Chapter 7
After my first day of training at the coffee shop, I walk the short distance back to my childhood home.
It is beautiful as ever, with tall multipaned windows and ivy-covered walls standing at attention.
But it feels different. Like there’s a thick atmosphere surrounding it.
An eerie sense of brevity that is about to pop.
And not in the mysterious or sexy way temporary could sometimes seem, like a summer fling or a nice car you’re only renting, but in the way that everything about life as I knew it was about to change.
The usually chirpy birds seem to hold their breath as I walk up the cobblestone driveway.
There’s a van I don’t recognize parked outside, and I think my body knows it before my mind catches up. When I walk into the house, my biggest fears are confirmed. Medical-looking bags are thrown next to the shoe rack by the door, evidence of nurses nearby.
I take the stairs two at a time to reach Lottie’s bedroom faster.
When I turn the corner, the sound of Lottie’s breaths rattling fills the room.
It was like loose change was clanking around a metal box in her chest. I’d never understood what “death-rattled breathing” meant until now.
And I found it cruel to find out. I already feared the countless nights I would be awake, the sounds of her death echoing endlessly in my mind.
I look at my mom’s distressed face as she kneels next to Lottie, her fingers gently stroking Lottie’s weathered hand.
She presses her lips into a thin line and looks across the bed toward the woman standing in the corner.
Lottie’s usual hospice care nurse is checking her vitals, but there is a woman wearing a pantsuit I have never seen before.
Without speaking, I know she is my personal Grim Reaper.
The person they send you when your loved one is reaching the end.
She notices my entrance and motions to speak, but the thought of her delivering words I could never unhear makes bile rise up my esophagus.
Tears cloud my vision, making her an indecipherable blob until I manage to mumble “I’m sorry,” before running from the bedroom, down the stairs, and heaving over the sink.
Nothing comes up, but the sobs rack their way through my chest and into my throat.
My breathing is so sporadic it forces me to cough.
I keep trying to suck down air, trying and failing.
I begin dry heaving, the force causing me to double over at the hips.
Still, nothing comes up. I wait in anticipation for my diaphragm to stop contracting.
It does, and when my vision clears, I notice the bowls in the sink I was hunched over.
It feels so cruel that life as I knew it was ending.
The woman who was another mother to me was dying, and I had dirty dishes in the sink.
Where was I expected to find the energy to care for the details of my life when the main one had been irreversibly altered?
Shouldn’t the world slow, the frivolous tasks of life disappear, while the tectonic plates of my life shifted?
Shouldn’t they assign me a pass for today? For the next seven hundred “todays”?
My “todays” would never look the same, but the dishes were still dirty.
After the woman in the purple pantsuit leaves, I drag my feet back into Lottie’s room. My mom looks at me like I’m fragile. And as much as I hate it, I’m starting to realize she’s not wrong.
“Come here, sweetie,” she says. “Please sit.”
Lottie’s uneven breathing sounds like snoring. Some of the pauses are longer than normal, so long I think it might be her last, until another abrupt croaking snore bubbles out and unnerves me further.
“She’s not in any pain,” my mom says. “They started the morphine drip this morning because…” She trails off, looking away.
I’ve never seen my mother cry, and I hold my breath, waiting to see if today would be my first. But then she looks back at me, eyes clear, and says, “It was time, sweetheart. She doesn’t feel a thing right now, but she might be in this state for a few days before fully passing.”
“Wait, so,” I start. “She won’t… wake up again? This is it?”
My mom simply presses her lips together, dipping her head in a gentle nod. The tiny movement rips my heart in two. My conversation with her last night was the last one I’ll ever have, I realize with startling force.
I feel horrible for crying again, but I can’t control the way my shoulders collapse inward. I fall into my mom’s arms, making a guttural sound I don’t recognize as my own, and clutch her to myself as tightly as possible without hurting her. I have never been more grateful that she is still here.
She pets my hair over and over again as she whispers, “It’s okay, sweetie.
Let it out. It’s okay.” She holds me until my breathing calms, and when it does, I poke my head up from her shoulder, wipe my tears, and build up the courage to look down at Lottie’s face.
Her mouth is pitched open at an unnatural angle, and a bowl of water with a sponge sits next to her for my mom to moisturize it every now and then.
Despite the chest-rattling and snoring sounds, she looks serene.
Peaceful. I didn’t make a conscious choice to move toward her.
I only realize I’m situating myself under the sheets with her as it’s happening.
My sock-clad feet brush against her calves as I slide down beside her, laying on my side and draping my arm across her chest. I cry into her shoulder, feeling selfish doing it.
She is dying, and here I am, sobbing all over her.
I take her hand and fit it into mine. Her stiff fingers move as I lead them, and they stay put in mine like we’re holding hands.
Just like we used to. The sight of them interlaced makes me sob harder into her shoulder.
“I love you, Lottie,” I whisper into her ear.
“I love you so, so much. You’ve always been a second mother to me.
I love your calm presence and your sweet smile.
How you laugh when I tell you about dumb book plots.
Everything about you made me feel so loved.
Makes me feel so, so loved,” I correct, voice breaking.
“Thank you for letting my mom and me live in your house all these years. For becoming a home yourself. You’ve always held us up.
But you don’t have to anymore.” My voice is garbled as I choke out the words.
“You can let go now, Lottie. You can rest now. Thank you for everything. Go. Be at peace. I will see you there soon.” I kiss her hand, and my tears flow down our intertwined fingers.
My vision is blurred by them, so I close my eyes, rest my head.
Laying my head beside hers is the last memory I will ever make with her.
I fall asleep, and when I wake up, it’s to an entirely different world.