Mom and I played checkers on the couch, her slender body wrapped in a blanket, her head covered in a colorful fabric to match her lively personality, which was still bubbly and bright, just a little subdued from the fatigue.
I continued to let her win, and she never called me on it—even though she wasn’t stupid.
I made my move and tried to stay positive even though it was getting harder as my mother deteriorated. I had to remind myself that she was only weak because of the procedures, that it was natural, that there was no reason to give up hope. It just made everything more real. Before, she didn’t seem sick, so it was easier to pretend everything would be okay. But now, her illness was visible, right in my face every day, and I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid I would wake up the next morning and she would be gone.
When I didn’t make my move, she lifted her gaze and looked at me. “Honey?”
“Sorry.” I reached for the piece.
She grabbed my wrist and steadied it. “Not that. Look at me.”
I kept my eyes down.
“Honey.” Her fingers moved to my chin, and she lifted my gaze so I would look at her, see the smile on her face, the warmth in her eyes. “Talk to me. The world is on your shoulders. Let me help you.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
“You look… I can’t even explain it.” She placed her hand on mine, and she gently rubbed my knuckles. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She was comforting me when she was the one fighting for her life. It made me admire her more—and hate myself more. “I talked to Emerson. I can’t fix it.” There was so much regret bottled inside me, so much self-loathing, so much…despair. “I apologized. I told her that I’m a different man now. I tried everything, and she wants nothing to do with me.”
“I’m sorry, honey.”
I inhaled a deep breath and felt it fill my lungs with more sadness.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t reached out to me or come to visit. But I guess…it’s just too difficult right now. She told me it would be easier if we didn’t talk anymore because it was making it hard for her to move on.”
“She doesn’t know.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell her?”
I shook my head.
“Why?”
“Because I know her. If I tell her, she’ll bend over backward to be there for me. She’ll forgive me because of the situation. She might even take me back…because she’ll understand why I’ve changed.”
“And why is that a bad thing?” she whispered.
“Because it’s not what she really wants.” I respected Emerson too much to take the easy way out, even though I desperately needed her right now to get through this. I hoped she loved me enough to give me another chance on her own.
Mom was quiet for a long time as she continued to rub my hand. “Tragedy unites people. It reminds them that the bumps in life shouldn’t deter people who love each other from being together. It reminds them that forgiveness should be granted, that the mistakes don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”
“I made more than a mistake, Mom…” There was no excuse for my behavior. I deserved to pay the price.
“I know, honey. But if she knew why you’ve changed, it could make all the difference in the world. And you’ve proven to her that you are different, that you have gone through a transformation without even realizing it.”
I didn’t understand what she meant, so I stared at her.
“Whenever something bad happens, you pull away. But in this instance, when something really catastrophic has happened…you’re running to her. You’re embracing her. If that’s not enough proof, then I don’t know what is.”
I nodded in agreement because my entire foundation had changed. I wasn’t who I once was. My priorities were straight. My feelings had never been so clear.
“I think you should tell her, Derek. She cares about me a great deal, and I think she’d want to know, just for herself. She deserves the opportunity to say goodbye…if it comes to that—”
“Don’t say that.” I immediately choked up, my heart developing fast palpitations. “Don’t fucking say that.”
She squeezed my hand. “Honey, it won’t. But everyone deserves the right to react to information—while that information is still relevant.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She pulled away and let it go. “Okay, honey.”
Ryan sat across from me on the couch in the living room, his head bowed in sadness. “Fuck… I’m so sorry.”
I hadn’t told my friends about it. I kept it bottled up inside because I didn’t want to say the words aloud, because then it would be real. It would be true. This was my reality, and my mom was fighting the best fight she could, but I couldn’t help her with it. It wasn’t like when she had a problem with her computer or her car and I just fixed it for her. Or when she had to pick up something too heavy and I did it for her. It wasn’t like when she needed help with something complex, and my dad was there to do whatever she needed. We couldn’t help her with this. She was entirely on her own, and no amount of ice cream or board games would make a difference.