Page 68 of Playing for Love

“Gabriel,” she rasped my name and I leaned closer.

“I love you mom.” I kissed her forehead.

“I want you to be happy, caro. I want you to marry and have bambinos. This will make you happy. Football… is like a mistress, exciting, but not enough. It’s not so important as the people you love.”

“I know, Ma.” The well of emotion would have strangled me, but I concentrated on the feel of her hand in mine as I warmed it, concentrated on giving her back all the love she deserved.

“What about Mia?” She coughed and my father jumped forward, fear leapt making my heart race. The doctor who stood nearby rushed over and made an adjustment to her oxygen mask, pressed a hand on her chest. I gave her room, but I held onto her hand.

Joe and Annalee rushed into the room then and crowded me. My mother settled back breathing hard and heavy, but the coughing spasm had stopped.

The doctor said, “She has a touch of pneumonia. Common in heart failure.” Her voice was tight, but she nodded at Joe and Annalee as they leaned in.

I let go of my mother’s hand, our eyes meeting in a silent good-bye. I hadn’t forgotten her question. She reminded me with that knowing sad look before she turned to Joe and he bent to kiss her. Backing away, I let my brother and sister have their chance to say good-bye. Marie and Eddie arrived shortly after that and I ended up standing near the door, waiting for Mia to return with my coffee.

She never did.

The sudden loud buzz of one of the monitors signaled the end, relentless and causing the team of nurses and doctors to rush into the room to save my mother, even knowing it was impossible. But it was an instinctive response, one built into their psyches, like the one that made me hope they would be successful, that I have a chance to finish my conversation with her, to answer her question. What about Mia?

Even my father was forced with the rest of us to wait outside the room in the hallway, but not for long. A short time later the attending physician, who’s name I never got, came out and shook his head, telling us that they lost her.

Annalee wept in my arms, collapsing there before the doctor finished speaking. I stayed strong for my sister as Joe hugged my father and Marie and Eddie held onto each other as if for dear life, crying.

Dr. Aoki appeared not long afterwards, finding us all back inside the room, staring at Mom’s peaceful body, all the machinery silent, tubes removed so that she looked like she was sleeping. We were invited to say our good-byes then, but I’d felt content that I’d already done that.

“I’m so sorry, Gabe,” Dr. Aoki said. “I should have been here. But you know there was nothing we could do. It became clear from the testing after her second episode that her heart was in failure, past even a surgical remedy. I called for heart donors. If we’d found one I would have tried, though the administrator didn’t like it.”

“Thanks for trying,” I said. He looked heart-broken. “Even being head of cardiology isn’t enough sometimes to stop the inevitable.” He looked at the floor and I knew he had more to say though I couldn’t imagine what it could be.

“You know, some in the department thought I was trying so hard because of you, because of your celebrity status.” He paused for a half smile. “But I wasn’t. That wasn’t it. I wanted to save Marie because she was a beautiful person. Because she had so many people who loved her.” I swear I saw tears in his eyes and my chest tightened another notch in its perpetual vice-like state.

We left then. We all went to my house where we made arrangements.

Marie cooked in the kitchen in the down stairs apartment where my mother always had and the rest of us sat at the big kitchen table watching her.

“You have a game tomorrow night, son.” My dad said.

I looked at him as if he were speaking a different language. Football. It sounded like a foreign concept right now.

He nodded. “You have to play. I discussed it with your mother. She’s expecting you to win. For her.” He broke down then and my heart felt crushed as the vice tightened impossibly on my chest.

My brother chimed in and the rest of the family, all unanimous about the tribute to my mother in the form of me playing the game, winning it in her honor. My career had turned into a family affair somewhere along the way, inextricably tied up with love and loving. But it wasn’t the football I loved so much as the sharing, the people. The coming together to play, to fight, to win. To love. My mind went to Mia again, even as I agreed I would play, knowing that would mean I had no time for her. Not now.

“I’ll play.” I called coach Marini then and told him.

* * *

I playedthe game Thursday night. It was always a big game, national sports scene, but the media was in circus mode for this one, picking up on the angle that I was playing the game as a tribute to my mother, that I had to win it for her. And they ran with it far and fast, to dizzying heights. All day I had calls, reporters and photographers outside the house, following me to the stadium and inside the lot because they had press passes. I swore under my breath at the shit gatekeeper who couldn’t figure out he should hold them off as they hounded me, hurling questions at me when I got out of my car before I disappeared inside an unmarked side door. I had a key. It wasn’t the usual way to the locker room, but used for circumstances like this, as an escape hatch.

The game itself was cleansing in a way, giving me something to do with the overwhelming emotions, the need and the grief. It was a tense game and when we won. I’d looked for Mia once, after the game amid the melee in the tunnel, after the short emotional post-game press conference. When I didn’t see her after a quick scan, I let my family envelop me, lead me away. Winning had been a triumph. And a let-down. Because in the end, my mother was still gone. And we had to bury her tomorrow.

To say the scene at the church was overwhelming would somehow have been an understatement. Even though the services were private, by invitation only, the crowds of people who gathered, surrounding the parking lot, lining the streets, were far more than I’d imagined in spite of my sister’s warnings. Marie had stepped up, put her grief aside and handled everything. Expertly. She’d even thought to invite Mia.

When she arrived with Tate, arm in arm, an irrational ball of jealousy shoved the sorrow from my soul and took over, giving me relief. My eyes bored into Tate’s as they approached the line where I stood with my family. Joe nudged me.

“Cut that shit, man.”

His voice was lie a pinprick, letting the air from my frail balloon of outrage, giving way to the grief. But it was for the best. It was far easier, less painful to be angry than sad, but far less healthy I knew. And I knew I needed to work through this grief, like the rest of my family, to be whole.