I open the front door and wait for Dad. His trek up the stairs is excruciatingly slow. He doesn’t say a word when he gets to me—just a hand on my shoulder before walking into the apartment.
“Simon, will you get me a glass of water?” Dad asks.
When I return from the kitchen with his water in hand, Dad has already taken his coat off and made himself at home on the living room couch. Sammy jumps into his lap and Dad scratches him behind the ears.
“Dad, what’s going on? Why are you here? You never drop by. I need to get to the hospital to be with Mom. Carole is working at the library today, and Mom is all alone. I need to go.”
Dad doesn’t respond. He motions me to sit on the couch next to him. I shake my head.
“Dad, did you hear me? Mom is all alone, and I need to go to the hospital to be with her.”
He continues to motion me over without saying anything. His lack of response pisses me off and I blurt, “Well, you might not care that Mom is all alone in a hospital bed, but I do, and I’m leaving for the hospital. You can let yourself out when you’re ready to leave. Lock the door behind you.”
I turn to leave, and Dad raises his voice at me which is something I haven’t heard since I was a little kid.
“Simon, get over here now and sit down. Your mother will be fine for a few hours.”
I throw my backpack on the floor and flop down hard in the chair, not the couch as he asked me to. “Fine, what?” I say as I cross my arms across my chest in defiance.
Dad looks at me with sad eyes and says, “Do you want to go out and grab some breakfast?”
I stare at him like he is crazy. “Dad, I’ve already told you I want to be with Mom, and I’ve already had a bowl of oatmeal.”
“Well, maybe we could go out for lunch a little later. We could get burgers. How does that sound?”
“Dad, you are freaking me out. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I don’t want to go out to breakfast! I don’t want to go out to lunch. I want to go to the hospital to be with Mom. She is all alone.”
“Don’t worry about that. Your aunt is going to visit her today.”
What? This doesn’t make any sense. How would Dad know this? And Aunt Sarah usually visits in the evenings during the week, not on Saturdays. Hmm, something weird is going on. I unfold my arms, take a deep breath, and try to lose the attitude.
“So, how do you know Aunt Sarah is going to visit Mom today?”
“Well, I had a conference call with your aunt and Carole late last night, and she said she would visit your mother today.”
“Conference call? About what? You three don’t have conference calls. You barely talk to one another. Why would you have a conference call, and why wasn’t I part of it?”
“Because you’re a teenager, Simon, and we are the adults. There were decisions that needed to be made.”
I don’t like where this is going. A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead onto my cheek. The alien twists inside me as my eyes tear up.
“What decisions?” I manage to say.
But I already know what he is going to tell me. I know all the answers. I know where this conversation is headed. I’ve always known. Dad walks over and kneels on the floor in front of me. He wraps his arms around me, and the floodgates open, releasing a torrent of tears. The alien is now clawing to get out. I have to run, to flee, but Dad holds me tight and doesn’t let go no matter how much I struggle in his arms. Can he feel the alien kicking? When I finally stop struggling, I realize that I’m not the only one crying and shaking. Dad is too.
We sit in silence until I give in and agree to go for a walk where we can talk. It is a beautiful autumn day. Leaves of auburn, gold, and brown dance in the air in front of us before silently falling at our feet. The air is crisp and cool with a slight hint of wood smoke coming from the adjacent neighborhood. It would be a lovely day for a picnic with PJ if life wasn’t shit.
“The swelling has not subsided in your mother’s brain as we had hoped. There has been no change in her condition, and she has minimal brain activity. It doesn’t look good, Simon,” Dad chokes. “I’m so sorry.”
We continue walking, but neither of us says anything. A growing need to run, to get the hell out of here, grows inside. But Dad stops walking, puts his hand on my shoulder and says, “Simon, did you hear what I said? Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
I look up at him and through gritted teeth, I say bitterly, “Yes. Yes, I do. You want to kill Mom. You want to pull the goddamn plug.”
Dad’s look of shock turns to hurt. “Simon, it’s not like that at all. You don’t understand. Your mother was very clear. She did not want this. This is not living. She won’t wake up from this.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” I say. “I’ve heard stories. Sometimes people do wake up. It’s true. Look it up, google it, do some research.”
“You’re right. It has happened in rare instances, but it is also highly unlikely. And if your mother does wake up, and that’s a big if, she will not be the same. There is too much brain damage. The one thing that we do know is your mother’s wishes. She expressed them to me many years ago, she expressed them to Carole, and she even put it in writing. She does not want to be kept on life support for any reason. She is very clear about this. Simon, we gave it a good try. We have waited over five weeks. The doctors agree. It’s time.”
