“Mom,” I whisper tentatively, not sure whether she’s awake or making movements in her sleep.
“Katherine? Is that you?” she asks slowly, struggling to open her eyes. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?” I’m cautious about how much I say, not knowing if she’s confused from waking up in the hospital or if she might be suffering from short-term memory loss, a potential complication from the accident.
“How did I get here? Why are you here?” Her eyes flicker around the room, trying to take in her surroundings. Her voice is strained and scratchy from hours of having a breathing tube down her throat, making her sound even more frail.
Waking up in the ICU has to be a confusing experience for her. She’s spent decades in this department as a nurse, never a patient.
“There was an accident…”
“But…why am I here? Where is Judy?”
Shit. I wasn’t expecting her to ask about Judy so quickly. Hoped I’d have a couple of hours until I had to broach that subject. Then reality hits me like a ton of bricks. I have to telltwopeople Judy died. My body starts to waver, causing me to brace my hand against the railing of her bed to keep myself from collapsing on the floor. The sheer magnitude of the situation is too overwhelming.
I force myself to take a deep breath.
Can’t let her see me fall apart. I have to be strong for her.
“You were in an accident,” I repeat, and then have to pause.
How do you tell someone their best friend died?
Explain to them what’s happened when your mind is struggling to comprehend it.
Which words do you use when you’re going to break someone’s heart?
My best option is to start with the facts. Share what I know and go from there. Don’t provide more information than is absolutely necessary. Knowing her, it won’t be enough. She’ll want to go over every painstaking detail, critiquing every aspectof the efforts to save Judy’s life as if it could somehow change the outcome. Her medical training and history with the hospital won’t help. I anticipate the staff will placate her once she’s feeling better, providing her with any information she requests to help process her grief and avoid her wrath. No one wants to be on the receiving end of Deborah Carpenter’s anger.
“You were in a car accident,” I try again. “Do you remember where you were going?”
She squints, like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle and doesn’t have all the pieces. Is it wrong to hope shedoesn’tremember so I can buy myself some more time to figure out how to tell her? I clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms, not letting go until she speaks again.
“I think… Judy and I had lunch. We were headed to the store to pick up a few things…” She slowly starts rubbing her temples as she closes her eyes, going quiet for a couple of minutes. “That’s the last thing I remember until waking up,” she murmurs, looking highly concerned and distraught.
A pang of sadness reverberates through my soul at seeing my mom in this state. She’s usually so confident and unstoppable. I press my hand over hers and lightly squeeze, careful not to mangle her IV. “It’s normal to have some difficulty remembering,” I reply reassuringly, leaving out the possibility she might not get her memory back entirely.
“But…where is Judy?” Her eyes, wide with worry, dart to the beeping machines. “What’s wrong with me?”
Definitely not going to answer her first question until absolutely necessary. “You have a few injuries from the accident. Multiple broken bones and some significant internal injuries.”
She gulps and presses a hand to her chest. There’s a hint of fear in her eyes, a wariness about what it all means.
“You had emergency surgery. The doctors fixed your internal injuries and stabilized your severe fracture. You’ll have a longroad to recovery, but you’re going to be okay.” I pause, allowing her to absorb the information. It’s a lot for anyone to process, let alone someone who is seriously injured.
She presses her lips together as a few stray tears fall from her eyes. “What about Judy?”
Panic rises in my throat, worsening my nausea. I don’t know how to say the next few words, but I don’t have a choice. She has to know. I can’t lie to her. She’ll never forgive me if I keep it from her, even if it’s only for a few hours.
I close my eyes tightly, take a deep breath, and keep my grasp on her hand.
“Judy suffered significant injuries. The doctors tried their best, but…” My voice breaks, and tears stream down my face as I force myself to utter, “But they couldn’t save her.”
“What? She’s…she’s gone?” My mom’s hand flies to her mouth; anguish mixed with confusion splayed on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, willing myself not to sob. She doesn’t need me breaking down. I need to be strong for her and rein in my emotions, just like she taught me.
“This can’t be real. She can’t be… She can’t be gone,” my mom croaks, turning her head away from me.
