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“That’s bullshit dad. I’m sorry to curse at you, but we have a right to know. With all the countries she has fought in, it’s no wonder she hadn’t fallen ill sooner. Just tell us. Is it Agent Orange?” His voice betrays the calm way he asks the question. My father doesn’t say anything, simply hangs his head, thereby answering the question without saying a word.
“Jesus. What are the doctors saying? What can they do?” Thomas asks, urgency, breaking through the false sense of control we are trying to portray.
“Nothing, son. There is nothing they can do. We have been trying for a few years now, but alas, we are at the end. My advice, my boys, is to spend as much time with her as you can and enjoy it. We don’t know when it will happen, but when it does, you don’t want regrets.” He looks at each of us, the emotion in his eyes clear. I can’t help but feel like someone just ripped out a piece of my heart. I look around the room and see that each of us is struggling. We were basically just told that our mom is going to leave this earth soon and there is nothing we can do about it. We all sit and just stare at nothing trying to let it sink in. Immediately my mind turns to Zoya. She and my mom have become so close. How will she ever recover from this? My sweet Pixie. What are we going to do?
Epilogue
Danhy
One Month Later
Trying to calm Pixie down is the hardest thing I have ever done. My mom took her last breath three days ago and Zoya has been a mess ever since. In truth, all of us have been a bit dazed and confused, not really believing that she is gone. My brothers and I haven’t had a chance to really let it sink in and grieve because not only has it been too soon, but our wives have needed us to be strong. Looking down the pew at my family, I note that my nieces and nephews and their spouses are in no better shape than the rest of us.
Sitting here on the pew, listening as my nephew Bill gives the sermon and some of the others get up to talk about my mom, friends and neighbors included, I can’t help but remember all the times I watched as she would come home from whatever she did for the day, remove her shoes and come instantly into the living room to kiss each and every one of us, asking about our day. My dad being a doctor, wouldn’t get home until sometime after her, but it didn’t stop her from greeting him at the door, with a scotch and a kiss. I would watch as my mom went from being this strong, independent woman, to being putty in her husband’s arms. My mother, the Henrietta Lange of Bleak, Minnesota, knew how to let her man be a man. As I got older and was able to recognize the dynamics of their relationship, I knew I wanted a woman just like her.
“I will ask the family come up one more time and say their goodbyes one by one.” We each stand and line up to go to the coffin and say our goodbyes. My father first. Watching this man, who has devoted his whole life to his wife and children, lean over the coffin holding the love of his life and weep, is enough to send tears falling down my face. One by one, my siblings, their spouses, and children say goodbye to my mother and with each passing second, I feel my heart break and give out. It is finally time for Zoya and I, my arms never leaving from around her. We walk up to the coffin, both slow and unwilling to end this, and I gasp, realizing this is the final time I will have to look at her, touch her, kiss her forehead and tell her I love her. So, I do all of the above. “I love you so much mama. Thank you, for being everything a mom should be and more. Rest now,” I tell her, barely holding it together. I attempt to move, knowing Loki is next, but Zoya refuses to move. “Come on baby. We have to go.” I whisper in her ear trying to guide her away. She wails and shakes her head no, not budging.
“I can’t Danhy. She was the only mom I-I had left. Wh-what am I going to do,” she screams throwing herself across my mom’s cold body. I watch as my pregnant wife falls to her knees, and cries. Cries for the parents she lost when she was taken and for the second mom she found and has now lost again. I look to my brothers, not sure what to do, when I see her grip her stomach and hunch over. “Noooooo,” she screams as I lift her and take her to the car. “It’s too soon. Oh God. We are going to lose the baby too.” She cries rocking back and forth inside the car.
