A Mother's Goodbye

‘But he’s known love, Grace,’ I offer hesitantly. ‘Such wonderful and generous love, from you. He won’t forget that. It will mark him forever, in a good way, to have known that.’

She looks at me, her eyes bright. ‘Thank you.’

‘I mean it, you know.’ I feel the need to convince her.

‘I know you do.’ She nods toward the back door that leads to the yard and the beach beyond. ‘You should go out there. Check on him. Play with him.’

It feels as if she is bestowing some sort of blessing, and yet right now I am strangely reluctant to accept. ‘What about you? You could come out, as well…’

Grace shakes her head. ‘I think I’ll take a nap.’

‘Then let me help you to bed.’

She nods, and I put my hand under her elbow, feeling how sharp and bony it is, as I guide her toward the bedroom, and then turn back the covers. She slips between them, looking pale and slight against the worn sheets. She’s lost even more weight than I’ve realized, since I last saw her. I can see the shape of her skull beneath her skin.

‘Go to him,’ she says softly, and she closes her eyes.

Outside a breeze is blowing up and the sun is starting its glorious descent to the ocean. Everything shimmers. Isaac is kneeling on the beach, intent on building what looks like an entire city of upended-bucket sandcastles, connected by canals he’s dug out and attempted to fill with water, although it keeps seeping back into the sand.

‘Wow.’ I sit down beside him, stretching my legs out, my hands braced behind me, as I study his creation. ‘This looks pretty amazing.’

He gives me one quick, searching glance before looking down, focused on his work, his little hands scooping and patting the sand. ‘Where’s my mom?’

‘Sleeping.’

‘She sleeps a lot.’

‘Yes.’ I know Grace hasn’t told Isaac she’s dying. I know she is going to have to tell him soon.

Neither of us speak. Isaac continues his work, his expression so intent as he methodically builds his canals and castles. I simply sit and enjoy the sun, the breeze, the beauty of the pristine stretch of beach, the sparkling ocean. It’s a far cry from Atlantic City, with its dirty sand and seamy, overbuilt boardwalk, casinos and strip clubs next to arcades and stalls that sell cotton candy and funnel cake. And sitting there in the sunshine, I enjoy my son.

After a while Isaac looks up. His gaze is startlingly direct. ‘Will you help me fill the canal?’

‘Of course, Isaac.’ Even though I know we will never be able to fill it with water. That doesn’t matter.

A fun but fruitless hour later, after running back and forth between the water and the beach, the dug-out canals have absorbed all the water, and Isaac’s cheeks are reddened by both wind and sun as we walk inside.

The cottage feels dark and quiet after the wide brightness of the beach. Isaac investigates a stash of Archie comics that look like they’re from the 1970s while I check on Grace, who is still sleeping, and then on dinner.

Grace wakes and comes out of the bedroom as I am putting the lasagna on the tiny table in the kitchen that can realistically only seat two.

‘I’ll eat on the sofa,’ she says as she stretches out. ‘More comfortable.’ I doubt she’ll eat anything, but I make up a plate and bring it to her. She smiles her thanks.

‘We’ll have to have a bonfire one night,’ she says as Isaac and I sit down at the table. She picks up her fork but just toys with her food. ‘And roast marshmallows. Remember how we did that last year, Isaac?’ He nods. ‘And maybe go fishing. We rented a boat one year…’ She trails off, as if realizing that might not be possible this year. ‘It’s always so much fun here,’ she murmurs. When I look at her again, she has fallen asleep, the plate dangling from her fingertips, the untouched piece of lasagna nearly sliding onto the floor.

I rescue it, and I catch Isaac’s gaze as I put the plate on the counter.

‘My mom is really sick, isn’t she?’ he says, his voice trembling a little.

‘She is sick, Isaac.’ My heart feels as if it is, quite literally, breaking. Splintering into shattered pieces. I return to the table, trying to smile. ‘She’ll talk to you about it if you want. Answer any questions…’

‘When will she feel better?’ I stare at him helplessly, and he must see something in my face, feel it in the air, because he shakes his head quickly. ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’ Yet nothing matters more.

Grace rouses herself a little while later to play a game of Connect Four with Isaac while I wash the dinner dishes. I watch them, a warm feeling blooming inside me, along with the ever-present ache. For the first time perhaps in my whole life, I am enjoying the sight of Grace and Isaac together, the pleasure untainted by any envy or dissatisfaction on my part. I watch the quiet, easy interplay between the two of them: Grace’s loving smile, Isaac’s quick grins. It almost feels as if I’m intruding, and yet I feel like I could watch them forever, mother and son, a team of two.

The night has turned chilly, and Isaac asks if we can have a fire in the little wood stove. When I gather the wood from the little lean-to outside, I tilt my head up to the sky, amazed at how many stars I can see. The sky is spangled with them, endless clusters and constellations, like clouds of diamonds, distant and sparkling. Isaac comes outside, and I beckon to him.

‘Like your bedroom ceiling,’ I say, and point upwards. He tilts his head up too, and we stand there together, gazing at the galaxies, silent