CHAPTER ELEVEN Mike
Chapter seven of the book Mom wanted me to read about parallel universes ended with a thought provoking idea:
Many people believe that when a person dies in one universe, they can still exist in another. In fact, others have daringly hypothesized that when one person dies in one dimension, a space can open for a departed to return to another in an exchange of universes.
I closed the book and set it beside me, watching as Mom fought sleep with labored breathing.
She’d mentioned that she didn’t want to waste a single living moment on sleep when she had so much to share with me, but the frailty of her body was catching up to her.
We’d recovered from our disagreement about her desire to expire on the anniversary of Cooper’s death; neither of us conceding our wishes.
I’d read the last paragraph of the chapter several times and wondered if Mom had been thinking about the specific passage as well.
I had to admit the book had some interesting concepts.
The proposed science stated that we had an infinite number of universes, with an infinite amount of possibilities.
The author counted the fact that there were billions of stars supporting billions of planets just inside our Milky Way galaxy.
With billions, even trillions of galaxies going on to infinity, he opined that there could be countless other beings with countless other parallels to our own.
In fact, we could surmise that just maybe, there were millions of parallels to our own lives currently living at the same time.
The book theorized that our lives in each universe were like a book.
We had the basic storyline but that chapters could be different in each universe as we made casual choices that altered our journeys during our day-to-day lives.
I thought about Mom’s theory concerning déjà vu.
I had experienced the phenomena before and I had to admit that it felt like I’d been there and seen that, even though there was no rationale for having actually done it before.
Was that a rip in the parallels? A brief recognition of our other selves?
Out of curiosity, I picked the book up and began to read another theory about parallel universes:
Religion has held sway over humans for thousands of years.
Is there a God? Does he/she/it really exist and do we pay a price for our misdeeds while on earth?
Do we make decisions based out of the fear of retribution?
Then there are those that suggest that perhaps there was a creator or creators that formed the world as we see it.
The difference being that this entity is running simulations on a grand scale and that we all could be in an endless loop of simulated possibilities, therefore, an infinite number of possible realities and or universes.
“What a crock of shit,” I muttered, placing the book in my lap and gazing at my mother. “What the hell are you up to?” I whispered. Her chest moved shallowly as she took short and weak breaths.
Marie had told me that Mom was in the final stages of life and that things would end soon.
I hoped the hospice nurse was armed with morphine in the event that Mom wanted to ease her suffering.
I doubted Mom would take the drug because she wanted to feel all of life, even the rough stuff.
However, even with her idea of experiencing everything she had zero problems taking a couple of edibles or microdosing mushrooms, but she didn’t count that as poisonous western medicine so it was acceptable.
Her eyes popped open and she turned toward me. “What day is it, honey?”
she whispered, smiling at me like all was good in her world despite her body betraying her spirit.
“Tuesday, Mom,” I responded.
“Did I ever tell you what the last words that Cooper spoke to me were?” she asked, motioning toward the cup for a drink.
I held the straw to her mouth as she took small sips. “No,” I answered. “Were they good words?” I asked, needing a bit of pleasant news for a change.
She told me how on that fateful Monday morning after Coop had slept over that he was in an exceptionally cheery mood and bounded into the kitchen to convince her to make him a big breakfast like she usually did on Sundays despite knowing it was Monday.
“Of course I could never say no to that boy,” she pointed out. “He even told me not to wake you because you had a hard day of work ahead of you. Cooper was always looking out for you,” she added, no doubt understanding his caring nature.
She continued the story by saying that she made his breakfast even though it wasn’t Sunday because his happiness that morning was contagious and she was curious as to why he was so excited. “I couldn’t stifle the boy’s glee. Certainly not the first thing in the morning,” she interjected.
I wondered if Cooper had revealed something to her that morning after the kiss we’d shared the night before.
“Did he tell you why he was so happy?” I asked, nervously setting her plastic cup of water on the side table and diverting my eyes.
“You know, Coop,” I added, filling the pause with a nervous observation.
“Always a ray of sunshine and happy to share his business.”
“All he said was that he felt a big dream of his was coming true.”
“He actually said that?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Did he say what this big dream of his was?”
“He did not. He licked his plate clean of crumbs and rinsed it off in the sink before giving me a hug.”
“That was it?” I asked. “Nothing else?” I pushed. “No clue regarding this goal or dream of his?”
Mom didn’t answer so I let it go. She tugged at her gown and stared out the window. “What is the date honey? Not the day but the actual date?” she asked without turning back toward me.
“The twenty-fifth, Mom.”
“Hmm,” she mused after taking note of the date. She turned back to me and tapped the side of her head. “I just remembered that he said something beautiful to me before he left,” she began, getting back to the story.
I perked up immediately.
“When he got to the backdoor, he hesitated for a moment before turning back and thanking me for the terrific Sunday breakfast. I reminded him that it was Monday.”
“Lemme guess,” I interrupted. “He told you that ‘every day is like Sunday’, right?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, he did. How’d you know that?”
I smiled at her and the memory of his favorite saying.
“And then he left,” she finished, giving me a suspicious look, her eyes narrowing before she smiled in a way that told me she’d been right about something. “So, you’ve heard that line before?” Mom asked.
“Yes, I have,” I admitted. “It was his way of saying everything was perfect in the world.”
“It’s a wonderful expression, don’t you think?” she asked. “So very much like Cooper to express his cheerfulness that way.”
“He adored you, Mom. Did you know that?”
“Of course, I knew that, son. He came into existence on the exact day that my own son did. Not a coincidence in my opinion,” she stated. “You two are star twins, but that story is for another day,” she added.
I reached for and held her hand. “His last words to me were written in a letter, Mom,” I whispered hoarsely, struggling with my emotions. “The last words he’d written were identical to the last words he spoke to you.”
“That explains why you were so angry that his funeral was on a Sunday, wasn’t it?” she inquired.
“Cooper loved Sundays, Mom, and holding his funeral that day ruined everything in my mind.”
“I never saw the connection until now, honey. Every one of your Sundays since came with an entirely different meaning, didn’t they?” she asked.
I looked away and fought the tears threatening my vision. “I hate them,” I confessed.
“This coming Sunday is the 30th,” she reminded me.
I returned my gaze to her and focused on her face, willing her to drop the absurd idea of hers. “Yes,” I whispered. “Ten years to the day.”
“I have to leave on that day, son.”
I quickly looked away, knowing anger flashed on my face.
I gathered my thoughts before turning back to her because I wanted to blow up at her about that fucking date she was so hung up on, but then I saw her face.
There was a serenity etched across her features that scared the fuck out of me. She was ready to leave.
I slowly shook my head from side to side. “Please don’t,” I pleaded.
“We’re doing it for you, Michael.”
“Who is this we you’re talking about?” I asked. “Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds, Mom?”
“Open your mind, honey. Do it for me, please?”
I walked across the room and stared out the bedroom window, wishing I was anywhere but there. The pain of my reality was too much to bear. My mother was going to die soon. I was going to be completely alone and no matter how much I wished the pain away, nothing was going to change.
Something caught the periphery of my vision and I focused on the sidewalk on our side of the street. The cat from Cooper’s old house was sitting there watching me from my position in the bedroom window, his black tail swishing across the concrete. Sweeping left. Sweeping right.