For Always (27 page)

My heart plunged to the depths of my being, to a place I’d known only in my darkest hours. Someone was in trouble. I looked to Maria frightened and stunned, she shook her head to let me know she had no idea what was going on.

Only once we were in the car on our way to the hospital did he begin to explain what happened.

“Your mother’s in the hospital.”

“Why?”

Panic threatened to take over but I wouldn’t allow it. I took a deep breath understanding I needed to keep it together. I needed to be strong for my mother. Without her, no one was left to help me pick up the pieces.

“She may have had a heart attack.”

I shook my head in denial as if that could erase it.

“No. My father had a heart attack, not my mother.”

“Stephanie, I know this is hard but you need to be prepared. She seems to be okay but she did lose consciousness.”

“When did this happen?”

“An hour ago. She and my wife went out to dinner. As they were leaving the restaurant she collapsed.”

Guilt overrode my senses. I knew whatever happened was my fault. It was because of my stubbornness. What if’s ran through my mind and then, once again, denial.

It couldn’t be true. My mother was the one person I knew I could count on. She’d be there always, no matter what. I knew I couldn’t face a world without her in it.

Suddenly I was ten years old again. I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. I wanted my mother to put her arms around me and tell me everything was going to be alright, like she did so many times. I wanted my father. I wanted to hear the beat of his heart, smell the scent of his cologne, hear the sound of his voice reassuring me.

I ached to cry, a terrible overwhelming ache that ran from the top of my chest to the pit of my stomach. But I didn’t. I knew although I couldn’t see him, I could feel my father there, with me, making sure I had the strength I needed to hold myself together. As long as I kept it together everything was going to be alright.

Thirty-Six

We went straight to the ER and informed the receptionist of our presence. Maria and I remained on our feet while waiting for news on my mother’s condition. Oblivious to cries and moans of the sick people surrounding me, my mind remained focused. Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe and you’ll get through this.

An eternity passed before a large woman with very wide hips and dry frizzy brown hair opened the door separating the waiting area from the vicinity where patients were being treated.

“Barrano family,” she called out, resting her hip against the door to hold it open.

I swallowed hard not knowing what to expect, afraid of what I may face on the other side of the heavy aluminum door. I inhaled deeply holding my breath for a moment. A quick squeeze of Maria’s hand, a slow exhale, and I headed for the door.

“Right this way, hun.” She offered me a feigned smile. I followed wordlessly, wondering how many times a day she goes through this exact routine.

“I’m Joan. I’m taking care of your mother,” she informed me while leading me into a large open area. A nurse’s station sat in the middle of a large rectangular area. Individual treatment areas each holding a gurney, monitors, and other supplies were set up on the periphery of the room. Blips and beeps filled the space with noise.

“She’s being admitted. We’re just waiting for a bed,” Joan said, as she stopped for a moment at the desk to pick up a manila folder. I nodded in agreement as my eyes searched desperately for my mother.

I spotted her resting in a corner of the room just as Joan began moving again, heading in her direction. The curtain around my mother’s bed was drawn so no one could see her from the sides, only from the center of the room. The nurse pulled back the curtain a bit and gestured toward a chair.

“Ten minutes,” she warned.

“Okay,” I cleared my throat hoping to appear stronger than I felt.

“Try not to get her excited. She should stay calm.”

Again, I nodded in agreement and watched Joan walk away.

I soaked in the scene silently. Wires and leads connected my mother to monitors. For the first time in my life, she looked fragile. Deep bags hung beneath her eyes, made more relevant by the lack of color in her normally pale skin.

I never before noticed the lines sinking into her skin, etched deeply around her eyes and mouth and wondered when they appeared. In a way they’d always been there but in my mind’s eye, she hadn’t aged at all since I was a little girl.

She’d always been healthy and I took for granted the fact she’d always be with me, until the end of time. I no longer had that false sense of security, and I yearned for it.

I needed to be strong. At least to appear strong, so she wouldn’t worry. I could do this, I told myself. I had to. So I did.

I put my hand on top of hers. It was cold and looked purplish. Mom’s eyes opened. Her eyelids fluttered as if she were trying to shoo away any remnants of slumber with her long lashes.

“Hi Honey,” her voice betrayed her fear.

“Hey Mom. How are you doing?” I asked surprised at how solid I sounded.

“I need a little rest so I thought I’d come here for a vacation,” she joked.

I forced a smile in return, wanting to ask her a million questions, knowing I couldn’t.

“How do you feel?”

“Me? I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me,” she tried to play it off as if it were merely a minor cold. I could see through her mock bravery she was frightened, down to the core.

“Listen, you enjoy this vacation of yours,” I began, “because it’s the last one you’re going to have for a while, got it?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Good. Get some rest and I’ll be back in the morning.” I leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“Go home. You have a lot of packing to do. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”
“Alright Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I returned to the waiting room where Maria and her parents sat waiting for me. Seeing me approach, Maria jumped up and ran over to me.

“How is she?” Maria asked, looking nervous.

“I don’t know.” I felt myself shiver, “She looks so . . . so . . . sick.”

“Oh she’ll be fine,” Maria’s mother pooh-poohed with the wave of her hand like my mother was in to get a tooth pulled.

I didn’t get offended by the apparent lack of concern. I understood it was an attempt to reassure me everything would be okay. I was used to it and I was used to Mrs. Deluci.

If ever anyone embodied nervousness it was her. If Maria wasn’t home five minutes earlier than she was supposed to be at night, her mother would be at the corner, searching in all directions for her. She worried about everything: money, the weather, our overuse of hair products and how it would affect our scalps in years to come, you name it, she nibbled her nails contemplating it.

“Come on, we should get going,” Maria’s father said, hoping to usher us out of the hospital. “You’ll spend the night with us,” he declared, not expecting any argument.

“No.” I answered firmly, “I’d like to stay. I need to be here, just in case.”

He shook his head. “It’s late. They have your phone number and ours if they need to contact you.”

“I know, but I’d still like to stay. At least for a while.”

Her parents exchanged a worried glance. “Then we’ll stay with you,” her mother offered.

“I really need to be alone,” I insisted. Couldn’t they grasp that I needed to start getting used to being alone? That apparently was my plight in life.

“Fine, then be alone at home, not here.” This time her father’s voice held a firmness I dare not challenge. He wasn’t about to give in so I had to.

No one spoke during the ten minute ride from the hospital to our home. There was nothing to say. Maria knew it. Her parents knew it. And so did I.

Sure they would tell me everything would be alright, trying to convince themselves as much as me, none of us believing it. What else could they say? Sorry kid, looks like you’re shit out of luck? No, that would be callous, tactless.

The Delucis climbed up their side of the steps when we arrived home expecting me to follow. I didn’t. I went up my side of the wrought iron banister straightaway. Surprisingly they let me. Once we reached the top they waited for me to turn my key in the lock.

“Do you want me to sleep over?” Maria offered.

“No, I’ll be okay,” I assured her.

She looked at her parents uncertain if she should take no for an answer. Her mother nodded.

“If you need me call, okay?” she offered.

“Okay.” I nodded.

“Promise?” she asked, much like a young child.

“Promise.”

Maria hugged me tight over the banister. I knew they wouldn’t budge until I was safely in the house. With my heart pounding furiously against my chest, I let myself in and locked the door tight behind me.

Not ready to go any further, I leaned against the door and slid my back down until I reached the floor. I pulled my knees into my chest and buried my face in my hands, letting the tears fall freely making it hard for me to breathe.

I embraced the darkness. It felt right. I didn’t have to face anything. I didn’t need to see reflections and shades of truth hidden in them. Aside from me, the house was empty. I was alone and could very well be for the rest of my life.

No. The darkness kept all that at bay.

I called out to God. I asked, pleaded with him, I’d give up anything if only he’d spare my mother, if only he’d let her live. I was nothing more than a child, abandoned and scared. I needed safety, the unconditional love only a parent can give. I’d already lost one parent. I couldn’t face losing another.

I stayed with my back against the door for what felt like an eternity. I remained motionless to all but my sobs throughout the night. I cried and continued to cry, oblivious to the heaviness of my eyes and the sleep that fell over me. At some point, I lost consciousness.

The morning sunlight spilled through the glass panels at the top of the door into the hallway, letting in the radiance of the new day. The rays of gold emanating from the sun were warm and beautiful. I looked at these waves of perfection stirring me from my sleep, as a sign, everything was going to be alright.

I believed it.

I didn’t know the time, but I knew I had to call Jordan. Whether he left or not no longer mattered. But I needed to reach out to him, even if it were for the last time.

Thirty-Seven

I sat on the couch, picked up the telephone and called Jordan. I listened as the line rang and thought for a minute of hanging up. Maybe I’d wake him. It felt early. I couldn’t see the clock and knew deep down I was just searching for an excuse. I stood steadfast and let it continue to ring.

“Hello,” his voice sounded tired and strained.

I swallowed hard uncertain of what I would actually say. I took a deep breath and decided to speak from my heart.

“Hi. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No.” He sounded cold, distant. “I’m at the airport.”

“Oh.” I felt the air seep from my lungs, and hoped I didn’t sound as disappointed as I felt. When he said that, I realized this could be goodbye.

Forever.

I sensed something final, that I might never see him again. I thought my throat was going to close. “I have something important to say.” I stopped. I had to do this in person. I needed to do this the right way. “If I leave my house right now, do I have time? Before the plane takes off?”

I heard loud breaths as he contemplated something. “You can’t talk me out of leaving. My mind is set.”

I had a million questions I wanted to ask. Why? Where? When would he be back? But more important things needed to be said, like how did we get here?

And how could we be out of time?