A/N: Hey everyone. I just quickly wanted to apologize for being so antisocial and not responding to reviews since the last chapter of Where Courage Ignites. Believe me, I 100% appreciate and value everyone's feedback. I honestly would not have improved it the way I did without everyone's input. I think I just didn't want it to be over and giving a final response to everyone would make it real. Anyways, I will do better with my responses because I like showing my appreciation. Please enjoy this chapter!
Confessions and Consequences
Chapter 6. "What We Can Save"
Like most people who got an English degree, I hate my job. Mainly because I do nothing remotely related to literature in the slightest, but at least the degree got me a government gig with decent benefits. I process applications for food stamps; specifically making sure the applicants meet the qualifications. This means that I spend approximately an hour and a half actually doing that, about two hours looking like I'm still doing that, a half hour for lunch, and any time in between checking Facebook and/or spacing the hell out. Lately the time in between, and even some of the productive time, has been tarnished by concern. Every second I spend at work is another moment my mom sits alone on her deathbed.
It's Friday evening and I'm working overtime, so the office is especially quiet since it's such a crappy shift. Mom's not doing any better, but I have bills to pay and no more PTO. My supervisor knows what's been going on, so she lets me have my phone out in case there's an issue at the hospital.
The door at the far end of the cubicles opens and I glance above the dividers towards it. Lynette, my morbidly obese boss, waddles her way down the aisle as my cup of coffee ripples with each loud step she takes. I send up a quick prayer that she won't talk to me and thank god she passes by without muttering a single word. I keep my attention directed on the screen for a solid thirty minutes before I get a call from the hospital telling me they're moving my mom into hospice care. To me it just sounds like they've swapped out her deathbed. Nothing else has changed.
…
I pull into the cancer center out of habit before finding the hospice parking area. I take the maze of hallways to mom's room and gently knock on the door.
Her soft voice rasps, "Come in." Truthfully, I'm still not used to my mother's voice sounding like a dying woman, like someone who should be a stranger. I push the door in and am relieved to find a bouquet shop of flowers surrounding her. They moved my gifts with her. I position today's lily in the vase with the dozens of others I've brought for her – one for each day she's been away from home.
I ask, "Did you walk today?" She scoffs. "Did the nurses help you walk today?" She shrugs. I order, "Give me an answer, mom."
She snaps, "It doesn't matter anyways, Troy."
"Of course it matters. You need to keep your strength up."
"For what? I'm terminal. You think I won't be able to walk as a ghost or something? Maybe they'll have wheelchairs in hell."
"Don't say that." I'm not especially religious, but I don't appreciate her dooming herself to burn in an eternal fire because she does believe in it.
"It doesn't matter. I already know where I'm going."
"You don't know that."
She doesn't answer, but instead snatches the remote off her bedside table and turns on the TV. A fuzzy screen lights up and the voices coming from the speakers sound robotic. She says, "Hit the TV for me."
I wiggle the wires behind the TV until the picture and audio corrects itself. When I look back at my mom to see if she's pleased, I still barely recognize her. The mostly bald head with a few wispy strands of hair, her tiny frame, her gaunt features. I look at her and I wonder where she's gone. Her blue eyes, identical to mine, suddenly latch onto mine and she says, "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"You have a look when you pity someone."
"I'm not pitying you."
"Then what are you doing? Because it doesn't look good."
I take a seat in the armchair beside her bed and hold her hand as she watches The View reruns. After a couple episodes, the visiting hours are over. I grab my jacket off the back of the chair and say, "I'm heading out. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you." I look to her with her arms placed across her chest and a frown on her face. She says nothing in response. "Mom," I push, "I said I love you." Her bottom lip quivers and tears well up in her eyes. I cross over to her and gently place my hand on her arm. I say, "Mom, it's ok."
She quickly jerks her arm away from my touch and yells, "Go! Just get out! I don't want you here anymore!"
A nurse peeks into the room and says, "Sir, visiting hours are over. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
I approach the nurse and demand, "Make sure someone is walking her."
…
It's Saturday and I had planned to visit my mom this morning like every weekend before, but I'm hesitant this time. I don't know what got into her last night, and I'm afraid to see the same angry woman today. So I don't go right away. Instead, I kill a few hours shooting hoops at the nearby park. My consistency has suffered since my college years. Honestly, I am ashamed by this beer belly and awful form. I used to be the star player, but those days are long gone.
I head back to the apartment and take a cold shower, get dressed, and go to the hospice center. As I walk through the hallways to her room, I spot a cluster of doctors and nurses standing in her doorway. "Did something happen to my mom?"
One of the nurses, a dark skinned and heavyset woman, pulls me aside. "Are you her son? Troy?" She asks me.
"I am. What's going on?"
"I was just about to call you." She pauses and wrings her hands together. "Your mother passed a couple minutes ago."
The floor that my heart had been resting on collapses and it crashes into my stomach. "She's dead?" I grip my chest and stumbled into the wall behind me, the world suddenly swaying beneath me.
The nurse grabs my arm and yells out, "Help!" The other nurses run to my side and one brings a chair.
I say, "I'm fine." I lean against the wall for support and focus on my breathing. It's heavy and erratic at first, but I correct it and soon my panic subsides.
…
Days have passed and I know I'm forgetting to eat and bathe, but truthfully, I can't find the energy to be concerned. I wasn't even bothered to let my work know what happened. That should make me worry, but my apathy has infested every part of me.
Once I finally decide to get out of bed around three in the afternoon, a lightheaded sensation overcomes me as soon as I stand. I decide to force myself to eat something. I find a bowl and cereal, but when I open the milk to pour it I can smell that it has soured. Dry cereal it is. I nom on the fruity flavored clumps of stale grain until I gag only a few bites in. I toss the rest into the trash and stack the dirty dish on the overflowing pile in the sink that I haven't bothered to take care of. I run my hand through my greasy hair and jump at the sound of knocking at my door.
"Troy!" The voice yells, and I know it's aunt Maggie yet again. She's been trying to get in contact with me since the hospital told her mom died, and also the reason why I turned my phone off the last few days. "Troy! If you don't open this door right this second, I'm getting the police to do a wellness check!"
"Go away!"
"Honey, it's not your fault. Please open the door."
I leave the door latched above, but unlock the deadbolt to prop it a few inches open and say to her. "Please leave."
Her eyes, blue in the same regard as mine and my mom's, scan my appearance from head to toe with concern glistening off them. "Troy," she leans closer to the gap in the door. "Why aren't you ready? I let you skip the wake, but there is no way you're missing your mother's funeral. Hurry up, we have half an hour." I scoff and go to shut the door when she lodges her foot in the crack. "Listen to me, Troy. You will regret this the rest of your life if you don't go to your own mother's funeral."
I shake my head. "It's not a choice for me. I just can't do it. I am unable, aunt Maggie."
"Troy, this is your choice! I know it's going to hurt, but I promise you from my own experience that it will help you mourn. Now go get ready."
I sigh. "Fine."
I was very tempted to stay wrapped up in my sheets and sleep until I died, but I believe aunt Maggie when she says I'll regret missing out on this. Even through the blur of grief and sadness, it was painfully clear that I had to bury my mother. The sunlight burned as I stepped back outside for the first time since she had passed. Aunt Maggie had a tight grip on my forearm as I helped her down the steps, either for her balance or to make sure I couldn't run away. Probably both.
We pulled into the cemetery just as the preacher gave his final words over her casket. Slowly, everyone gradually realized I was present. My relatives parted so I could approach and the preacher stepped away. I rested my hand on the thick wood, aware of everyone's eyes on me. It wasn't the right time, but I turned to face them and gave a few words anyways.
"I'm sure it's already been said, but my mother would be so humbled to see everyone here today. She was a brave woman and a strong fighter. I only wish…" I cleared my throat to keep it from collapsing on itself. "I only wish I could have been there in her final moments. Thank you." I rushed from the tent and got in aunt Maggie's passenger seat.
Her door opened and she slowly climbed in. We sat alone in the silence for a few minutes before she finally spoke. "That was beautiful, Troy. I know it wasn't easy. Thank you for coming."
…
She drains the pasta in the sink, a mushroom cloud of steam rising in her face as she does so. She fishes out a couple meatballs and a ladle of marinara sauce before serving me the food at the kitchen table. "Aunt Maggie," I say, "Thank you again." It's been a couple weeks now that Aunt Maggie has been taking care of me. She cleaned my entire apartment and cooked me dinner every night to make sure I was eating. If it wasn't for her, I would have completely wasted away.
She smiles. "Anything for my favorite nephew."
"Aren't I your only nephew?"
"That's besides the point." I crack a smile. "Troy, I meant to tell you sooner, but I have a plane to catch early tomorrow morning. I'll be gone by the time you wake. I hope you're comfortable taking care of yourself."
"Of course."
"Make sure you're getting out of the house at least once a day. Try to find a new job if you can." I nod, agreeing to her terms.
"Thank you for everything, Aunt Maggie. I wish there was a way I could repay you."
"Be happy, my dear. That'd be thanks enough."
The next morning, I start on Aunt Maggie's suggestions. I search the papers for job openings and try my luck online. By noon, I have submitted my resume to five different employers. Just then, it seems like my mind decides that was enough productivity for the day and punishes me with a dose of crippling mourning. I curl up on my bed and try to remember my mom's voice, the real one. How she sounded before she got sick and I realize that I can't. I don't remember my own mother's voice. All I can remember of her is the baldness and the cancer. Her severe weight loss and death.
In that moment, I realize how fragile it all is, how even the strongest bonds can be ruined by the unforeseen. It makes me question why I wouldn't fight to protect the bonds I have that could be repaired. Losing my mother was unpreventable, but losing my best friend could have been stopped.
I call the one person I didn't deserve.
She answers, "Hello?"
"It's me. Can we talk please?"
I wait for her to respond.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! What do you think of Troy reaching out to Gabriella? Do you think she'll respond? Rather, do you think she should respond? I'd love to know what you think.
Thank you again!
