DEATH IN
COH ONLINE
is never permanent. Don’t worry if you get overwhelmed—
YOU’LL ALWAYS HAVE A SECOND CHANCE.
Chapter 21
Holding it together is all I can do, but Mom says that’s all right.
She gets me an emergency appointment with Anna. We sit on the couch that night and watch home renovation shows on HGTV, my head in her lap and her fingers stroking the hair above my ear. Every three minutes or so, I have to distract myself from my own thoughts; they go down tracks I don’t realize are there until I’m careening down them. Sometimes I bite the inside of my cheek really hard, or pinch myself, or tug on my hair. I know this is self-harm and I need to talk to Anna about it, but this is what I can do until I have something better, so I do it. As long as Mom is nearby, I know I won’t be able to do anything worse.
During one commercial break, Mom says, “I realized something too late the other day. When I tried to tell you about how your dad had been before he died, I was telling you the wrong story.”
It feels right to give her privacy by not looking up at her face. “What do you mean?”
“I shouldn’t have been telling you about your dad’s depression. He never got help for it. I should have been telling you about mine.”
I pause. “Yours?”
“After he died. That’s why I went to therapy.”
“I—I guess I knew you were depressed, but I didn’t know you meant... like this.”
“I didn’t want you to know. You were too young. Honestly, I’d hoped you would never know what depression feels like.” She keeps running her fingers through my hair. “I didn’t know what to do with myself after he died. I didn’t know what to do with you. Nothing seemed fair. I was mad at him, at myself, at God, at everything. I didn’t think anything would ever be right again. I thought I’d failed him. But most of all, I couldn’t understand why this had to happen to us. Had we done something wrong? Had he? Were we being punished for something, or had we just pulled the short straw?
“Eventually—and it took a long time—I accepted that I was never going to know. Lots of people have cancer. Lots of them diefrom it. We weren’t special. And I wasn’t special for feeling the way I did.”
“How did you get over it?”
“I didn’t,” she says.
My heart sinks. So Iwillbe like this forever.
But then she continues. “But that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy. Things are hard sometimes. Certain movies or songs or even scents can make me remember how I felt then, and my emotions become total chaos. It doesn’t last, though. I can calm down and get my head right. Working helps. So does gardening. So does taking care of you.” She tickles my ear, making me laugh and squirm. The laugh still feels hollow, though, but there’s an echo of my old self there. “All those hard times teach you how to appreciate contentment. Every moment doesn’t need to be the best moment of your life; it’s enough to just be okay.”
“You think I can get to that point?”
“I know you can.”
“It doesn’t feel like it right now.”
“I know. Right now, it doesn’t feel like anything can be good ever again. But one day it will. One day you’ll be able to look around and you won’t be so scared or so sad. Things will be okay. Until that happens, I’ll be here to remind you.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too.”
I’m able to sleep that night, but not without nightmares. Alissadying. Me dying. My mom dying. Me driving myself off a cliff. Alissa still alive but cutting me out of her life. The world ending, but me still alive, wandering the empty earth.
I wake up exhausted and scared. Mom took the day off, so I sit with her in the kitchen, and she gets me some applesauce and a piece of toast. For her, I try to eat. That makes me cry too—that I have to try so hard to eat. Something so essential to human existence seems insurmountable.
She calls the school office and tells them I’m sick. We go for a walk. Instead of constantly asking me if I’m okay, she talks about what’s going on at the dealership, her customers, some stupid thing her boss said. It helps me remember that some things are normal. If Mom is talking about regular things, and she’s not scared or worried, then everything is okay. I still don’t believe it completely, but I tell myself that it’s true.
The appointment with Anna is before noon, earlier than I usually go. When we get there, I say, “Is it okay if I go in by myself?”
She pauses with her seat belt halfway off. “Are you sure?”
