Chapter 14
Eleanor
I wished I could say things magically turned around once we got Mom near the water, but it wasn’t true.
Her health only declined more each day. For months, it felt like an uphill battle we were losing over and over.
After a while, we had to push her around in a wheelchair.
Some days, she couldn’t even get out of bed, and others, we had to rush her to the hospital because she couldn’t breathe.
After her last trip to the ER in late April, we all knew time was running out. We never talked about it, though, because talking made it more real than any of us were ready for it to be.
Ding ding.
I finally signed online late one evening in April. I’d been avoiding doing it for a while, because whenever I signed on, Greyson was there waiting for updates, and I hated that lately the updates were getting sadder and sadder.
That night, I needed him. I just needed to talk to him, and like the loyal boy he always was, when I signed on at ten at night, he was there.
GreyHoops87: Hey, Ellie! Just checking in on you. You haven’t been online a lot, so just a heads-up, you’re going to have a whole inbox’s worth of emails filled with my mindless random thoughts.
EGSage: Hey, sorry. Things have been a bit crazy.
GreyHoops87: It’s OK. I get it. Any updates?
EGSage: Just sad ones.
GreyHoops87: I’ll listen to the sad ones too.
I sighed, running my hand over my face.
EGSage: I’m going to put on a five-minute timer, and that’s all the time we’re putting toward the sad stuff, OK?
Otherwise, I’ll drown in it. So I’m going to word-vomit and get it all out all at once.
You don’t even have to reply. I just . .
. if I say the stuff to you, I’ll feel like it’s not just waiting to explode inside of me.
GreyHoops87: Five minutes on the clock. Annnd go!
EGSage: I think today’s the first day I realized my mom is actually dying.
Before there was an unrealistic belief that she was going to get better, a belief that there would be a day she didn’t need the wheelchair anymore, or that she’d stand up and be able to dance again, or paint.
But today we sat by the water, and I felt it.
I felt the ending closing in. I felt that our goodbyes are a lot closer than our good mornings.
I’ve never been so scared in all my life, and I have these terrible thoughts that make me feel like the worst daughter ever.
If she were gone, she wouldn’t have to struggle anymore.
If she died, she’d be free of the pain. What kind of monster does that make me?
How can those thoughts even cross my mind?
Anyway, I guess that’s where I am right now, and I completely understand if that makes you want to pull back a little from talking to me.
Because right now this is me: I’m sad. I’m hurting.
I’m so sad that sometimes I just want to stay in bed.
I’m so sad that sometimes I have dark, dark thoughts and I don’t really know how to control them, and that can be a lot.
I can be a lot. My sadness is a lot right now, and I don’t even know how to handle it, so I don’t expect you to know either.
I hit send and waited for a reply. And waited. And waited.
GreyHoops87: What else?
EGSage: What do you mean what else?
GreyHoops87: That was only two minutes of our five. You have three more minutes to spill out your heart on this open canvas. I’m not going anywhere, Ellie. I’m here.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I took a deep breath. I had been given permission to express myself wholeheartedly. What a freeing thing that was to have.
EGSage: I think that’s it. That’s everything I’m feeling.
GreyHoops87: Do you want my reply?
EGSage: No, not now. Not yet. I just needed to get it all out, I think. So if we could do anything but talk about sad stuff, that would make me feel better.
GreyHoops87: OK.
GreyHoops87: So what did the fish say when he swam into a wall?
EGSage: What?
GreyHoops87: Dam.
I smiled.
Thank you, Grey.
* * *
FROM: GreyHoops87@
TO: EGSage@
DATE: April 29, 10:54 PM
SUBJECT: I know you said
Ellie,
I know you said you didn’t need my reply, but being the stubborn guy that I am, I wanted to email you after our talk tonight.
I just wanted you to know that you’re not too sad for me.
If anything, you are the perfect amount of sad, because you are going through a really shitty thing.
Honestly, I would feel a bit scared if you were happy.
And you don’t have to push me away. You aren’t too much for me.
I want to be there for you, and I’m not going to stop just because you tell me to.
This is what being my friend means. It means me being too much sometimes, me checking in on you and wanting to know about the bad days.
It means when you’re drowning, I drown too.
It’s OK for you to lean on me, even if I’m a thousand miles away. Also, and I cannot make this clear enough: You not wanting your mom to suffer doesn’t mean you are evil in any way, shape, or form.
If anything, it makes you a good person because you don’t want your loved one to hurt anymore.
That’s not a monster—it’s a saint.
Don’t let those thoughts eat you up at night.
You’re a good person, Eleanor Gable.
And if you ever forget, just check for my emails.
I’ll be there to remind you.
Grey