Saugatuck Summer (Saugatuck, #1)(96)

“She has an advance directive stating that she wants only palliative measures if it’s determined there is no hope for meaningful recovery,” the doctor continued. “This would be that point.”

He left us alone then to discuss things, but there was nothing to discuss. Colleen sat with her head on Tonya’s shoulder, her eyes rimmed with red, and we all agreed with almost no words spoken that we would honor Mom’s wishes.

We signed the necessary papers, and they took her off the respirator that evening as we stood by her bedside and said our good-byes. I kissed her puffy, overly warm face one last time and then shrunk away to the back of the room, unable to watch. Twenty minutes later, she died.

That night, Jace had to stop holding me long enough to answer a knock on the door to our room and explain to the concerned hotel staff why they shouldn’t call the cops about my hysterical sobbing.



My aunt ran interference on a lot of the more mundane funeral arrangements, but eventually Tonya and Colleen and I found ourselves sitting with the consultant at the funeral home, discussing the service.

“Is there any music you’d like to have played or performed?”

I bowed my head and remained silent.

“Topher?” Tonya rose from her chair to come over and squat before mine so that she was in my line of sight. “Jace told me the other day that one of the last things Mom said to you before she went downhill was how much she loved your singing. Do you want to sing something for her?”

I immediately looked at Colleen, because she would be the one to accuse me of using Mom’s death as an opportunity to showboat if she was feeling bitchy, but she didn’t say anything. A fresh cascade of tears spilled down my cheeks, and I was half-tempted to refuse. How could I sing when I hadn’t stopped crying for two days? But I nodded, bowed my head again, and said nothing else.



Robin and Geoff and Ling came to the funeral with baby Zhen. I got to introduce them to my sisters as I stood greeting and receiving every distant relative I never knew I had. Then I froze in my tracks, staring in disbelief as Jace approached with someone by his side.

“Mo.”

She managed a trembling smile, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Jace called me. He said he knew you wouldn’t, but that if I thought I might be willing to ever talk to you again, I should consider being here.”

I didn’t dare fling myself into her arms the way I wanted to, not until she crossed that final step and embraced me. I didn’t know how long I stood there clinging to her, whimpering abject apologies against her shoulder. Finally she stepped away.

“I’m still pissed.” There was a catch in her voice. “I don’t know if it can ever be the way it was before. But I’m here today.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, sniffling.

So she sat beside me, opposite Jace, and they each held my hands until the pastor called my name.

I kept it simple; I really didn’t want to give anyone reason to accuse me of showing off. “There Lies the Answer” had never spoken to me before, but sometime in those days of preparing for the funeral, all the angry songs I had once associated with my mother had stopped feeling appropriate, and all I could think about was healing and forgiveness. I sat at the piano with my eyes closed, playing the music I’d learned by ear.

Underneath all the anger

There lies the answer

It felt surreal, to actually be sitting there playing at my mother’s funeral. Was that really me? Was it really happening? It didn’t seem possible. I’d imagined that same scenario a hundred times since I was a teenager, knowing it was an inevitability, but now that it was here, I felt odd and disconnected from it.

I can make it through

To do what I’m supposed to do

To come back to you

Perhaps the most unreal part of it was that the relief I’d expected to feel when she was finally dead, the knowledge that she was gone and would never be able to cause me any grief again, was completely absent. There had been moments—a lot of them—when I’d been entirely okay with the prospect of her death. Now it just hurt.

There’s a path that forms for those willing to change

A tiny spark that can become a flame

I could hear sniffles from the mourners, and I knew tears were streaming down my own face. My voice quavered and hitched a few times, and I never once opened my eyes. Behind my eyelids, I saw the pretty young mother who had come home unexpectedly at Christmas and lain down and held me when I was almost too small to remember it. The mother who had come to my play in the middle of the school day and beamed with pride when I was in the sixth grade and had the lead. The mother who had always been convinced I could do anything, that I was talented and brilliant and beautiful. The mother with the razor-sharp wit that could sneak up on you and slip between your ribs before you even caught on.

There’s a day that dawns when you can see through the night

A blindfold lifted to bring back sight somehow

I can feel it now

I can feel it now

When I returned to my seat, Colleen stood up, her face wet, and hugged me hard.

“That was beautiful,” she whispered. “Mom would have loved it.”

I hugged her back, all the bitter fights and cruel words forgotten, at least for the moment. I embraced her for being the sister who had also, in her own way, come out on the other side of everything that had been stacked against us as children. Who had been my playmate and caretaker when we’d been alone, stuck together in a situation neither of us could understand. Tonya had made it out early enough to be almost unscathed. But Colleen and I, for all our disagreements and personality conflicts, were the survivors. I hugged her back and let myself remember that she was my sister and I loved her.