ONE
JESSICA
“Are you okay, Mom?” I ask softly, closing the door behind me as I step into her bedroom.
Mom quickly wipes her cheeks and pats the space beside her on the floor where she’s sitting by the bed with the old camcorder we bought from the neighbor’s yard sale last summer.
She’s deteriorated rapidly over the past few weeks since her terminal diagnosis, and her pain has become harder to control. Her doctor has talked to her about end-of-life care, but she wants to stay home with us for as long as she can. She wants to make the most of the little time she has left.
“Sit with me.”
I pad across the floor and gently lower myself onto the soft rug beside her. Mom sets the camera aside, pulls me into her arms, and kisses the top of my head.
I’ve always loved her hugs. If there were a prize for the best hugs, Mom would win every time. It doesn’t matter that I’m not a little kid anymore. It doesn’t matter that it’s not considered cool or whatever. Mom’s hugs are the best. Warm. Safe.
Another thing I love is the sound of her steady heartbeat against my ear. The world could end, but her heart would still calm the stormiest oceans.
“What were you doing, Mom?” My voice comes out quiet.
She rests her cheek against my head. “I was recording something for you and your siblings to remember me by.”
A chasm opens in my chest, an ugly black hole of ache that swallows everything before tearing into it with grimy claws.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to.”
She kisses the top of my head again, then cups my face with trembling hands as tears fill her eyes. “I want you to have something you can watch when life hurts.” She presses her forehead to mine. “Or when you feel lost.”
I cover her hands with mine. “Mom, please don’t talk like that.”
But she ignores me. “I won’t always be here.”
No… She will. She’ll watch me grow up. She’ll cry happy tears at my wedding. She’ll fuss over Summer when she’s pregnant with her first baby. She’ll welcome her future daughter-in-law with open arms.
She’ll be here.
My chest feels like it’s tearing apart, as if dirty nails are ripping through me. Breathing hurts, and I shake my head in denial. I’m not ready to face the truth. None of us are. She’s the glue that holds our family together.
Without her, we’ll spiral.
Mom taps my chest gently. “But I’ll always live in there.”
Tears finally fall. I swipe at my cheeks with my sleeve as she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, just like moms do, then cups my chin.
“When life gets hard,” she says softly, “close your eyes and think of me, and I’ll be there, honey.”
My worn trainers pound the pavement. I push myself harder as tears streak down my cheeks, cold against my skin. The track curves ahead, so I dig my heels in, trying to outrun myself and the gaping hole in my chest. Some days are worse than others, and today is especially brutal. My chest feels tight, my breaths shallow, like I’m sucking air through a straw.
There’s no way to escape it. I can’t outrun the future. It waits further up the track like a beast crouched in the bushes, ready to attack as I pass.
Today feels different. I’m running in the early evening, something I rarely do because it isn’t the same. But I had to get away for a while. Earlier, I found myself in Mom’s bedroom, running my fingers over the flowery bedspread as tears rolled down my cheeks. The soft, feminine scent of her perfume still hung in the air. I picked up one of the cardigans hanging in her closet and buried my face in the cashmere. If I closed my eyes, squeezed them tight, it almost felt like Mom was there with me.
I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe it so badly.
But Mom wasn’t there. No matter how much I thought of her, she wasn’t…there.
I stop mid-run and bend over, hands braced on my knees as I gulp down air. My lungs burn, and I welcome the pain, even when it feels like my heart might give out. It wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it? At least the emotional pain would stop, and I wouldn’t be out here trying to outrun the reaper.
