Chapter Fifty – Dylan
Five days.
Five days stuck in my bedroom, looking at the same patch of the ceiling.
Time isn’t doing anything for me anymore; it’s a heavy weight.
I feel like the darkness is sucking me in.
With each breath, it feels like barbed wire wraps around my throat.
My eyes are swollen from crying until I have no tears; I shouldn’t have any left, and yet, my body produces more.
Sleep comes in waves, but waking up is worse than sleeping — for a fleeting moment, I forget, and then it hits me again.
My mom is gone.
So now, I have to hold on to her memory even tighter than I held onto her when she was here.
The pain is everywhere in my body, even in places I didn’t know were capable of holding pain. It’s so immense, I don’t know how I am even existing within it. How can the world expect me to keep on living when it feels as though my life has ended?
Torin has been in each day. He sits at the edge of the bed and hands me smoothies, making sure I drink one a day. Occasionally, I catch him looking at me when he thinks I am unaware, all worried, trying his best to bottle it up.
I can’t do anything.
I can’t think.
I can’t feel anything except this unbearable loss.
The world is still going on outside the bedroom door, but I am left here, empty in the silence, missing the one person who loved me without me ever having to earn it.
I never got a chance to say goodbye. I always knew this day would come, maybe in a few years, when I was ready, when it made sense, but not like this, not now.
I knew her dementia would only worsen, that one day, she’d look right through me and never return, not a single memory in her mind. I had already started grieving, preparing for the loss.
The thing is, I never thought it would be a stroke ripping her from me with no warning, no final opportunity, no final goodbye. It seems cruel, as if the world took her from me before I was finished with my I love yous.
My eyes feel so heavy to the point where I can’t ignore them, and I’m trying to fight this with all I have.
I don’t want to sleep: that means I will have to wake up to the pain.
But my body isn’t cooperating with me. It is like this grief is pulling me beneath the surface, and I let my eyes finally close.
“Mom?” I breathe.
She is there; she is actually there, sitting at the table in the house where I grew up, where she used to drink her morning cup of coffee.
The sun shines through the open window in front of her.
White, gold, and orange light floods the room, as if poured down from heaven.
And for one second, I wonder if this is what dying feels like.
When I get close, my thighs tremble, the floor feeling softer than it should. I realize Mom isn’t sick, tired, thin, or weak. She looks like she did when I was a teenager. Her blonde hair shines in the light, her cheeks full and rosy, her eyes bright.
She looks alive, glowing like an angel.
“Hello, Dylan,” she says with a soft, warm voice that is a familiar sound to me — the same voice she’d use when calling me in for dinner.
The chair catches me and my knees hit the table on the way down. My hands are shaking violently, so I clench them into fists. Tears begin streaming down my face before I even notice I’m crying.
“Mommy,” I mumble, my voice breaking.
She smiles sweetly at me, all nurturing and loving, and holds out her hand. It cradles my face like she never left. Like this isn’t some dream.
“Hey,” she whispers softly. “I’m here. Mommy’s here.”
I’m crying heavily now, and I lean on her like I’m twelve years old again. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”
“I know,” she says immediately, thumb brushing away a tear. “Oh, sweetheart. I know.”
“I failed you, Mommy.”
“No. You didn’t fail me. You loved me. I felt it every single day. It was best I went this way, before I truly forgot who you are.”
“I don’t know how to do this without you,” I whisper desperately. “I need you,”
She presses her chin to the top of my head and leans in close. “You’re so much stronger than you think. And you’re never alone, sweetheart.”
“I don’t think I am.” I squeeze my eyes shut, terrified she’ll disappear. “Did . . . did you feel pain?”
Finally, I force my eyes open, fearing what answer I’ll hear. She shakes her head slowly, as if soothing a frightened child. “No. I was asleep, and I didn’t feel a thing.”
Relief and grief collide with such force, it leaves me gasping for breath. A jagged sound wrenches from my chest. “I hate that I wasn’t there. You were alone.”
“I wasn’t alone, not for a second.”
“I should’ve been holding your hand. Been at your side.”
“You were, sweetheart, just not in the way you think.”
I swallow hard. “What if I forget you?”
“Oh, Dylan. I promise, you will never forget me. I’m in you. In your laugh. In the way you love too hard. In the way you protect the people you care about.”
The light around her starts to shift — brighter and warmer. My lungs feel two sizes too small. Each breath is turning frantic.
Out of nowhere, a small, beautiful robin lands on the windowsill. It cocks its head and tweets softly, as if it has a message just for my mom.
She looks toward it, and her entire face relaxes. There’s a smile of understanding.
“It’s time for me to go, sweetheart,” she whispers.
“Please,” I beg, “just stay a little longer. Please.”
She kisses my cheek like she’s memorizing me. “I wish I could. I’ll always be by your side. But you have to wake up now.”
A sob breaks free, jolting my entire frame. I call out, “I love you, Mommy.”
She smiles, tears finally slipping free. “I love you more than anything, son.”
I can feel her warmth on me, her familiar smell, the beat of her heart. I hold on to her as if I were ten years old again, as if she weren’t being taken away from me by the world.
“Remember, Dylan, every dark cloud has a sun shining behind it. You’ll get through this. I promise.”
The light around her brightens, the edges of her form blurring.
The robin tweets once more, and then she’s gone.
With a large gasp of breath, I wake. My pillow is soaked through with tears.
It was only a dream, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt as if she was right there, as if I could close my eyes again and find myself in that kitchen, in that light, in her embrace.
I wince in pain.
No. That’s her goodbye, and I got to say it. I told her I loved her, and she said it back.
The pain slams into me much harder, and the tears keep falling, burning as they make their way down my cheeks. I don’t bother to wipe them away. There’s no point? They just keep coming, dripping into the pillow like proof that she was really here, but now she’s gone.
Her voice echoes in my head, soft but unshakable.
Every dark cloud has a sun shining behind it.
A realization hits me, I am the dark cloud, and Fawn, well, she’s the sun — warm and bright. The only person I know who can penetrate this darkness in me.
My breaths quicken, becoming shallow and erratic, as I crack my knuckles sharply.
“I need Fawn,” I croak into the empty room. “I need my mom.”
Sorrow and longing twist together into a knot so tight that it is impossible to discern one from the other.
“Fuck,” I cry. “Fuck!”
Because loving them both is the most painful thing I’ve ever done, and losing them is killing me. Forcing breath into my lungs, I haul myself from the bed, pacing the room in the hopes it keeps me from falling to pieces. My eye keeps twitching, a constant reminder of something snapping in me.
I am not familiar with this kind of ache; it is beyond grief.
My body feels heavier and hotter, as if I have reached boiling point, becoming something animalistic and out of control. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
Quietly, I stand in front of the mirror. I don’t look at myself, I can’t.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper with a dark tone. “I can’t. I don’t wanna be here.”
Reflex takes over. My fist lurches forward of its own accord, lashing out. It shatters in a harsh explosion of sound, with pieces of glass darting across the room. A stinging sensation rushes through my hand, but I don’t fucking care.
Reaching for the clock on my nightstand, I throw it across the room.
It shatters on impact, pieces of plastic and metal scattering everywhere.
Each time I throw something, I emit harsh grunts.
My lamp is still plugged into the wall, cord taut.
I yank it from the outlet and slam it into the wall, then kick it across the floor.
Shards of broken glass poke at the soles of my feet. The stinging is quick and piercing, completely different from what’s occurring in my chest. Blood is dripping from the wounds onto the floor. I look down at it, detached. It’s not enough. Not even close.
I spin on my heels, my body moving faster than my mind. My fist meets the drywall.
Once.
Twice.
Again and again.
Blood splatters across the paint in messy lines. My knuckles are screaming, burning, and then, they just ache.
“Dylan!” Torin shouts behind me. “Stop!”
I don’t.
I press on, growing numb, like my hand’s not even mine anymore.
But then, quickly, Torin puts his arms around my shoulders in an attempt to pull me back. On instinct, I swing my elbow, trying to get away. I hear a grunt — too close, too human.
Then, everything shifts.
He spins me around and tackles me to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. Glass scrapes at my flesh.
My chest heaves. “Get off me, Torin,” I snarl, raw and shaking. “I don’t wanna fucking hurt you.”
He doesn’t move. His weight pins me down, solid and unyielding. “Is this what you want?” he snaps. “To hurt yourself?”
“Last warning! Get the fuck off me!” I roar.
I swing at him. He blocks it easily and takes my wrist in a grasp that’s tight but not aggressive. For the first time, I really look at him. His right eye is bloodshot, and his nose is dripping with blood, with a fierce expression.
And that’s when my fight finally falters.
What the fuck have I done?
Torin backs off, and we both rise to sit on the floor.
I’m shaking, cut up, and there’s blood smeared everywhere. Torin doesn’t look so great either — he’s got a black spot forming around his eye where my elbow made contact.
I never intended to hurt him. Seriously, I never did.
He’s my constant, my anchor, my best friend, and I swung at him as if he were the enemy. I collapse forward, and plan my forearms against my knees.
“Hurting yourself isn’t the answer,” Torin says quietly. He’s pulling pieces of glass out of his arm, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, like he’s used to pain. “I understand. You’re hurt, you’re in pain . . . you’re angry. I get it.”
That is all it takes.
The tears are hot and unstoppable, sliding down my face and dripping off my jawline. I make no effort to wipe them away.
“You’ve got to listen to me,” he says. “I know better than anyone what it’s like to lose someone you love, especially a parent.”
I don’t argue or snap back. He’s right — he’s lived this nightmare and somehow survived it.
“How’d you even survive that?” I finally say.
Torin’s face folds; he no longer pretends to be strong. “I almost didn’t,” he admits, his voice breaking just like mine. “I was one of the lucky ones, but it wasn’t my time to go, and it’s not yours.”
His tears are silent as he rests a hand against my back.
“You’ve got two choices, Dylan: you let this consume you, you let it push people away because that’s what you think you deserve, or you take each day at a time. It’s hard, so fucking hard. You won’t like it or understand it, but you will pull through.”
“I can’t do this alone,” I sniffle, my words childlike and helpless. “I need you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says right away. No hesitation. No doubts. “You can punch me, push me away as much as you want, but guess what? I’m here, no matter what. Okay?”
I nod once. That’s all I have, but it’s enough. I slump, dropping my head between my arms and knees, using it as a shield against the pain tearing through me.
“I need Fawn.” Saying her name is painful. “I need her, Torin. I can’t . . . I can’t do this without her. I love her. I love her. I love her.”
There’s a brittle silence between us — a harsh reminder of how shattered everything is.
Finally, Torin exhales slowly, as if he has made up his mind. He stands and dusts himself off.
“Get changed,” he says strongly.
I look at him through my tears, my eyebrows scrunching in confusion. He smears the blood from his nose on the back of his hand, his face tense, his eyes smoldering with fierce, unbreakable conviction.
“We both need her, and I know she needs us. We’re going to find her,” he says, deadly sure. “I don’t care how far she’s run or what it takes — she’s ours, and we’re getting our girl back.”