Forty-seven
Lily
“Morning, everyone,” I call out cheerfully, stepping into the living room.
Ethan and the kids are hanging out in the living room.
“I feel really good today,” I add.
It’s so weird. For days, I was dragging, feeling miserable, waiting for the day that would be my last. But this morning, it was as if a switch flipped. I woke up feeling like a brand-new person with energy and a clear mind.
Ethan glances up from the game, his eyes scanning me. “Yeah?” he asks.
I nod.
“So, what do you wanna do, Mom?” Jake pipes up.
“Hmm,” I muse, hands on my hips. “I’m thinking... cupcakes and potpies.”
It’s my favorite combination, and I suddenly have the energy to tackle both.
“We can help,” Ethan volunteers, pushing himself up from the couch.
“Me too!” “And me!” the kids all chime in at once.
This is going to be one of those perfect, best-memory-ever days.
“Looks like we have everything we need,” I say, scanning the colorful array of ingredients sprawled across the island.
While Ethan and the boys went to the store to grab a few essentials for the potpie, Maddy stayed behind to help me bake the cupcakes.
Maddy peers around me, her eyes round as saucers. “This is an aggressive amount of sugar, Mom.”
I chuckle. “Well, we are going to make homemade chocolate cupcakes and frosting.”
“You know what we need?” she asks, already backing away toward the radio.
She flicks it on, and “Walking on Sunshine” blares through the speakers. Maddy starts to dance a loose, goofy sway that makes her look like an inflatable tube man.
I laugh, reaching out to hand her the metallic silver and purple liners.
Together, we plop the liners into the pan, bopping along to the beat. Once the pans are ready, I set them aside and preheat the oven.
“Come on, Mom!” Maddy grabs my hands just as the chorus hits.
We sway back and forth, laughing as we bounce. I lift our joined hands overhead, and Maddy gives a clumsy, laughing twirl beneath my arm.
Still laughing, we shuffle back to the island. We combine the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt. We use the wooden spoon as a makeshift microphone, belting out the chorus with zero care in the world.
Maddy switches on the mixer, and the whirring blends with the music until the batter becomes a thick, glossy chocolate. We whisk the wet ingredients in a separate bowl, and I pour the mixture in.
As I start to add the hot water, Maddy tilts her head. “Why not use cold water?”
“I mean, you can use cold water, but I would rather use hot water because it allows the cocoa to bring out a rich fudgy flavor,” I explain.
She gives me a look of admiration. “I hope I can be awesome and strong as you one day.”
“That is so sweet of you, honey,” I say, reaching out to brush a stray hair from her forehead. “But can you do me a favor?”
She nods, waiting.
“Can you focus on being you?” I counter with a smile.
Her eyes crinkle in adorable confusion. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, while I’m flattered that you want to be like me, I want you to discover your own individuality. There isn’t one single thing I would want to change about you.” I tap her nose with my finger, leaving behind a dust of flour. “You are special exactly how you are,” I add.
“Thanks, Mom.”
Once we add hot water to the batter, Maddy and I pour it into the liners, filling them halfway.
“Now on to your favorite task,” I say as I slide the cupcake pans into the preheated oven.
“Everyone knows frosting is the best part, Mom,” Maddy sings, the playfulness returning, though it’s quieter now.
Frosting is Maddy’s favorite task during our baking adventures. She likes to lick the frosting bowl afterward, usually leaving me with nothing but a few streaks of buttercream.
“Yes, I agree.”
Maddy and I slide the cupcake pans into the preheated oven. I shut the door and set the timer.
“I’ve missed this,” Maddy says as we add the last ingredients for the frosting.
“Missed what?” I ask, glancing over at her.
“Me. You. Baking together.”
“Me too. I’m so happy we get to do it again,” I say cheerfully.
“You mean for the last time,” Maddy mutters.
I shut the mixer off and turn to my daughter. “Oh, honey.” She comes into my arms willingly, burying her face into my chest.
“I hate this.” Her words are muffled against my apron.
“I hate this, too, Maddy. I know it probably won’t make you feel better, but I want to enjoy this time I have left with you. I don’t want you to think about what happens after.”
I pull her face gently away from my shoulder, wiping her tears with my thumb. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes red-rimmed. “Do you remember the jar of sand we made together when you were six years old?” I ask her.
“Yeah. What about it?” She sniffles again.
“Remember when you lost Bowie?” I say, referring to her pet hamster. “You were devastated. I didn’t know how to make you feel better. I offered to buy you a new one, but you said—”
“No one can replace Bowie,” she finishes, a faint, watery smile touching her lips.
“Exactly. That’s why we filled a small jar with sand and added a small pebble for every memory you had with him. And then you added a ‘See you later’ note because you said it wasn’t a goodbye. Do you remember what I said afterward?”
She nods. “You said it was a keepsake for his memories and that he would always be with me.”
“And I want you to savor this moment now. Store it in your heart, like the memories you put in that jar of sand and keep it close forever.”
“I don’t want to not see you every day, Mom,” she blubbers, a hiccup escaping.
I take a deep, shaky breath, fighting back my own tears.
As hard as it is, I need to be strong for my little girl.
“I know you don’t. But I will always be with you.
Even when I’m gone. I will be here”—I place my hand over her heart—“and here.” I tap her forehead.
“Always and forever. Including when you have your first boyfriend, your first kiss, and your first breakup.”
She laughs through her tears.
“And your graduation, your wedding, and when you become a mother yourself,” I continue, holding back a broken sob. “I may not be here physically, but I will be with you in heart, spirit, and mind. That’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
She nods with a half-smile. “Like an angel watching over me,” she whispers.
“Yes. Like an angel.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, the quiet in the kitchen broken by the soft ticking of the oven timer, until she says, “Always.”
“Always.”
“We’re back!” Ethan booms, a couple of grocery bags rustling in his hands as he steps into the kitchen with Jake and Ollie behind him.
“We got everything on your list,” Jake announces, hefting a couple more bags onto the counter.
“Look, Mama! We got you flowers!” Ollie bursts in, holding up a bouquet of white roses.
“They’re beautiful,” I coo, taking them from him and pulling him into a big hug. I close my eyes for a second, wanting to hold onto this moment.
“Daddy says pretty flowers for a pretty angel. That’s you, Mama,” he mumbles into my shoulder.
My heart can hardly contain the flood of love and emotion.
“I’ll put them in water, Mom,” Maddy says, reaching for the bouquet.
“Thank you, sweetie,” I say, running my hand down her hair as she takes them.
Ethan strides over, his hands finding my waist, and he draws me against him. “Hello, my wife. You okay?” His voice is a deep, comforting rumble that makes me feel instantly at ease.
I nod. “Hello, my husband. And yes, everything is fine.” My gaze drifts back to Maddy, who’s arranging the flowers in a vase.
Ethan tilts my chin to meet his eyes. “How about we lend a hand with dinner? You can boss us around if you’re up for it.” He flashes that sexy smirk of his, making it hard to resist smiling in return.
“Yeah, Mom. How hard can it be?” Jake chimes in with a shrug.
“Okay, this sucks,” Jake groans, wrestling with the sticky dough, trying to coax it into the glass pie pan.
“Jake, you’re doing it wrong,” Maddy states matter-of-factly, leaning over his shoulder.
“I’m doing exactly what he’s telling me to do!” Jake protests, jabbing a doughy finger toward the tablet where the YouTuber is demonstrating.
“Here, let me,” Maddy says, reaching for the pan, but Jake pulls it away, blocking her.
“What are you doing?” She laughs, trying to get around his elbow. “Stop poking him.”
“Him?” Jake glances at her, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “It’s a freaking glob of dough.”
She rolls her eyes so hard they almost disappear. “It. Whatever,” she sighs. “You have to be gentle with it. You’re overworking it. It’s going to be rubbery. You have to be delicate so the crust can come out flaky and, you know, edible.”
“Oh, so you’re an expert now, huh?” Jake teases, a smirk playing on his lips.
Maddy crosses her arms, not bothering to dignify that with a response, but her expression says plenty.
“This is too funny.” Ethan chuckles from behind the island, dicing the chicken into neat bits while I chop carrots.
“I know. It’s so cute,” I say.
Ollie props his chin on his hands, elbows on the table, silently watching the show. Maybe I should make him some popcorn.
“Ugh! Why does it keep sticking to my hands?” Jake whines, shaking his dough-covered fingers as if they’re possessed.
“Because you have to use flour! I told you that! But you don’t listen!” Maddy snaps. She stomps over to the small bowl of flour, grabs a pinch, and dusts his hands.
“Well, look at that!” Jake exclaims, looking from his now less sticky hands to Maddy, a broad grin spreading across his face. “It actually works!”
She shakes her head, sets the bowl down, and turns to me. “Mom,” she whines, stomping her foot lightly, “are you seriously going to let him ruin the crust? You know that’s the best part!”
I grin, watching my children banter back and forth, soaking in the sound of their laughter. My heart aches knowing that moments like these are limited, but I’m thankful this one will stay with them long after I’m gone.
Something is wrong.
“Lily? What’s the matter?” Ethan asks.
“It… it hurts to swallow,” I rasp, a wave of nausea washing over me. My chest feels like it’s on fire, a searing pain that seems to radiate from my throat, burning me from the inside out. Each breath feels shallow and constricted.
“Hurts to swallow?” he repeats, his eyes wide with alarm. He kneels before me and places his hand on my forehead. “Sunshine? You’re scaring me.”
“I… I suddenly don’t feel so good,” I mumble, my jaw clenching as a spasm of coughing forces its way out.
The surge of energy I’d felt earlier is gone. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.
The last thing I remember is Ethan’s panicked shouts as his face swims in and out of focus before the world tilts and everything goes dark.
Ethan
“It’s a known phenomenon, often called terminal lucidity. It’s when a patient experiences a sudden, brief period of increased energy, appetite, and mental clarity before her last days,” the nurse explains.
My stomach drops to my feet. In other words, before she dies.
Just hours ago, it felt like we’d finally caught a break. Lily was laughing, actually eating her dinner, soaking up time with the kids, and enjoying life. And then, it all came crashing down. Every bite she took was rejected by her tiny, weakened body.
The nurse came soon after, and her earlier words about what to expect replay in my mind like a horror film.
Talking and physical activity will decrease significantly.
Interest in eating and drinking decreases or stops altogether.
Skin may become purplish, pale, gray, or blotchy.
Pain will increase.
Breathing may become irregular.
I rub my hand over my head aggressively. “This can’t be happening,” I mutter, pacing the living room. The kids are sitting outside our bedroom door, afraid their mother is going to go at any minute, and they’ll miss her final moments.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” the nurse says. “I understand how difficult—”
“No, you don’t!” I snap, halting in place. “My kids are afraid that if they close their eyes, they’ll open them to find their mother gone. I…I…I can’t…”
“If you would like,” she offers, “I can arrange for an aide to come by and assist with bathing, feeding, and anything else that Lily may need. It would ease some of the burden you’re carrying.”
“No,” I say. “I will take care of her.” My eyes are blurring with tears. “She is mi—mine to take care of. Until her la—last breath,” I croak.
She nods slowly, her smile sympathetic. “I will do everything I can to keep her comfortable for as long as possible.” She places a hand on my arm, a silent acknowledgment of my pain.
“Gather the rest of your family, Ethan,” she urges, “and spend these last days with her. Tell her how much you love her and help make it easier for her when she is ready to let go.”
I am losing the love of my life.
My wife.
My Sunshine.