2. Mason
Mason
I keep the cartoon coloring book the nurse handed me on my lap, untouched.
I’m eleven, not five.
I just stare down at my shoes instead.
The doctor’s office feels too small for the amount of people in here, and it’s freezing.
I wish I had worn a jacket this morning.
We had to come straight here after I got out of school, so we didn’t have time to stop by the house to pick one up—or for Dad and me to stay at home, like I’m sure he would have preferred.
The paper on the table crinkles every time Mom moves, and I can tell she’s nervous, even when she won’t say it.
She smiles a lot less lately, and I hate it. She’s so weak and has had a hard time doing normal things, like cooking, cleaning, or playing like we normally do. I wish someone could fix it for her, but they still haven’t told her what’s wrong.
I hope they will today. I hope someone will tell us something so they can make it better.
Dad sits next to me in one of the chairs with his phone on his lap. It’s not on, but he’s staring at it so hard you’d think he was waiting for the most important call of his life to come through. He won’t look at her…or me.
When the doctor comes in, my mom perks up, ready to talk to him. My dad doesn’t even budge; he just keeps his head down, even as the doctor tries to shake his hand and introduce himself.
I don’t understand why he has to be so mean to people.
After he asks my mom a couple more questions to get to know what she’s been dealing with since the last time he saw her, he starts saying words that sound really big and medical, and I don’t know what any of them mean—“Neuromuscular.” “Motor neuron.” “Progressive.”
When he says ALS, my mom almost doubles over, crying. I instantly get up and go to her side, putting my hand on her back. She just pulls me into a hug, and I can feel the tears soaking through my shirt.
I turn my head to look at my dad, and he’s just sitting there, staring at us. I don’t know if he’s just as confused as I am, or if he just doesn’t care. Maybe both.
ALS? I’ve never heard of that before. It doesn’t…sound scary? Cancer is the big bad word, right? That’s the one that means you’re gonna die.
The doctor tries to explain more as my mom sits back up, and I don’t leave her side.
I keep holding one of her hands while her other hand grips the paper under her.
The doctor draws a simple picture as he explains everything—the brain, the spine, and the muscles—then shows how the signals get lost. He compares it to wires messing up, like the lights that go from her brain to her body are starting not to work anymore.
When he starts talking about how it will affect her breathing, swallowing, and all the normal things she should be able to do, I start to realize this might be serious…like the C-word serious. But it doesn’t fully hit me until I hear my dad finally speak.
“How long?” he asks without even raising his head.
The doctor hesitates before turning back to my mom, taking her hand, and apologizing before saying, “Everyone is different. Two to five years is most common, though. We’ll build you a care team. We’ll also talk about support and therapy and comfort.”
My mom goes quiet, like she ran out of questions…or like there are no questions she can ask to make any of this better.
I feel tears run down my cheeks and try to wipe them before my dad sees them and yells at me in front of the doctor.
My mom catches them, though. She always does.
She runs her fingers down my cheeks and then holds my face in her hands, turning me to look at her as she mouths the words I love you.
I just nod and try to pull myself together, like I always do… like I’m supposed to.
My mom is going to die?
She’s not even old yet. I don’t understand what any of this means. I’m so confused, and I don’t want any of it to be real. She was fine a couple of months ago. It doesn’t make any sense.
Without thinking, I run out of the room.
I can still hear the doctor talking to my mom as his voice gets quieter the farther away I get.
Then I hear my dad’s voice behind me.
“Son. Stop!”
I stop in the empty hallway, and he grabs my arm, jerking me around to face him. He bends down to get eye level with me. He looks annoyed…with me of course.
“I know this is hard, Mason, but—”
The sadness turns to anger as I look at my dad. “Do you?” I spit. “How would you know? You don’t even care!”
His face softens for a second before it’s serious again. “I do care…she’s your mom…but you have to get yourself together. You’re going to have to grow up now and be the man of the house a lot more since she’s sick and I’m not always around.”
My face drops. “You’re not gonna stay home? They said she’s dying!”
“I can’t. I have a company to run, Mason. That’s your future. I can’t lose it when we need it now more than ever.”
“We need you, Dad!” I plead, not being able to hold back from crying.
“Dry the tears, Mase. You’re going to have to step up around here. Can you do that for your mom?”
I’m angry at him, but I just nod.
There’s no other choice. If he doesn’t want to be around for Mom, I’ll be there twice as much. We don’t need him.
* * *
I stare out of the window in the back seat on the way home, watching everyone go about their lives like everything is so normal, while my life doesn’t feel normal anymore.
I had to go back into that doctor’s office and listen to them explain how my mom will soon basically become a vegetable over the next couple of years, losing all functions until she can’t move, eat, talk, walk, or eventually…
breathe. I couldn’t handle it. I still can’t understand why this is happening.
Why her? She’s never done anything bad in her life.
She’s perfect. She’s my mom. I don’t want to lose her. I don’t want to be left here with him.
Dad finally speaks after being quiet most of the drive.
“We’re not making this into some big tragedy, you hear me?”
My mom looks over to him, and I see the way her eyes are shiny, like she was just crying or she’s about to cry. “It’s already a tragedy,” she tells him, almost whispering. “I’m just trying to figure out how to live inside the nightmare now.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says flatly. “We’ll hire help. I have a couple of meetings in Dallas next week, so we’ll get someone set up by then.”
“I’m going to need you here,” she says, sounding confused. “With me. With Mason.”
He snorts. It’s mean, and it makes me mad that he’s being like this towards her. “Me being in the house won’t fix your body not working, Nichole. We need actual solutions.”
I watch the trees fly past, pressing my forehead to the window and pretending I’m not listening, because that’s how I survive with him—imagine none of this is real.
“I’m just asking you to be my husband,” she says. “I’m asking you to be his father.”
“I’m both already.” He changes lanes without signaling. “What I’m not is a babysitter. We’ll get you a nurse. Stop worrying about it.”
“I don’t need a nurse yet.” She looks down at her hands, at them shaking. “I need you.”
Silence again. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say I love you or we’ll figure it out or anything a person should say when the person they married and are supposed to love just found out they’re going to die in a couple of years.
We pull into the long stone driveway, and my dad pushes the button on his visor for the four-car garage to open. He pulls into the dark bay and unlocks the car without saying anything else to Mom.
“Get out and help your mom, Mase. I have to make a call.”
I walk around to the passenger-side door and hold my hand out for my mom to take.
She smiles up at me and puts her hand in mine. “My little gentleman. Keep that pure heart of yours, okay?”
I nod and pull her up out of the car.
We walk in together, and I don’t want to let her hand go.
I sit her down in her huge loveseat next to her bookshelves in the main living room so she’s comfortable.
When she squeezes my hand, I can feel the twitch in her palm.
I hate it because it reminds me that her body isn’t working right anymore.
Dad comes back in and sets his keys down on the kitchen island. They make a loud clink on the marble top, making us both look over at him.
“I’m going upstairs to my office for a while,” he says flatly. “Order something for dinner.”
I see my mom’s face scrunch up a little. “We just found out I’m dying, Scott. Can’t you just stay with us for a little?”
I don’t get why she begs for him to be around us sometimes.
“Don’t be dramatic.” He picks up his briefcase from the floor. “You’re not dying today.”
Sometimes I wish I was big enough to hit him.
My mom doesn’t say anything else to him as he walks past us. His strong cologne stings my nose, and I hate it. I hate everything about him right now.
I don’t understand how someone as nice as my mom married someone as mean as him. I don’t understand why she even stays with him. I wish she would leave and it just be her and me.
I don’t think I could ever really be mad at my mom. But sometimes…sometimes I hate that she stays here.
“Come here, baby,” she tells me when he leaves the room.
I crawl into her lap, even though I’m getting a little too big to still fit there. She wraps an arm around me and scoots me closer, kissing the top of my head.
“Ask me any of the questions you have, Mase,” she says quietly, with her head against mine. “I don’t want you to be scared of this.”
“What does it feel like? Right now. Inside you.”
She thinks about it for a moment.
“Like…like someone turned down the volume on my muscles,” she says.
“Will it hurt?” My voice cracks a little when I ask that, and it makes me feel weak because my dad would say I shouldn’t be so emotional as a boy.
“Sometimes,” she answers. “But they’ll have medicine for that. And I’m tougher than I look.”
“You don’t look tough,” I say, and she laughs.
“Will you die before my next birthday?” I don’t even mean to ask that one, but I can’t take it back now.