Chapter 35 Honor
Honor
My world has shrunk to one room in one building.
Ally’s, too. As we sit by Mum’s bed, we marvel aloud at the fact that the event we’ve dreaded all our lives, and in particular since we got the diagnosis, is nearly upon us.
And yet, instead of being in a blind panic, we’re prepared. Resigned, almost.
It’s the strangest twilight zone, this limbo between a loved one’s life and death.
I’ve known Mum since before I was conscious, when my only awareness was of her heartbeat and the cradle of her body, and yet, sometime in the next few hours (or days, but Elena and Noah think hours), she will slip away and cease to exist on this plane.
I’ve read my fair share of Eckhardt Tolle, but it’s still a head fuck of epic proportions.
And yet, the knowledge of what’s hanging over us is allowing us this brief period of incredible peace, as though life is suspended and everything is possible.
I feel it, and Ally feels it, and I really believe Mum feels it, because everything about her breathing and her countenance is serene.
I should be holding onto this moment harder; I thought I would be clawing at it, desperate to get Mum to hold on through sheer force of will.
But instead, the calm inevitability that surrounds our little trio like a cloak has bewitched me, and I find myself content to simply live it.
Maybe it’s because Mum’s death is so certain, and so imminent, but I’m hyper-present in a way I usually fail spectacularly to be.
Right here, right now, in this moment, there is a pulse flowing through Mum’s veins, though it’s so faint that we can no longer feel it at her wrists as we hold her hands, and there is air flowing through her lungs, and for once in my crazy, striving life, that’s enough to be grateful for.
We both stayed here last night. No sofa-time this time; we’ve been in these chairs all night.
Keeping a vigil. And, more importantly, keeping Mum company.
Whatever Noah may have said about people sometimes finding it easier to die alone, I’m not taking the chance of letting her feel abandoned in her final minutes.
The curtains are open. We kept them open all night—it felt less isolating, being able to see the glow of streetlights out there and know that for most people, life is going on as normal.
The remnants of a beautiful late October dawn still streak the sky.
I stare out at it and shiver as full-body goose bumps hit me.
‘You okay?’ Ally asks. She looks like I feel; her face is white and exhausted and drawn.
‘Yeah.’ I wiggle my shoulders to shake off the sensation that just hit me.
They’re stiff as hell from a night in a chair preceded by a night on a sofa.
‘I just had déjà vu—or something. That sky reminds me of when Serena was born. We waited all night for me to dilate enough, and by the time I was ready to push, the sky was exactly like that, and the air felt so similar to how it feels now. Like it was full of… I don’t know, electricity and expectation.
‘It was the most magical feeling then, waiting for this new soul to come into the world. I don’t know why I feel the exact same way now. Probably sleep deprivation.’
‘Oh, babe. I suppose birth and death are not dissimilar; they’re both a total fucking mystery.’ Ally looks down at Mum and her forehead pinches. ‘Do you think she’s still here?’
An instant swell of panic replaces my equilibrium.
‘I don’t know.’ I look at Mum. It’s so hard to tell—I can’t see her chest rising, but her breaths have been so faint all night.
I stand, and crouch over her, and hover the side of my face to just above her mouth, but I can’t pick up any breath.
I feel like a helpless kid, and a glance at Ally tells me she feels the same.
I need a grown up—someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. I hit the call button, and a moment later, Karen, one of the lovely nurses, appears.
‘I think she might be gone.’ I’m whispering, because if Mum’s still alive, I don’t want to freak her out. I stroke Mum’s hand as if she’s the child and I’m the responsible adult and I’m trying to reassure her that everything’s okay.
Karen’s face goes solemn, and she comes over and puts a couple of fingers to Mum’s neck.
‘I can’t feel a pulse.’ She puts her hand gently on my shoulder. ‘I’ll just page Noah.’
Ally and I stare at each other across the bed until Noah shows up, a stethoscope already in his ears, and I have a fleeting and completely inappropriate flashback to our role-plays before the part of my brain responsible for basic human decency pulls me to the present moment.
He feels her neck with his fingers and uses the stethoscope to listen to her heart, before pulling out the earpieces and bowing his head.
‘I’m afraid your mother’s gone. Honor, Ally, I’m so very sorry for your loss.’ He checks his watch and turns to Karen and tells her in the same low, reverent voice, ‘Time of death, oh-eight-fourteen.’
And just like that, the mysterious veil between life and death drops, and my dam bursts, and all the equilibrium and quiet resignation I’ve been feeling this past night is submerged in a tidal wave of grief.
Mum is gone prematurely—both our parents are gone prematurely—and the world will never be quite the same again.
I cry as Ally rounds the bed to hug me and weep onto my shoulder before slipping out to call Ted, and I cry as Noah takes me in his arms and holds me, and I wonder if he’ll let me cry on him for as long as I need.
Because I know Ted will be on his way as soon as he gets the kids off to school, and my desire to have Jackson wade in here and comfort me is non-existent.
Mum and I had a chat yesterday, during a brief period of wakefulness for her before Ally turned up to join me on the night shift, and that it was the last proper conversation we ever had imbues it with even more solemnity in my mind, when I replay the scene now.
‘I saw you and Noah last night.’ All she’s capable of is a croaky, laboured whisper, but I can hear her well enough.
‘Did you?’ I stroke her hair away from her face.
‘I woke when they changed my catheter. I saw you asleep with him. What are you doing, darling?’
My instant reaction is defence. ‘We were just sleeping—he was keeping me company. It wasn’t anything more.’
She tuts. ‘I don’t mean that.’ She’s quiet for a moment, catching her breath. ‘Don’t tell me you two don’t belong together. When are you going to take a deep look inside and go after what you really want, rather than what you think you should want?’
Her unexpected insight and the generosity of her advice hit me right in the chest, and the mere suggestion that I should allow myself to entertain the idea of being with Noah brings tears to my eyes.
Because the only way I know how to survive is to pick a prize and keep my eye on it and not allow myself any distractions.
And I’ve chosen my prize; I did that a long time ago.
And I can’t veer off course now. I’m not allowed.
‘I don’t think I know what I want anymore. Or—I’m worried that if I let myself change my mind, it will say things about me.’
‘Say what about you?’
‘That I’m fickle. Or I don’t put the work in. Or that I’m a bad parent. I can’t just go after what I might want—I have to think about the family.’
‘Darling. I may not agree with the lifestyle you and Jackson lead, but Rollo and Serena are two of the most well-adjusted, delightful children I’ve ever met, so kudos to you.
And you’re allowed to change your mind about what you want.
You don’t need to ask anyone else’s permission.
It’s your life. If you were lying here in thirty years’ time, dying, who would you want holding your hand? Jackson or Noah?’
Oh my God. Oh my God. Fucking hell. It’s Noah. When Mum puts it like that, there’s no question. Jackson isn’t even in the picture. I can’t answer, but I’m pretty sure my face tells Mum my choice.
‘Well, then.’ She nods. ‘Whew. Give me a moment. I’m so tired. But I need to say this, darling.’
We sit together in silence for a few moments, and I’m on tenterhooks as I wait for her to impart this nugget of advice, pleading for her to find the strength.
‘You always pushed yourself. And we encouraged it, supported it, cheered you on. You’ve always been so single-minded. I don’t know where you get the energy. And you’ve done so well, but you’ve paid such a high price.
‘And you are allowed to walk away. You’re allowed to grow as a person, and find new things that bring delight and meaning and purpose to your life, and you’re allowed to choose happiness over success.
Remember the sunk cost fallacy, darling.
Digging your heels in just because you’ve already invested so much in this path is plain stupid.
And you, my darling, are anything but stupid. ’
She sinks back into her pillows, but she squeezes my hand with more force than I thought she was capable of, and I squeeze back.
She’s right, of course. I’ve used the sunk cost fallacy a million times in business.
We use it to evaluate when to shut down underperforming products and when to double down and put more investment behind them.
But I never thought about using it in my life.
‘It makes total sense when you say it like that. But I can’t help but thinking I’m being selfish. Or flaky. Or weak, by walking out on my husband and our brand just because I’m in love.’
Mum sighs, and I’m sure it’s exasperating for her to have to dig deep for energy in her final hours on earth because her daughter is being obtuse.
‘It’s not weak to acknowledge that you want something different and to go after it.
It’s strong. You’d be weak if you knew it and were too afraid to act on it.
And this isn’t just about men, darling. It’s about what they represent.
Jackson represents power and money and success, and you already have that on your own. And he’ll always be the kids’ father.
‘Noah represents deep love and fidelity. He’s an extremely compassionate person.
Look at what he’s devoted his life to. God knows where I’d be right now if you hadn’t met him—probably dying under strip-lighting in some ghastly hospital.
It seems to me that what Noah represents is exactly what you need at this very juncture of your life. You might even say it’s fate.’
Noah as a way of life. The mere idea of it makes me feel warm and fuzzy and loved.
Mum’s right. Again. Everything about Noah is good and true.
He’s a person who cares deeply about his fellow humans, and has done amazing work to make other people’s dying moments profound and beautiful.
It’s not just about the attraction of him.
It’s about what I’d be like if I were with someone like that. What my life would be like.
‘I’ll make a deal with you.’ Mum’s voice is fading; she’ll drop into sleep in moments. ‘When I cross, if I see that you’re with Noah, I’ll send you a sign to tell you I approve.’
‘Mum!’ How ridiculous. I roll my eyes.
‘Humour me. I’m dying. You have to.’
‘Are you scared?’
‘God, no. I’m going to be with your father again. How on earth could I be scared of that? It’s about bloody time.’
That sends me over the edge. The idea that Mum and Dad could soon be together again on some parallel and unseeable plane of consciousness. I bow my head and shake with emotion. ‘Tell him I love him, will you? Tell him I miss him so much.’
‘My darling girl. He knows that. But I will. Now.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘Pick a sign.’
‘I don’t know… a unicorn?’
‘Too easy. They’re everywhere.’
‘All right, then. A… turquoise unicorn with… purple stripes. And an orange horn.’
‘Good grief.’ Mum’s practically dead, but her aesthetic sense is still easily offended. ‘Sounds ghastly. But if you do it, I’ll send it. And you’ll know how happy I am for you.’