport.
After I clean up the boxes and wrapping paper, I clean up the kitchen. Mom took only two bites of egg, but that’s good enough for me. She enjoyed her coffee, and seeing her like that was great. It’ll be a nice memory of her, and I’m so glad I came.
When I’m finished cleaning, I go back to the couch and watch the movie with my parents.
“Now… mine,” Mom rasps out, sounding more tired than ever.
“You sure you don’t want to take a nap?” Dad asks.
She shakes her head, but just barely.
Dad searches through the movies and finds “hers.”
National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
She always loved this movie, and would watch it throughout the year, not just at Christmas. It always made her laugh, no matter what she was dealing with or how difficult us kids were being.
When the beginning starts up, her eyes are closed but there’s a smile on her face. Now and then, I look at her, and sometimes her eyes are open, but mostly they’re shut. But the smile stays.
Dad laughs a lot throughout the movie. I try to laugh at certain things, because this movie is funny, but that dread is back and I can’t force it away. I do my best to ignore it and focus on the movie.
This is why Mom didn’t want me here in the first place.
She didn’t want me to get upset over seeing her like this.
I can’t show her that I’m too weak to stay strong in front of her.
I can’t let her worry about me now. I don’t want her last memories of me to be sad ones.
I want her to know she raised a strong son.
The more I focus on the movie, the easier it is to get into it, especially when I continue to hear my father’s laughter. I think of his words from earlier, and try to use those to stay strong.
I love my mother, and I would do anything to see her happy.
Right now, that means being strong and not letting her see how upset I am over seeing her like this.
I push the thoughts from my mind and allow myself to enjoy the movie.
Dad and I laugh, bumping into one another because the couch is so small.
The movie is just about over, and I’m wondering what we can watch next.
Clark Griswold just got his check delivered to his door when everything goes wrong.
I glance at Mom, as I have done this whole time. She’s still. More so than she has been all morning. I hold my breath as I wait for her to take one. I stare at her chest, waiting for it to rise.
It doesn’t.
I stare at her neck, looking for muscles to move as she pulls in air.
Nothing.
“Mom?” I say softly, not wanting to startle her. She doesn’t respond. Not even a twitch. “Mom?” I say again, this time louder and getting my father’s attention.
“Emily?” Dad says, getting to his feet and rushing over to her. I do the same, putting my hand on her shoulder.
She doesn’t respond.
She doesn’t fucking respond.
“Emily!” my father repeats, the panic in his voice loud and clear.
“Mom, wake up!” I shout, throwing the blankets off her. “Dad, she isn’t breathing. What do we do?”
“Emily, come on, honey,” Dad says, giving her a shake.
Her head falls to the side, lips parting.
Then he freezes.
Takes a step back.
His hand is on his chest, eyes wide.
“Do something!” I shout at him, the tears blurring my vision. “What are you doing?”
He shakes his head slowly, eyes stuck to her.
“I can’t.”
“You can! CPR, something. Help her!”
“It’s not what she wanted,” he says softly.
“Fuck what she wanted!”
He blinks, then looks at me, a sad smile on his face. “It’s not what she wanted, son.”
The sobs come then, as I fall to my knees, seeking out her hand and linking our fingers together. One last time.