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“I know it sucks, Cal. But this is the right thing. We’ll all be more relaxed, knowing she’s safe. When she’s lucid, she won’t need to worry about the sacrifices you’re making for her or be embarrassed at all the care she needs from you. She’ll have her dignity, and you won’t have to remember her daily suffering. You can remember her the way she was.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, still too raw to look at the bright side.
There is no bright side here.
Only darkness and fog. The same haze that swallows my mother every day.
“Remember when we didn’t spend all our time talking and worrying about our parents? I’ve forgotten what it’s like to call my brother because I miss him and want to know what’s happening in his life.”
A morose chuckle slips free from me. “Did we ever do that? I can’t remember. First, it was Dad’s health, then right into this.”
“I’m proud of you, big guy. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s for the best in the long run.”
I drag my palm over my face and sigh. “So when are you coming to Florida to help me find a place?”
A few minutes later, we say our goodbyes, having made an action plan.
I lose track of time as my thoughts race and pile in my mind until I can no longer hold my head up, so I rest it in my hands.
We have to sell the house.
While I had my head in the sand, my mother and sister devised a plan behind my back. It hurts, but I get it. She’s right; I would have freaked out and tried to sway her decision.
While everything about this situation guts me, the thought of selling the house lances my chest sharper than the rest.
That house is more than a floor, a roof, and four walls. It holds memories of our entire life. It’s the backdrop for my parents’ lives. And their love story.
Ma lingered by the front window of that house when Dad ran late coming home from work. She planted flowers in the garden and grew tomatoes in the backyard. She read in the reading nook, cuddled under a blanket. She rushed home to throw dinner together in that kitchen while listening to us talk about our day. She cooked all our holiday meals and baked pies in there too.
She helped us with our homework and science projects at the dining room table. She taught Caroline how to do cartwheels in the backyard. Taught me how to dance in the kitchen. In the living room, she threw a surprise party when I got home from my last deployment.
My father hung all the framed photos around the house, rehanging them every time Ma had the whim. He picked out the furniture with her and moved it wherever she decided it should be. He built the desk sitting in the corner of the den and that little fixture where we put the mail. He stained the wooden shelves that still hang on the walls. He installed all the light fixtures and replaced the bulbs. Repainted the walls when she changed her mind, then did it again six months later because he’d do anything to make her happy.
That house is where he came home to her after every single shift. He danced with her in the kitchen, crooning along with the Rat Pack over the top of her head. When she was depressed or stressed, he cheered her up by playing Tom Jones and Barry Manilow on the stereo that’s in the corner of the living room to this very day. They sat in their matching recliners at night after we went to bed, which she insisted they push together so she could hold his hand.
He slept with her in that bed every night until the day he died.
Thathouseis all that’s left of their marriage.
And when her mind goes, it’s all we’ll have left of her.
Of both of them.
Of our family.
It may seem silly, but I’ve been clinging to the idea that our family home would be there to provide me with comfort when everything else has slipped from my grasp.
But it won’t.
The chime of my cell phone ringing slowly tugs me from my mournfulness.
After clearing my throat of the thick emotions, I answer with a faux cheerfulness. “Hey, Shep. I take it you got my message.”
“Yeah, what’s up? It sounded serious.”
“It is. I need you for an op. Off the books. Might be dangerous. You can’t tell anyone except Kri, and I can’t explain why we’re involved.”
He groans, and for a few seconds, I worry he’s going to turn me down.
