This is dedicated to my close friend's mother who passed away at a young age, of cancer. Fly high with the angels, Francine.
"I'm so sorry to inform you of this, Alex, but your mother has just died."
As soon as the depressing words creep into your ears, you don't know if you'd simply misunderstood. Once they reach your brain however, your heart cracks and shatters. You can't breathe for a second, can't even suck in a gasp. Your whole body turns freezing like ice and you start trembling all over. You mouth the word no a few times, since you can't speak out loud. You wonder why the distant aunt who rarely, if ever, calls, is the one telling you this. You wonder how this woman, your long deceased uncle's wife, who you've only seen twice in your entire thirty-one years of living, knows about the passing of your best friend, the woman who gave birth to you, along with love. She could've been helping your mother. Your stepfather Charles, or your baby half sister Ashley Katherine, must've told her to let you know.
This can't be possible. No, because your mother is only fifty-six. She was. Was. It's painful to think about her in the past tense, but you have to. She was so young. God, it's too early. She's supposed to be continuing to enjoy retirement, looking forward to being a grandmother or mother of the bride if you were to have children or get married, she was going to enjoy senior discounts, she was in the middle of helping Ashley with high school drama, she and Charles had such a romantic Valentine's Day coming up.
The lump building up in your throat causes moisture to fill your eyes, fresh saltwater tears to drip down your cheeks and off your chin, splashing on the comforter you're sitting on. You clutch it tightly, resisting the urge to shriek out loud, to throw up, because your girlfriend is wanting to leave you and the drug cartel, but she can't, because you stuffed her passport in the underwear drawer. Feeling pressured, you tell her where it is, and she leaves. She can't even bother to attend the funeral to support you as your friend. It doesn't matter anymore, the heartbreak of losing a loved one forever is far greater than one straight girl claiming she loved you and all the adventures you'd been on together.
Forever. God, that word just feels so...eternal to you. You'll never see your mother again, except for in photographs. You won't hear her sweet voice telling you how proud she is of you and your world traveling-you would laugh at how clueless she was if she were still here. She isn't. You will no longer feel her hugs, the way you just melted into her embrace as she leaned up to kiss your cheek lovingly, as you were taller than her by a few inches. You can picture her smile, her dyed brown hair, her bright blue eyes. Pressing your lips together, you let out a small whimper as you rock yourself back and forth. It's supposed to calm you, but of course, it doesn't. You're anything but calm. You take off your glasses and squeeze your eyes shut, but the nightmare isn't going away. This is reality.
Oh god, how her eyes would light up whenever you came home! She'd happily shout your name and squeeze you so tight and she would always call you her baby girl, no matter how old you were. When you left, every time, she'd beg you to stay longer, but you'd just giggle and say you had to go. You had a flight. You couldn't be late. You always had something to do, something planned that couldn't be skipped.
You sometimes saw what went on at home. Your autistic kid sister, usually clad in a neon pink leather jacket and denim skirt and white boots, was lively as ever, taking selfies with her friends and your mom and stepdad all the time. She's on a Special Olympics basketball team and one of the best players there. She went to baseball and basketball games, the movies, the mall, amusement parks, bowling alleys, all kinds of places that looked like so much fun. You thought before that it was childish, it was something you enjoyed when you were her age, fifteen, and younger. You didn't even mind it when you were seventeen, but once you moved out on your own at nineteen, your life and interests changed.
You saw your mother and her husband, your stepdad, Ashley Katherine's father, so blissfully in love in every photo they were in together. Even after being married for fifteen years, the romance had never really faded. When you were a teenager, you were wary of him since men were never good to your mother before. Charles loved her so much, though, to your pleasant surprise. He thought she was the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth, and she adored him. She was impressed by his kindness and handyman skills like hanging a picture straight, and she always wanted the best, and that's why she picked him. He was the greatest man in her life.
It had apparently started with a pain in her back. You weren't even there when she complained about it at first, but when you found out about her lung cancer, you assumed she'd be fine since she'd discovered it right away. She sounded healthy over the phone, and you just thought the slight frailty in her voice was from a cold or something because she'd always assured you she was fine. She didn't want you to worry, Charles had said, she talked about the latest sales in stores and bought a nice pair of shoes online. Little did you know, she was doing it while lying in a hospital bed, deteriorating at a dangerous speed. She was trying to be strong, but when you visited that one time this past summer, her hair had started thinning and she wore a bandana to cover the bald spots, you guess. She didn't want you or Ashley posting pictures of her on Facebook or Instagram, she hadn't wanted any of your friends over, just family. She had lost so much weight the last time you saw her. By New Years, she appeared emaciated and so much older than she really was. Even though she was aging gracefully before she'd fallen ill, the cancer had caused her to look more like your grandmother in the end. God, even her mother was still alive. She used a walker. It was beside her in one picture. She wore something to cover her head since all of her hair had fallen out.
It scared you so badly, and you have no idea why Charles and Ashley had constantly assured you that she's getting better, stronger every day, and you curse yourself for not spending Christmas with your mother, sister, and stepfather. You could've brought your selfish ex home if you wanted to be with her so badly for the holiday, you had missed so many Christmases already with the family, because of that damn illegal business. You had tried to make it home whenever you could, but it wasn't near enough.
Her body had first betrayed her, then turned from warm to cold in a second, and lastly burned into ash, as she had wanted to be cremated instead of buried. You almost wish she would be in an open casket at the funeral, just so you could see her one last time, but then you brush that thought away, as she looks so much more alive in old pictures and videos. Seeing her dead and empty would just destroy you more than you already are.
You find out from Charles, who speaks so low nowadays you can barely understand him, that your mother had gotten pneumonia from a caregiver who had a cold, and that made things a lot worse.
"Fuck her!" you snap quietly and punch the palm of your hand. You attempt gritting your teeth, but your chin is quivering so badly that you can't control the muscles in your jaw, so you cover your mouth as you muffle a sob. "I hope you sued that lazy, dumb cunt," you mutter angrily.
"Allie, your mama would've passed on anyway. She was never gonna get better...that's what the doctors said."
You sniffle and look up at him slightly from your seated position on your childhood bed. "What the hell do they know? Without that bitch infecting Mom, we could've had another few years with her!"
Charles shakes his head sadly. "No...it was the lung cancer that killed her, sweetheart. Cancer patients get infections so easily, unfortunately. If it wasn't that nurse with the bad cough, it would've been something else. Your mom did come down with pneumonia, and she would've been able to fight it off had she not been sick, but she was iller than anyone, even the medical professionals, had expected. She was in the bathroom when she had a headache...something burst in her brain-"
"Aneurysm," you mumble, and he nods. "What was she doing in the bathroom?" You breathe in and out shakily. "Did she...fall off the toilet?" Imagining the thump as your mother's body and face slammed into the tile, is so devastating, and it rips your heart in half. The noise in your head turns into an echoing boom. "Or was she washing her hands, and she collapsed…?" You press your hands together as if you're praying, although you're not religious. "Please tell me you or Katie was there with her!" You're going to start calling Ashley by her middle name now, but the shortened version. Your mother did that quite often.
"I was helping her take a shower, when her whole body swayed and then sagged against me, and I held her. She groaned and said she was dizzy and needed Advil. She passed out in my arms, and I sank to my knees with her. I turned off the water and carried her out of the steamy room, hoping it would cool her down some, but she never woke up again. She was completely limp and unmoving by the time I set her on the floor of the hall. I called for your sister." He gulps and his voice wavers. You put your hand on top of his. "I tried-I tried to fan your mother...I did CPR...but nothing I did worked, I couldn't save her. I…" He covers his face with his free hand and weeps loudly. "Oh, Jesus...I miss her so much!" He pulls you in for a hug and you break down as well.
"I miss her too, every day," you blubber. "Thank god you were there, she didn't have to die alone…I'm so sorry for not being around, Charles. Holy shit, I didn't...I didn't know it was so severe…"
"I know you didn't. It's okay-"
"No, it's not," you insist. "I'll hate myself forever."
You're having a screaming fight with your little sister again. Standing at only four feet, five inches, she's glaring up at you, shouting that it's all your fault that you weren't around enough, you were busy getting high, you were with that bitch who fucked you over in the end and the whole relationship was a waste of your time. She's a hundred percent correct, you have nothing to defend yourself with except apologizing profusely through your tears and repeating Fahri's words, that you're not psychic and never expected this to happen. You're both sobbing helplessly as she tells you Diane would slap you for this. She'd punched you in the gut without using her fists, but you've felt that way, like someone knocked the wind out of you, ever since you heard the tragic news about your mother.
"Hey, would the both of you please stop it?!" Charles yells as he storms into the room you share with Ashley. "I can't take it anymore! Nobody is to blame for your mother's passing. Everyone, including the dumbass doctors thought her health was improving!"
"You want me to tell him what you were really doing in Paris, or should I?" Ashley questions you in a soft murmur, twirling a few of her black dreadlocks.
"Don't you dare say shit," you whisper back harshly. "I feel bad enough already, and I don't need you making it worse." You turn to Charles and manage an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry..."
"I'm sorry too, Daddy," Ashley puts in and hugs Charles right away. You do the same.
You go to the local bar with four of your close friends a few days after telling them what happened. They're so sad for you, they offer you hugs all at the same time, and you just start giggling since it feels weird. You're one of the two tallest girls in your crew, but you feel so, so small, like Maritza or Lorna. You can't explain it, but you've never felt so loved and suffocated at once. You know they're trying to help and be strong for you, support you in your time of need, so you accept it. You want space, but you had accepted Nicky and Flaca's invitation anyway, since you haven't left the house in days. You'd been crying on and off, but you feel a little better now. Being surrounded by your girls is so therapeutic. You all order drinks and nachos. Inside your bag is a different pair of cute fuzzy socks for each of them. You'll give those out at the end of the night.
Still enveloped in their arms, you listen to their comforting words, but nothing can take the pain away. Maybe it dulls the intensity of the shock, but it doesn't erase the fact that your mother is gone, never to return.
"You know we love you, we're here for you, girl," Flaca murmurs and pecks the top of her head, and you blink back unshed tears while smiling.
"Yeah, I'm so sorry for your loss!" Maritza adds and wraps her arms around you and Flaca.
"Alex, if you need anything at all, you can come to me, or any of us, really," Lorna adds while squeezing you around your middle.
"May she rest in peace," Daya chimes in sweetly.
Nicky doesn't say anything, but she rubs your back in soothing circles while humming as Blanca comes up to you, her eyes widened in concern. "What happened?" she asks, since she barely goes on Facebook or contacts you, but you're an old high school friend of hers.
You can't say it, but you feel like you owe her an answer. You really don't want to talk about it, and thankfully, Nicky breaks away from the group hug and pulls her aside. "You didn't know? Diane passed away just recently. She's flying high with the angels now."
Blanca gasps and presses her hand to her heart. "No, I didn't know that." She throws her arms around the girls. "Oh, Alex...you have my deepest sympathies. I remember your mom, she was so sweet, genuine..."
"Thanks," you mumble.
You don't really weep until Daya hands you a card that she and her mom had made, which has a sweet quote about motherhood beside a photo of you and your immediate family. You gasp as you stare at it. "Oh my god…" Your voice breaks, and then you cover your eyes with your hand as the waterworks begin and your shoulders shake with sobs. You're crying in the Sparrow Tavern, and the girls lead you outside so you don't attract unwanted attention. They surround you again until your wails subside, and then you have a moment of silence.
You tried to keep it together, but receiving Daya's present had brought up all the emotions bubbling up inside of you, and they spilled over. You're well aware that Daya had done that out of the goodness of her heart, but it's still a bit too early to be receiving sympathy gifts. You can't accept it fully that your mother isn't breathing anymore. She's nothing but dust now.
It's also why you don't thank the girls for their sympathy cards. You simply set them on your nightstand and read them with tears trickling down your cheeks, your heart melting at their kind words, but you just need a minute to process everything. After Charles has made a nice dinner of spaghetti and you've all eaten it, you scroll through the comments on your Facebook post about your mother's death and click the love emoticon on the ones you appreciate, which is most of them. Some people are either being nosy or not that sympathetic because they're stupid. It shouldn't matter that they're not close to you, they should still be kind in what they say, be more careful in how they word things, and for the love of God, if you'd wanted to explain to the entire universe how your mother passed away, you would have done so in your post. You feel forced to send direct messages to the confused idiot methheads, so they don't pester you about it. You have a feeling they will, so you close your eyes and type.
Cancer.
You don't even respond to their follow-up questions, in which they ask how she'd gotten it. You close Facebook for the night, curl up with your sister and the rescue dogs your mother had raised, in front of the television, and you both watch part of a movie before dozing off on the couch together. Charles sleeps in the guest room, as he can't bear to sleep in the bed he'd shared with your mother for the last sixteen years. You don't really blame him-you haven't stepped foot in there either since she passed.
"You really think Mom's watching over us?" Katie asks as she climbs up to the top of your bunk bed. You pause under the doorframe after pulling on your black leather jacket and matching boots, ready for another night out on the town with the girls. "I know Flaca said that because she believes in spirits and stuff...it's nice to think about..."
"Yeah, she's like, everywhere. She's in our hearts, and our memory of our mom is gonna last forever," you say positively. You can't really know for sure, but it's a comforting thought. "She was definitely proud of you when you aced your first test of the spring semester. I mean, the sun totally shined that day. Every time you smile or dance, I can really see her in you. You're the best cheerleader out there, and you've got such a big heart. You must get that from her."
Katie grins. "Aw, thanks, you do too. Mom did always want us to be the best we could be. Well, I think you're beautiful and strong like her...on the inside and out."
You smile at the compliment. "Thank you."
"Anytime, girl." She frowns. "Hey...I suck at making baskets now. They're putting me on the dumb lower level team, away from all my friends. It's not my fault Mom died and I'm more than a little distracted...I know I can play better and get more into the game, but I can't right now."
You give her shoulder a comforting squeeze and kiss her temple. "That blows. I'm sorry...no matter how well you do in your favorite sport, Mom would be proud of you."
Katie's face brightens up a bit again. "I suppose you're right. Have fun with your crew!"
"Alright, bye!"
On your way out, you hug Charles. Since it's raining, your aunt figure Gloria is going to give you and Daya both a ride to the movies. She wants to give Charles a break. Before you can leave, Gloria knocks on the door. You open it and let her inside. She takes your hands in hers and squeezes them fondly. "Hi, honey, oh my gosh, it's really pouring out there. How are you feeling?"
Daya is behind her. "If you don't wanna come, it's okay."
You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. I'm better now, it's been a few weeks."
Gloria wraps her arm around you and you return the sweet gesture. She kisses your chin and you beam at the affection. She could never replace your mother, no one could, but you've been craving love from the older woman who has been a consistent friend to the family for many years. "That's good." She then goes up to Charles and hugs him. "Yo, if you need help, anything at all, just let me and Fahri know, okay?"
He nods silently and pats her back. "Thanks," he says gravely.
The night goes very well, the chick flick Lorna had picked out is fantastic, and Flaca gives you a gorgeous photo of yourself, your mother, and your sister at a wedding in beautiful dresses and hair in loose waves. She'd put it in a pretty wood frame. You don't even shed a tear, but there's a point at the end, just before Red is about to pick you and Nicky up, that you're about to burst into tears. It's because the blonde bitch who had broken your heart before, but is now texting you regularly all of a sudden, had just messaged Flaca, accusing you of making an event without her when she knows perfectly well that you don't really host things and most of the girls don't like her. Flaca hates her. For God's sake, your mother's funeral is next Friday. You're really trying hard to keep it together and prepare for the sad occasion. Why she would do something this insensitive, you can't make sense of it. So, you choke up while staring out into the darkened street as cars are zooming by, their headlights shining brightly. Thunder rumbles in the night sky, threatening yet another rainstorm. You're so sure it's your mother expressing her rage toward what your ex had told one of your best friends. You press your quivering lips together as the girls watch you warily.
"Don't cry," Nicky tells you while Flaca rubs your back soothingly.
"I'm not going to," you mumble. You try glancing at the text from Piper.
Maritza hides it from you. "Don't read it, don't look at it,"
"Yeah, Flaca's gonna take care of it," Lorna assures you and your friends smirk.
You shift your eyes away, knowing the girls don't want you to be sadder than you probably appear. "Alright."
"Alex never makes events, really, and if she did, she'd invite you," Flaca mutter as she composes the text. "I made it. Don't talk like that about Alex, because her mama just died." She purses her lips. "It's sent." You sniffle, but keep the tears at bay.
"She's...she's the Wicked Witch of Queens!" you announce, and it makes everyone laugh, including you, which is what you were wanting to do anyways, since humor is refreshing.
"She thinks she's smart!" Blanca chimes with a roll of her eyes.
"She's not! She is not," you say in a slightly stronger voice while shaking your head vigorously.
"Yeah, she's just a dumb bitch," Daya agrees.
On the way home in Red's car, Nicky hands you a present in a blue and purple gift bag. "Aww, thanks! I'm so spoiled!" you exclaim happily. Nicky grins and Red smiles in the rearview mirror. You take the white tissue paper out and unwrap the gift, as it seems to be fragile. "Oh my goodness!" you squeal as you reveal a picture of you and your mom at your twentieth birthday in a white wood frame with the word love in cursive black lettering.
"Yeah, I picked it out on Facebook!"
You beam. "Thank you for the gift."
Nicky hugs you and you return the gesture. "Anytime, girl!"
You arrange a time to talk to Frieda and Gloria, whose mothers have also passed on. For Gloria, it was when she was ten, and Frieda never met hers. Your poor grandmother has not only lost her mom, but now her daughter, too. You haven't spoken to her in a while, and you see that some of the light has left her eyes. You put your head on her lap and your legs on Gloria's knees. You're three broken ladies, mourning the same woman. Diane had been a mother to you. She was a best friend to Gloria, and a daughter to Frieda. You try to not only take all the sadness for yourself, because they're feeling it, too. They've been through it before and can imagine your pain, unlike others who admit they can't, like your squad and their parents.
"How did you do it? How do you find happiness after...losing the woman who was bonded to you since nine months before you were born?" you ask in a weak voice.
Your grandma strokes your hair. "There's still an empty space in my heart where Mama was...but it does get better. You find other things to smile and laugh at. You think about her in heaven, watching over you-"
"Grandma...I have fun with my friends and everything, and I know Mom's up there...but I feel like I'm going through life with a brick sitting on my chest. How do I get rid of it?"
Gloria strokes your hair. "You don't really...I miss my parents every day. It's just...the memory of your mother, my bestie, she'll always remain in our hearts, just like my parents did in mine. You learn to make it less hurtful and more of a dull ache. It does get better, but with time."
"Yes, you'll make lots of new memories with the ones who are still here. Your mother will always be remembered, and you can be happy about the years you did have with her, rather than the time you lost," Frieda adds.
You manage a grin at their words. "Thank you…"
"You're welcome, sweetie," Gloria murmurs. She leans down to kiss the top of your head, and then Frieda does the same action.
"I love you, my darling granddaughter," Frieda tells you and wraps you up in a hug.
"I love you too, Grandma."
"Love you, Allie," Gloria chimes in, and you tear up at her using your mother's pet name for you. You're glad she's calling you that.
"Love you too, Glo." Your mom always called her Glo, and it makes your aunt figure's eyes get misty, but she beams.
It's the big day. Your sister wears a simple black dress, Charles is in a dark gray tux, and you pick out a cap-sleeved white shirt with tiny black flowers paired with a black skirt. You slip on your black button-up cardigan and black shoes. You fix your hair into a half pony, and you're ready to go. You're only physically and mentally prepared, but not emotionally just yet. You pass the guest room where Charles has his head in his hands and you gulp the lump back down your throat. Katie is with him, rubbing circles on his back and snuggling into him, and he slowly hugs her back. You realize you're not the only one hurting. The funeral will be hard for him, you know it. You've practiced your eulogy and can finally get through it without crying, but he could barely get his words out. You wish it were easier for him, and it's not really for you, but you push past that agony and put your arms around him, too, like your baby sister is now doing. Facing everyone at the service instead of the picture of you and your family by your bedside could prove to be more difficult than you think.
You're correct about Charles. He can't even finish his opening sentence before he breaks down. He's just standing there in front of the microphone, sobbing and covering his face like you'd seen him do that morning. You press your lips together as your heart breaks. You do not want to cry, since you want to be strong. Unlike Charles, you've been out and about, so of course it's slightly easier for you than it is in his case. You turn around slightly and catch a glimpse of two rows filled with your group of friends and their parents. They appear so sad for him.
Fahri and Daya's stepfather, Leon, come up to stand on either side of Charles and comfort him. He's soon able to speak again.
He talks about how Diane had wanted everyone to do their best and be the best they could be. She was a great shopper and made sure things were on sale before buying them, and she was an excellent cook. She also had gotten a Tesla from your family, but the saddest thing was, she would never be able to drive it. She had been so excited to, when she got better.
At the end of Charles' eulogy, he asks you all to stand up and shout in unison what Diane wanted. "The best!" everyone choruses, and then they sit back down. You again, look at your friends and Nicky nods at you while giving you a slight smile of encouragement. Flaca does, too.
Now you know. It's your turn. With everyone's eyes on your back, you take the five steps up to the podium where Charles is just leaving.
"You sure you're okay doing this?" he asks.
"Yes," you answer. "Come on, man, I can do this!" you tell him. Everyone laughs before you start because that's how you talked to Charles when your mother was still here. Light, teasing, and fun describes the relationship between you and him perfectly, like a grown woman should have with her father. He's not your dad by blood, but he might as well be. Katie is quiet, but she smiles a little bit.
Your family and friends watch you as you lean into the microphone and begin your eulogy.
You don't choke up or shed a tear once. You just talk about how awesome your mother was and the special bond you shared with her. She was your best friend and she'll always be with you and your mutual loved ones.
Forever.