When a nurse comes in a few minutes later, we tell her what happened, and she quickly takes my mother’s vital signs. “Everything looks okay, so I’ll call Dr. Nye and let him know she was awake,” she says before heading out the door.
Aaron and I are left staring at each other, neither of us sure what to do now.
“I don’t even know…” He trails off and looks back down at Mom, shaking his head.
“Me neither,” I say.
Aaron and I sit together, mostly silent, until the doctor comes in about half an hour later. After we tell him what happened, he looks thoughtful for a moment and then grabs a chair, which he pulls up to the foot of Mom’s bed. Then he pulls the curtain around us for a little privacy.
“So, this sounds like something I’ve seen a few times. I can’t say for sure, but it sometimes happens when people are coming close to the end of their lives. They call it paradoxical lucidity or terminal lucidity. It’s when someone who has been experiencing dementia for a long time suddenly returns to mental clarity. It’s like they come back from wherever they’ve gone. We don’t understand it yet, so I can’t tell you what it means in your mother’s case. She could wake up and have another lucid, clear moment, and you’ll be able to talk to her as if she was never sick. Or she could wake up and be just as confused as before or potentially worse. We just don’t know.” His smile is kind. “I’m sorry I can’t give you anything more.”
After the doctor leaves, Aaron and I are sort of at a loss for what we should do. Neither one of us brings up Mom’s episode. I don’t think either one of us knows what to make of it.
The rest of the day drags by, and she doesn’t wake up again. It’s after dinner when Aaron and I decide to head back to his place.
We get home and eat pad thai out of little cardboard containers and still don’t talk about what our mom said to us.
“So, are you dating anyone?” Aaron asks.
“Well, it’s kind of… not really official yet… but yeah. I just started seeing someone in the last few weeks,” I say.
“Yeah?” he says, a smile in his voice. “That guy you’ve been working with? The one who drove you here?”
I nod. “Yeah. He’s amazing, Aar. He’s older, but we’re just… I like how he makes me feel, you know?”
Aaron looks at me with a level gaze when I’m done waxing poetic about Sam. “He sounds pretty special.”
“He really is, but I don’t know. I don’t want to get too attached, you know? I don’t want to get to the point where I’m depending on him.”
Aaron looks confused for a second. “Depending on him for what? Money?”
“Well, not really. I don’t need his money. It’s just… everything else, I guess… I mean, I don’t want to be fucked when he leaves.”
Aaron shrugs. “I’m no expert, Ty… believe me. But from what you’ve told me, he sounds like a pretty good guy. And depending on him doesn’t necessarily mean you’redependenton him. We don’t have to make the same mistakes she did—becoming unable to function on her own. You can obviously take care of yourself, you've proven that over and over. But letting someone be there for you, letting them help you, support you, doesn’t mean you’re dependent on them. I mean, you’d want to do the same for him, right?”
I nod, letting his words sink in.
“It sounds like he’s important to you, Ty. Don’t let your fear of becoming like her stop you from trusting someone enough to let them support you.”
“Yeah,” I say as I process what he said. He’s right. My reluctance to allow Sam to help me probably does come from fear of being like my mother. And there’s no way I want to deny myself any more happiness because of something she did. I’m done living that way.
“So, what about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
A strange look passes over his face for a second, but it disappears quickly. “Nah. I was seeing a girl for a while. But I’m not anymore.” His scowl indicates the subject is closed, and I sense that I shouldn't push him. Maybe someday we’ll be able to get that close relationship back, but right now, I’m happy to have this much.
We’re almost done with our third episode of some mindless reality show when Aaron’s phone vibrates on the coffee table.
He glances at the screen and then looks at me as he swipes to answer it. “It’s the hospital,” he mouths.
His conversation is short. And I know. He doesn’t even have to tell me when he hangs up. He just looks at me for a second.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” I ask, and he nods.
“Yeah. She’s gone.”
CHAPTER 33
SAM
