December 24, 2002
The night was dark and Robert could feel the overwhelming sensation of sadness fill his heart. It wasn't a foreign feeling, he'd been sad for a long, long time.
There was, of course, the sadness that crept into his soul when his father left him and his mum. Rowan may not have contributed much to his son's life, but watching the man simply and cold-heartedly walk out the door would taint even the most well-adjusted person. There was no explanation, no reason, nothing. Rowan just packed a suitcase one day and walked out the front door while leaving Elizabeth in a puddle of her own tears.
It hurt Robert to see his mum like that. Day-in and day-out the young boy watched his mum break down and succumb to her alcoholic desires, often passing out in her own vomit. It was an awful way to feel, he was sure, so Robert did the best he could to help her.
For a while, he managed. From the time his dad left to that Christmas he found himself able to handle every curveball life threw at him. Whether it was his mother's alcoholism and possible mental illness or typical teenage problems, Robert was able to navigate the crazy world of pre-adulthood. He was strong, caring, kind.
But his grandparents died in May and he found himself a little less strong than he imagined he was. It was a car accident, simple and quick. An obese man was driving down road while trying to eat food he'd just picked-up from a local fast-food restaurant when he lost control of his car and hit Robert's grandparents who were walking on the sidewalk.
They died on impact, or at least that's what the cop who called Robert's home told him. "Quick", that's the word the policeman used to try and make it sound like it was okay, like what happened wasn't as awful and tragic as it was. Some fat piece of shit couldn't just pull over to stuff his face and because of that Robert lost the two people in his life who mattered the most to him.
He could clearly recall the last conversation he had with Nathaniel: they were on the phone talking about a girl Robert had come to have a fondness for. He was going to ask her out to some silly school dance and Nathaniel was giving him pointers on how to ask her. Of course his advice was foolish and the men just ended up spending two hours laughing on the phone rather than seriously figuring out how it all would happen, but the conversation was light-hearted and fun.
"Humiliation works well," Nathaniel informed his seventeen-year-old grandson, "that's how I got your grandmum. I stood outside of her home and played my violin and she was so embarrassed. I told her the only way I'd stop was if she agreed to go out with me, and so she reluctantly said yes. And look at us, fifty-six years later and we're still happy! You never know, maybe Julia will be the one!"
Julia was not the one, or maybe she was but Robert never asked her. A day later Nathaniel and Lenora were hit and gone from Robert's life.
At seventeen Robert had to write his grandparent's obituaries.
His dad didn't so much as call to see if he was okay.
His mum showed up to the funeral drunk and belligerently crying.
Elizabeth Chase.
She'd been declining for a while as her drinking got worse, but no matter what Robert did she didn't seem to care. It was hard for him to find the energy and will to get his mum's life in order when his was so chaotic and painful. No one ever asked him how he was coaping with the death of his grandparents, no one looked in on him. It was as if he were completely alone in the world.
And though Robert still cared deeply for his mother, he found great sadness in seeing her willingly kill herself. All too often he'd rummage through the house and throw away any stray bottles of alcohol hidden in secret places only to find them in new places days later. Elizabeth's drinking had gotten so bad that she was drunk nearly all the time and when she wasn't slurring her words and puking on various surfaces, she was screaming at her only son and throwing glass bottles at him. She was a handful, and it was easy to get resentful.
But it was Christmas Eve, and Elizabeth was dying.
Her doctors told her she wouldn't make it to the new year, and that was a fact that didn't seem to bother the woman. She just continued to pour herself more drinks no matter how painful they were to swallow or how yellow her skin got. The mood swings started off bad, but as the month progressed she became more out-of-it, like her brain was shutting down.
For so many years Elizabeth chose to spend holidays and weekends with her friends out at a local pub; they were people she considered to be her closest companions, but they were no where to be found that Christmas Eve. Instead, they were out with their families, leaving Elizabeth with her only son.
"Please mum, please," Robert quietly begged as he sat next to his mum who laid in her bed breathing shallow, "don't die. I need you…please mum…"
No matter how flawed and selfish the woman was, Robert knew she loved him. She needed him, she always had. And he loved her too. He loved when she took him to the beach as a kid and taught him how to surf. He loved those rainy afternoons when he was too young to go to school and they used to build blanket forts in the living room and watch old movies. He loved the way she smiled and told him she loved him.
Their relationship was complicated, but she was all he had.
"Please…!" shameful tears rolled down the teenager's cheeks as he desperately begged him mother to fight, "I need you mum! I've always needed you! Please don't leave me!"
The house was quiet, so eerily quiet. He'd gotten used to the sounds of his mum making a ruckus that to have things so silent made him feel uneasy.
"Please mum… it's Christmas…" he cried and took her hand in his own. There was little resistance him Elizabeth's body as years of alcoholism overtook her and her eyes closed for the last time.
Her breathing was shallow.
Her skin uncomfortably yellow.
And before him Robert watched his mother draw her last breath, and he was alone.
Completely and utterly alone.
