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“What’s this?” Bridget reached for it.
“I found it in Owen’s room,” her mother said softly.
Bridget picked it up and realized it was a pamphlet, a peaceful mountain scene spread above the title.
Dignitas
To live with dignity
To die with dignity
Bridget dropped it as if she’d been burned. “What is this?”
But she knew what it was.
Her mother swallowed so hard Bridget saw her throat ripple. “It’s understandable, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.” Bridget hated the anger in her voice, but it was the only thing keeping her from screaming. “He’s doing so well. He can still eat and talk and laugh, and scientists are making strides every day. Plus there are those trials in St. Louis and a million more.”
“Not a million,” her mother said.
“All right, not a million, but a lot. He shouldn’t be thinking about giving up.” She knew it wasn’t fair even as she said it. Would she have Owen’s strength in his situation? His grace? What right did she have to preach about giving up when she had a healthy body and an expected lifespan of eighty years?
“He’s in pain.” Tears leaked down her mother’s face. “So much pain.”
Bridget knew her mother wasn’t just talking about physical pain. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… I can’t think about this. I just can’t.”
Her mother nodded and wiped the tears from her face. Her hand shook as she brought the teacup to her mouth.
Bridget felt sick, the cooling tea and biscuits on the table turning her stomach. “Tell me you don’t agree with this, Mom. That you won’t support it.”
Her mother drew in a breath. “Do you know what the hardest part of being a parent is?”
“No.” It all looked hard to Bridget.
“Realizing that your children aren’t yours. That they don’t belong to you. It starts as soon they come into the world:myson,mydaughter. But those are just words. One way or another, you’re only in our care for a little while. We don’t get to decide what you do for a living or who you marry or whether or not you have children.”
“Or whether we choose to die?” Bridget asked bitterly.
“That either.”
“You can talk to him,” Bridget said. “Tell him we love him and need him to fight.”
Her mother looked her in the eye. “Is that what you think is fair?”
Fair wasn’t a word Bridget had allowed herself to consider. None of this was fair. Why did she have to be fair when they’d been dealt such a shitty hand — when Owen had been dealt such a shitty hand?
“I don’t know.”
Her mom nodded. “It’s worth considering, isn’t it?”
The jingle of keys sounded in the kitchen door: her dad arriving home from work.
Her mom reached for the brochure on the table and slid it back into the pocket of her jeans just as Bridget’s father walked into the room.
“Hey, it’s my two best girls,” he said, setting his keys on the counter.
He kissed her mother on the cheek, then did the same to Bridget, his hand resting momentarily on her head. “Having tea, are you?”
