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Dick stands abruptly, rushing toward me, then gives me a painful hug, his bear-like arms squeezing the air right out of my lungs. I let him. There are some pains that can’t be expressed with words. Dick is letting out his pain through this hug, so I let him. I just pray he doesn’t crack my ribs.
"Tony, was she in pain?" Jenny's question is a whisper, her eyes searching mine for a sliver of hope I can't give. I lie.
"It was peaceful," I assure her, feeling the weight of each word. It is the only gift I can give them.
Lola wraps her arms around herself, trembling. "What do we do now?"
"We go see her," I say, my resolve hardening amidst the pain. "We say goodbye."
We're silent for a while, each processing our place in this pain spectrum, I suppose, then we all walk toward the elevator banks, a procession of broken hearts.
We hold hands as we step out of the elevator on the ninth floor, bracing ourselves to face the finality waiting in room 908.We're about to step into a new day without her. Our mother. Our anchor. Gone.
I grab a ride with Dick, and Jenny and Lola ride together, making sure none of us are alone in this dire time. The car ride to our mother's house is silent, punctuated only by my occasional sniffle as pictures of my Mom’s life flash before my eyes. The dashboard clock glows a harsh 4:25 AM, an unyielding reminder that time moves forward, even when my world has stopped.
Jenny and Lola are home before us, but they wait for us as if afraid to enter the house by themselves. I reach them and get my key out and turn it in the lock with a click that seems to echo through the emptiness of the entire house. We all step inside on weary sleepless legs, and Lola flicks on the light, and for a moment, the brightness feels sacrilegious, too stark against the darkness we carry inside.
"Everything looks the same," Jenny whispers, her gaze drifting over the familiar furniture, the knick-knacks, and framed photos that line the mantelpiece.
"Mama’s sweater," Lola grabs the garment and holds it to her face as if inhaling Mom’s essence into her soul
"Will there be enough time to . . . " Dick starts, but his sentence trails off, unfinished.
We will never know what he intended to say. The tail end of that sentence will follow him to his grave, for he has fought a tough war of staying strong, but now, it seems my usually indestructible brother has cracked, and he is letting all his sorrow out.
We all join him. Looking at our mother’s lifeless body at the hospital was tough, but in some way, I think that in thatenvironment, your brain puts together the suffering your loved one experienced and the relief that death offers, even though that is not the outcome you would have picked, but standing in her living room, it is hard not to travel back in time to when she was well, when she was alive, well before the cancer hit.
Standing in her living room brings a deluge of memories, live and fierce. You look at a picture, and it floods you with memories, you look at a doily, a painting, a figurine, a lamp. Everything is a signature of who she was, who we have lost. The pain hits the hardest now, and we let it all out. We cry.
6:15 AM and a new day is here.
"We need to call the funeral home, decide on the service, the—" My throat tightens, censors the word 'casket' before it can spill into the space between us.
"And the flowers," Jenny interjects, a determined glint in her eyes as she wraps her arms around herself. "She loved tulips."
"Only the yellow ones," I correct softly, feeling the weight of each memory like stones in my chest.
"There’ll be time for all that. Right now, we should all try to get some sleep," Dick suggests, though the sentiment feels more like a plea for respite from reality.
"Sleep?" Lola echoes, incredulous. Her eyes are wide, rimmed with red. "How can we sleep at a time like this?"
"Because it's what she would want," I tell her, my hand on her shoulder, grounding her. "Mom would want us to take care of ourselves, even now. It’s going to be a long few days. Get some rest while you can."
"Okay," Lola agrees, her voice small but steadying as she nods.
Together, we settle into the living room, arranging blankets and pillows on the couches and floor. The familiarity of the space wraps around us, a silent testament to the life that once filled it with laughter and love.
"Remember how she'd make hot cocoa during those storms?" Jenny asks, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips.
"Extra marshmallows for me," Lola recalls, her smile wavering.
"Because you always had a sweet tooth," Dick teases gently, his attempt at lightening the mood both welcome and heart-wrenching.
"Still have," Lola responds, her words laced with gratitude for normalcy.
"Always will, you ice cream fiend," I toss in, pulling my blanket into a tight hug. Together, we huddle in blankets that smell like home, surrounded by the ghosts of happier times, our collective breaths weaving a tapestry of sorrow and unity.
As we lay there, not sleeping but resting in shared silence, I close my eyes and let myself drift. In the quiet of my mind, I prepare for the many tomorrows that will come, for the duties that await, for the farewell we must give.
