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The representative from hospice wouldn’t be here otherwise. We’ve had plenty of meetings since it was first recommended, and she wasn’t at any of them. Everyone in the room stays quiet, as if none of them want to be the one to confirm to the man young enough to be their child that his mother is dying, but that’s all the confirmation I need.
“If you don’t mind,” I begin, standing up. “I’d like a chance to talk to my mother before I make any decisions.”
“Absolutely,” the director tells me. “Take your time. We’ll be here when you get back.”
Mumbling a quietthank you, I walk out the door and head toward my mother’s room. It’s small, with bland gray paint on the walls and a TV mounted in front of the bed. The room itself is definitely not worth the nine grand I pay each month for her to be here, but the care they provide her withis.
When this horrible journey started, only seven months after I woke up to find out my wife was gone, my mother insisted if she reached a point where she couldn’t care for herself, she wanted to be put somewhere that could. During her years as a nurse, she had seen too many instances of family members having to endure the emotional hardship of having to take care of their sick loved ones. She knew I would do it. I would take on that burden and care for her even if it killed me, but she doesn’t want that for us. So every day, I stop by and spend time by her side, and then I leave, feeling like I’m abandoning her.
And I know the feeling of being abandoned.
Let me tell you, it’s hell.
“Hey mom,” I greet her.
She lights up as she sees me, the same way she always does. “Hayes! My baby.”
I walk over to her bed and kiss her forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that.”
She plays it off well, the wholeI’m totally fine and you don’t need to worryact, but I know her well enough to see right through it. Grabbing the chair and sliding it up next to her bed, I sit down and take her hand in mine.
“Mom,” I say softly. “I need you to tell me what you want.”
“Hayes,” she whines, trying to pull her hand away, but I don’t let her.
“I’m serious. Don’t worry about me or about Devin.”
She gives me a look that could shoot me dead. “Ialwaysworry about you and Devin.”
I chuckle. “Yes, Gladiator, I know. But right now, I need to know whatyouwant. Do you want to keep fighting this? Keep getting treatments and going through scans? Because if that’s what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll continue to pick you up and bring you to every single appointment. I learned how to roll a joint for you—which is so fucked up to say, by the way.”
She giggles, and I know there’s going to be a time where I miss that sound.
Smiling at her, I exhale slowly and let the grin fall from my face before I say the words that will hurt me a million times more than they hurt her. “But if you want to just stop and enjoy the time that you have left, that’s okay, too. I’ll understand. You’ve spent your life working your ass off for us. It’s hardly a stretch to say you deserve to rest.”
A tear escapes and slides down her cheek, and I gently wipe it away. My mom lets out a wet laugh and does the same for me. I didn’t even know I was crying. But then again, for the last year, I’ve zeroed all of my focus in on making her happiness my first priority.
My own isn’t even on the list.
“Who is going to look after you and Devin?” she asks.
“I’ve got Devin. Don’t worry about her.”
Her other hand comes over to rest on mine that’s holding hers. “Yes, but who is going to worry aboutyou?”
Images of Laiken flash through my mind, and I immediately push them away. When she left, I didn’t know what to do with myself. And right there by my side was my mom. But what she doesn’t know is a part of me blames myself for how long it took for the cancer to be found.
She was a nurse. She knew the warning signs of things like that. But she was so concerned with taking care of me that she neglected herself. And I was too wrapped up in my own shit to notice something was wrong.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her.
Her eyes roll. “Please. I’m a woman. We basically changed the definition of the wordfine. No one is ever fine when they say that.”
Okay, so maybe she has a point. But I’m not selfish enough to make her go through more torture for the sake of my happiness.
“Mom,” I say. “It’s okay. What do you want to do?”
