“Thank you very much for helping me with this.”
He’d single-handedly turned what had been a bummer of a day, thanks to Nate the Disappointment, into a satisfying evening. “Trust me when I say that helping you really has been and will continue to be my pleasure.”
•••
“I don’t let myself eat lasagna Monday through Saturday,” Connor’s mom said to him the following day. “But it’s Sunday, praise the Lord. I allow myself lasagna on Sundays.”
Accustomed to her food issues, Connor nodded as he cracked open the oven to check the cooking progress on the lasagna he’d purchased for their dinner. Almost done.
“I can’t wait.” She began unloading the dishwasher. “All that ricotta. The spicy meat. The curvy edges of the noodles.” She groaned happily.
The winter sun set early, so the kitchen’s windows framed dark views of their neighborhood. It was plenty bright inside, though. In addition to the recessed lighting, his mom had lit a lamp on the counter and a battery-powered one on the table.
He assisted with the dishes as she continued to sing lasagna’s praises.
For reasons he didn’t understand, she’d chosen to live in a tug-of-war between her deep affection for food and her desire not to gain weight. She was not a petite person, but who cared? She was beautiful as she was. Tall and striking, with a knack for dressing in layers of clothing. She wore her graying strawberry-blond hair in a short style that suited her kind face.
She looked great at the age of sixty and he’d have liked for her to make peace with food so that she could enjoy it for as long as possible before ALS affected her ability to eat and swallow. But, so far, the tug-of-war showed no signs of stopping.
“I’m not planning to eat more than eight ounces of lasagna,” she was saying. “I’ll whip up a side salad and fill up on that.”
Mom had been the rock of his childhood after Dad left the family when Connor was seven. Penny Bryant was dependable, supportive, and unselfish, which was why the day he’d learned she had Lou Gehrig’s disease had been the worst of his life. He’d known just enough about the condition to react with horror. The research he’d done following their phone conversation had deepened his dread. ALS was a heartbreaking, dehumanizing way to die.
How, he’d wondered, could this be his mother’s fate? It seemed incredibly unfair that someone so good should be handed such a brutal sentence.
He’d given his landlord and the administrators at his school in LA notice, telling them he’d leave as soon as the fall semester ended. Once he’d fulfilled that commitment, he’d rented a U-Haul truck, packed it with his belongings, and driven across the country as if zombies were chasing him.
When he’d arrived at his childhood home after three marathon days behind the wheel, the house had glowed despite the late hour. Mom had waited up for him, just like in the old days when he’d gone over to his buddy Andrew’s house and stayed up till midnight playing video games.
She’d met him halfway between the U-Haul and the front door and wrapped him in a hug. She loved all three of her children fiercely, but he secretly suspected he was her favorite. The two of them were the most alike in their family. Even and dependable.
He’d pulled back and looked at her. “Mom,” he said, throat tight.
In the way of mothers, she seemed to understand all of his despair and fear. And in the way of mothers, she acted quickly to comfort him, even though he wasn’t the one with the crushing diagnosis.
She gripped his shoulder, her gray eyes steady. She looked tired, yes, but not racked with fear. “This isn’t what I would’ve chosen, but I can’t complain, either. I’ve had a wonderful life. A life I love. There’s been heartache”—he knew she was mostly referring to his dad—“but I have you three and so I count myself to be one of the most fortunate women in the world.”
Emotions heaving, he’d said nothing.
“I intend to keep on living to the fullest,” she continued, “for as long as I can. God has brought me this far and I trust Him to bring me the rest of the way. I’m going to take it one day at a time. And that’s what I want you to do, too. I want you to live to the fullest. Trust God. And take it one day at a time.”
He stood tall and unwavering, strong for her, though tears filmed his vision.
“We’re going to get through this,” she promised. “It’s going to be all right.”
He saw then that she viewed the remainder of her life as her crucial final act of mothering. She was determined to shepherd her children through her death in a way that enabled them to emerge as healthy and whole as possible.
“I’m only sorry you felt you had to give up your life in California,” she said.
“I’m not sorry.” She needed someone to move in and take care of her. His older sister was married with three young kids. His younger sister lived out of state and was married to her job as the CFO of a start-up. But even if his sisters’ circumstances had been different, no one would have doubted, least of all him, that he was the one to do this job.
His sisters were loud, bossy, dramatic. He was none of those things. He had the type of personality that could weather hard conversations with doctors, endless appointments, and the administration of medicines.
He wanted to be her rock, as she had been his.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here,” he’d told her.
All his life, he’d witnessed her courage and grace. But never more than in the two years that had followed his homecoming.
