My ability to be there for Colson has nothing to do with what I’ve survived in the past but everything to do with how much I care about him now.
“Okay, yeah,” I nod in agreement despite my stomach being queasy with uncertainty. “You’re right. I need to pull myself together. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for being empathetic. It just proves how good you are for him.” He holds a hand out for me to take. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Moments after we settle into seats in the family room, a man stands at the threshold and taps his knuckle on the solid wooden door frame. A white doctor’s coat hangs off his shoulders, but he swings it back and clamps his palms on his waist. “Is this the Moore family?”
Colson lifts his gaze from the floor.
Bess immediately looks at him. “Yes,” she confirms through swiping a tear off her face. “We’re here for Janie.”
He softly clicks the door shut behind him before motioning for Bess to sit again. He takes one of the chairs across from us and introduces himself. “I’m Dr. Elsher. I work here in the emergency department at Harrison General Hospital.” He rests his elbows on the arm of the chair and clasps his hands together. The early stages of fine lines trace his light green eyes, and aside from his thinning hair, he looks like a man who deeply cares about his patients.
I scoot to the edge of my seat. I’m not the only one. Colson rests most of his weight on his legs, his hands fisted together like the doctors. Bess sits forward, Thad’s hand a permanent fixture running circles over her back. It’s so painfully silent as we wait for the doctor’s next words that all of our heartbeats become one, racing toward the news he’s about to give.
“I assume you were aware that Janie was an inmate at Harrison Heights County Jail.” His eyes play a round of Frogger,jumping between the five of us. “She was found unconscious on a work assignment by the guards on shift. She was unresponsive with a shallow heartbeat. Medical personnel worked on her until an ambulance transport brought her here. The guards found an empty syringe next to her body.”
Bess blinks multiple times. “A syringe?”
“Afraid so.”
“Do they know what was inside of it or how she got it?”
“I don’t have an answer to your second question. Cases like these usually go under investigation within the corrections system, but given Ms. Moore’s history with drug abuse and some of the symptoms she presented with, we treated appropriately as we would with anyone who is having obvious signs of an overdose.”
Bess brings her hand to her throat, and her eyes overflow with more tears. “Yes, that’s, uh,” she clears her throat, “that’s what they told me on the phone when they called.”
The doctor gives a sympathetic nod. “We also took blood for a drug panel.”
Colson bypasses the doctor’s words. “How’s she doing now? Can we see her?”
The doctor's eyes linger on him for a moment before he asks, “You’re her son, I take it?” Colson gives a terse dip of his chin. “We attempted to treat your mom with naloxone, a drug that often reverses the side effects of an opioid overdose. I’m sorrow-stricken to say that its effects were temporary. It’s likely that years of drug use had impacted her system far too greatly. Her heart gave out shortly after we anticipated we were in the clear. There was nothing more we could do.”
The weight of Dr. Elsher’s words steals the air from the room, including the breath in our lungs. Like one of those food vacuum sealers, the hall sucks every bit of oxygen out, leaving us with nothing.
A high-pitched sob leaves Bess’s mouth, and she buries her head into Thad’s shoulder. I have a hard time getting a deep enough breath in myself. The more I try, the sharper it stings. A figurative needle pinches into my lung cavity, andoh my God, if I’m feeling this way, what is going through Colson’s head?
His shoulders harden, and the muscles in his forearms turn to stone. He swallows, the ripple at his throat the only indication that he’s connecting the doctor’s admission with Thad’s words from earlier.
Sebastian's large palm moves to the back of Colson’s neck, and he kneads the muscles. It’s his way of saying he’s sorry. That his condolences are with him.
The corners of my eyes prick with the familiar sting of tears. When one slips past my eyelashes, I mentally log the sensation before it stops at my jawline.
Colson deserves more than losing his mom to her addiction on the same night we were celebrating people who have worked so hard to overcome theirs. She could’ve been among the many who stood on the stage at Willaker Hall and told their stories. Yet she was locked up in county jail and succumbed to the devil’s whispered pleas for attention.
“I’ll leave you to process the weight of the news. Please know that someone will have to claim the body, or the county will proceed with burial proceedings since she was incarcerated at the time of the overdose. When you’re ready, let the triage nurse know, and someone will take you back.” He rubs his hands over the material of his blue scrubs and stands. “My deepest condolences for your loss.”
Sebastian is the first to his feet when the doctor leaves. He paces the length of the small space and runs his hands down over his face. I scoot closer to Colson, holding onto his bicep as I bring my hand to his lap.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him in a choked whisper.
He flinches, and his jaw tenses. As if he hates hearing those words come out of my mouth. For the life of me, I can’t get a read on him. I can’t tell if he’s ready to storm out of the room, tear down the walls, or scream to the heavens above.
He hangs his head between his shoulders, and when I entwine my fingers between his, he fails to grip mine back. It’s as if he’s lifeless, unable to move under the realness of his new life. One where his mom is gone, and there’s nothing he can do to bring her back.
“You don’t deserve this,” I croak. “She didn’t, either.”
He shakes my hand from his before standing along with Sebastian. The fact that he doesn’t acknowledge my words or sympathy is a punch to the gut, but I push it away, knowing that today is about him more than me. It's not lost on me how it's the second time I'm reminding myself of this. He just found out his mom is dead. He’s allowed to feel what he needs in order to get through this.
