The Real(79)

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” I said through gritted teeth. “If you do this I’ll never forgive you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

His jaw set as he studied me. “This isn’t about us.”

“I know.”

“Then respect her wishes.”

“She’s still here,” I said choking on my words. “Jesus, Dad, don’t take this away from me. Please.”

“You need to go.”

“Mark,” we heard her call from behind the door. “Let him in.”

He let out a harsh breath and studied me before he opened the door. The hospice nurse hung another bag of fluids and made quick leave and my Dad shut the door behind her. My mother sat in the middle of her bedroom which seemed unbelievably bare with only a hospital bed centered in the middle of it. Everything about it seemed wrong.

She was wearing a yellow knit cap that her sister had made for her and her favorite robe. Her body was void of life, her thin frame withering beneath the thin sheet draped over her. My eyes stung as she held out her hand, her fingers skeleton. I bit back every sound threatening to escape.

“Come here, Cam,” she said low as I took the seat next to her and took her cold hand which was covered in bandages, bruised from the needles full of medicine that didn’t help her, and couldn’t save her. All the hell she went through, for nothing. She was leaving, and my chest caved knowing it was the last time I would ever lay eyes on her.

“Look at me,” she said sternly. I gave her my eyes and through all the strength I saw in hers, I faltered.

“This is why I didn’t want you to see.”

I took in a sharp breath that burned my throat. “Mom, stop trying to protect me. I’m too old for that.”

“Never. It’s my right and it’s been the best privilege of my life. Over everything else you were the one thing I’m most proud of and I know you believe that. You know how much I love you. I made sure of it. Because that’s what you do when you live for someone else. When you have your own, you’ll understand.”

I nodded, studying her fingers, unable to speak.

“Cameron, we agreed. I don’t want you to see this. I won’t let you.”

“Mom-”

“Just be a good man,” she whispered as my father cried openly at her side. She squeezed my hand faintly before she let go. I felt the loss of her warmth and it ripped my chest wide open. She was determined. Even in her final days she kept so much authority. Over me, over us both.

“I don’t know how to let go,” I whispered. Knowing she was terrified, I was selfish. I needed her comfort. She taught me how to tie my shoes, stand my ground, and take care of myself. She taught me how to love, she never taught me how to let go.

“I don’t have anything else for you Cameron. It’s not that I don’t want you here, it’s that I can’t handle it myself. Please,” she whispered as her own tears got the best of her. “I don’t know how to do this either. I don’t think I’ll take my last breath and be okay knowing you’re here and I won’t be.” She turned to my dad. “Mark give us a minute.” He nodded before he left the room and the door clicked softly behind him.

I surveyed the space. She’d painted her walls sky blue when she got sick. She said it would make her feel more out in the open on days where the chemo refused to let her leave. But somehow, even with filtered sun streaming through the windows, the room felt ominous. I inhaled the scent of her lotion next to her bedside table, a scent I knew I would never forget, it was of no comfort and damn near brought me to my knees.

Cancer had stripped her, taking her skin, her hair, her joy and using her body as a punching bag. She’d survived it once. I didn’t know why God thought she deserved more, but I asked him. I asked him every day. And every day she got weaker until I had no choice but to accept her fate.

I could no longer demand answers but pray anyway, even if God was cruel. She hurt, and I prayed. And when praying proved to be pointless, I watched her wilt, I watched her choke on breath, I watched her cry out in pain, helpless, hopeless, it was the first time I felt forsaken and humbled to the point I no longer had an ego.

God broke us both and my father watched.

I looked at my mother, a floating vessel in a shell that refused to house her. So much life was left in her eyes, but she was stuck in a body that wouldn’t cooperate. I knew in that moment she was right. Seeing her like that altered me. It took a piece of me. She looked back at me as she weighed her words like she often did, before she spoke while I prayed one last time.

No more pain. God, hear me. You take her, but no more pain.

“Cameron, your father and I started this life together, and I want to end things with him that way. I know that seems selfish, but I need him with me. He’s my strength, son. No matter how you see it. He’s mine. It’s a gift if you think about it. I get to devastate him and then I’m free. But he won’t be. You two need to figure out how to do this on your own. Promise me you’ll try.”

“I will,” I said burying my face in her blanket. I gave myself three seconds of anguish before I faced her. Three seconds to breathe in the hell fire, breath that I could take freely, and she would suffocate for. I felt her fingers on my neck as I braved another look at her. And in her eyes, I saw the woman who gave me the best of herself. I saw a woman capable of so much more than being Mark’s wife or my mother. I saw her for the first time, a woman who was able to choose any other life than belonging to us. But we were her choice and I was grateful. And so, for my mother’s sacrifice, I made mine.