AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her face drops at the reminder, making her look even more fragile than she did when I first arrived. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach always increases every time I see my mother deteriorating like this right before my very eyes.
Her memory not being as sharp as it once was, isn’t the only noticeable side effect of her illness. My mother’s sunken cheeks and ghostly pale skin are a testament to the ways her cancer has taken most of her natural beauty and jubilant nature away from her. The fact that she still has the frame of mind to wrap a scarf over her naked head and cover most of her skin-and-bones body under her hospital blanket before visiting hours is astounding to me.
But that’s my mom for you.
She hates to show us how truly weak she is and cause me and my dad any more concern than the ones we already have. Even before my mom got sick, she was always the type of person who hated to cause a fuss, so I get her need to try and downplay her sickness for us.
But sometimes I wish she didn’t.
Especially when she’s in so much pain.
A few months back, her doctor warned us about her blatant refusal to take any morphine whenever dad and I came into the mainland to visit her. Her stubbornness in not taking the drug has gotten so bad that I have to call the hospital first to see if she’s having a good day or a bad one, before I even think of coming to visit her. If the nurse on call tells me she’s having a rough day of it then I don’t come and make up an excuse as to why I have to stay back in Thatcher’s Bay. I won’t have her choosing to be in excruciating pain just so she can put on a brave face for me. It’s bad enough that I have to put one on for her.
I do understand the sentiment behind her not wanting to be all doped up around us though. The drugs make her loopy and it’s hard to have a coherent conversation with her when her veins are polluted with that vile stuff. And although I would prefer to know she isn’t suffering, anytime I come by and see that she’s lucid, I can’t help but hold on to that feeling of hope that somehow a miracle will happen and my mom will eventually beat this beast of an illness that has consumed her from within. When she’s all drugged up and zombie-like, it’s harder to keep that hope alive.
Just like me, my mom knows that all the days we spend together are precious. We might hope for the best, but deep down, all of us expect the worst. Her need to make each day count and be fully present for me, as selfish as it sounds, is what has gotten me through these past few years.
I really wish my father was here though.
I get that he has to work. With mom being so sick, we only have his paycheck to survive, and my mom’s health insurance only covers so much. If my father isn’t working, or here at the hospital, he’s home with the phone glued to his ear, negotiating with the bank and insurance company. Unbeknownst to him, I know fully well just how deep a hole my mom’s cancer has gotten us into. I hear his frustrated whispers on the phone, trying to come up with ways to pay for mom's treatment. He's taken out so many loans, it’ll take his and my lifetime to pay them all.
So, he works.
He goes out on his trawler, praying that the sea will be his friend and offers up a haul that will get us out of this ditch we find ourselves in. Even though I know this, anytime I come to visit mom and he’s not with me, I still can’t help but resent his absence.
But lately, it doesn’t even measure up to the resentment I feel when he does come.
When he is here, a part of me wishes he would go back out to sea and never come back.
My father has lost hope.
It’s clear as day in his eyes.
Mom sees it too, and it kills me that he can no longer pretend around her.
“Noah, sweetheart, tell me about school,” Mom probes, finally averting her eyes from the blonde nurse.
I offer her a smile and talk about my lame ass shit so she can feel like she's a part of it. She patiently listens to me moan about teachers and friends alike. I wish I was the type of kid who got straight A’s and could make her proud. But I'm not. C's are a win for me.
But even those have been hard to get these last three years.
My head isn’t on school—it’s on her.
The woman I love most in the world.
The woman who cared for me every day of her life.
God is cruel to have given her this fucking illness.
Fuck that.
God doesn’t exist in my book.
How could he when my good-hearted mother is literally lying on her deathbed, while bad people live long and prosperous lives?
Mom hates it when I say shit like this, so I keep these thoughts to myself while I tell her about the latest news and gossip from our little island. Not that anything noteworthy really happens in Thatcher’s Bay, but I still fill in the gaps, hoping it’s enough to keep her entertained.
We continue with our visit, and when one of the other nurses on call pops his head into my mom’s room saying that visiting hours are over, I promise my mom that I'll come back the next day.
