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I knew it was bad. I held my breath. Iwaited.
"I'm afraid if your mom takes a turn for the worst, it won't be as long as I'm hoping. With the placement of the cancer and the lack of response, combined with the medications she needs for her disorder...you're looking at a few months atmost."
The shock of his words hit me a moment after he spoke them. Months, he said.At most.Months were just weeks. My mom had mere weeks to live. My head turned, my eyes searching for the closed door. Beyond it, she and Michael were talking—they were, hopefully, reconciling all that had happened before. The last of my family was about to be cut inhalf.
“I’m very sorry, Harlow,” Dr. Galston said. “There’s nothing more we cando.”
“I understand.” But I didn’t. I didn’t understand. Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be me? Our family? I couldn’t even cry, I was in suchshock.
Dr. Galston said a few more things, discussing options—bringing her home, keeping her in the Care Center. When it became clear, though, that I had no clue what to do—and I likely wouldn’t until I talked to the others—he sighed. “I understand if you need more time to think it over,” he offered gently. “Talk with your mother and then stop by again. We can discuss morethen.”
“Thank you,” I said. I felt like a broken record. All the nodding. All the ‘thankyou's’.
He stood up and saw me out of the office, holding the door for me as I exited. “Truly, Harlow, I’m sorry for your loss,” he said as Ileft.
I’m sorry for your loss.As if she was alreadygone.
I drifted back down the hallway of the Care Center, feeling like a balloon that had been cut free. I made it back to the residential hallway without even knowing where I was going and as I approached the nurses' station, Michael stepped out of Mom’s hospital room. He looked bright, happier than he’d been before. Still subdued because that was who he was, but his eyes had a lighter sheen to them, the corners of his lips were turnedup.
“Hey,” he said, “I, um, wetalked.”
I stared at him. Wondering…should I tellhim?
“I think it went well,” he said. “We, um, well, I’m staying in town for a bit longer—I’ve got a bit of vacation time saved up and I’m going to come back andvisit.”
When I still didn’t respond, the riot in my head keeping me locked up tight, he frowned and stepped forward. “It’s not like it’ll erase the past,” he said, “but, I’m hoping…well, I see what you mean now. She’sdifferent.”
“Yeah,” I finally managed to squeezeout.
He nodded. “So, um, I guess...I mean, we’re done. I’ve said goodbye. Do you want to…?” He trailedoff.
I reached into my pocket, finding the keys I’d taken from him earlier. “Why don’t you go start the car, I’ll be right out,” Isuggested.
He took the keys with a small amount of relief, as though he was glad to be away from me for the moment. I couldn’t blame him. Even as I spoke, I felt like someone else was doing it for me. When Michael had left, the keys dangling in his hand—echoing up the white floors and walls of the Care Center’s hallway—I turned towards the room’sdoorway.
I stepped inside, meeting her eyes, and I knew that as soon as she saw my face, she knew that I knew. Her eyes—at first, bright with hope and relief—dropped. “You spoke with the doctor,” shesurmised.
Inodded.
“He toldyou.”
My heart thudded against my ribcage. “Why didn’t you tell me they were trying more new treatments? Or that the others weren’t working?” I askedquietly.
Her fingers picked at the sheets covering her legs and finally, she sighed. “It’s not something we can stop,” shesaid.
“No, but I could’ve…” I trailed off.I could have what? Stopped the flow of time and space?I knew I was being irrational. She was right. There was nothing I could have done, then or now. But in that room, I was a little girl wanting to do something, find some way to keep my mom from slipping away from me. I took a step towards her bed and then another and another. Yet, each step felt like I was falling further and furtheraway.
When I reached her bed, I felt my legs give way. I came crashing down on the small mattress. My knees hit the floor as my head hit the bed. I reached up, squeezing the sheets in my hands as the tears finally escaped. “I-I don’t want you to go,” I chokedout.
My mom’s hand came down over my head and even as she spoke, I could tell she was barely keeping herself together. “I’m sorry, Baby.” She stroked my hair as I cried and though I felt like a selfish child—shewas the one dying, and yetshewas comfortingme—I couldn’t stop the flow of tears andheartache.
“Your brother’s waiting,” she finally said, lifting my chin up and wiping away mytears.
“You didn’t tell him,” I said as I slowly came back to myfeet.
She shook her head. “I’ve gotten my last moments with him,” she said. “If I tell him now, he’ll just feelguilty.”
“He’ll feel guilty no matter what,” I pointed out as I finished wiping away the tear tracks on my cheeks. I could taste salt on my lips andtongue.
Mom cupped my cheek and smiled. “Thank you for bringing him to see me,Baby.”
I closed my eyes and turned my head so that I had her hand captured between my cheek and my shoulder. “I love you,” Iwhispered.
“I love you too, Baby.” She tapped my cheek, letting me know she was ready for me to let go. I released her hand and sighed. “Go see him,” she said. “I’ll be here for a whileyet.”
But for how much longer?I wondered as I left.Would it be months like the doctor had said? Or would it be less thanthat?
