Page 128 of Anything But Lonely

Because I’ve spent so long trying to run away from missing the mother I lost that I never stopped to think about all the moments she would miss.

All the people she would never meet.

All the love she would never get to see.

And when I get into bed, trying to ignore the guilt in my stomach about telling Mateo I had freelance work to catch up on before the weekend, it all becomes too much.

Because I’ve been doing so well.

I’ve spent the last month choosing the hard things. Feeling the feelings. Letting people in. Letting myself be happy.

And now the darkness—the numbness, the apathy, the nothingness—is creeping back in.

And the worst part?

A part of me is relieved to see it.

CHAPTER 43

EMERSON

When I wake up, there’s a minute where I forget.

A minute where everything feels normal.

Where the world hasn’t changed.

Where my mom is still here.

She’s still in her kitchen humming while she makes coffee. She’s still texting me reminders to eat something. She’s still calling me because she has a story she needs to tell me, even if it’s one she’s already told me three times before.

For one perfect minute, I get her back.

Then reality comes rushing in.

I remember the hospital room.

I remember the machines.

I remember the way her body got weaker and weaker.

I remember spending months learning every part of her illness. Every appointment. Every medication. Every bad day disguised as a good one. I remember pretending I wasn’t scared because she needed me to be strong.

And I remember the moment she took her last breath.

Her hand was still in mine.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been sleeping so much.

Maybe I’m chasing this one minute of ignorance every chance I get. That tiny moment before my brain catches up and reminds me that she’s gone. That I don’t have to check her medication anymore. That I don’t have to sit beside her bed or memorize the sound of her breathing. That the person who spent my entire life taking care of me—as best she could—is someone I will never get to take care of again.

For a moment, I can forget the guilt.

The guilt that maybe I should have done more.

The guilt that there should have been something else I could have tried.

The guilt that I was so focused on being strong for her that I never let myself fully admit I was losing her.