THE ONLY THING worse than having to spend time in a hospital is having to spend time in a hospital visiting with someone that you know can’t stand you, and the feeling is mutual. The doctors have managed to stabilize Dad for the time being. His lungs had filled with fluid; apparently that’s a byproduct of him having pneumonia, and no muscle control in his chest. He’s still out cold, I’m not sure if he’ll even come around again before visiting time is over. My mom’s on edge; she doesn’t know what to do or say to me and I can tell she feels horrible, it’s written across her weary drawn face. The truth is, I don’t know what to say to her, either. I feel so disconnected from everyone at the moment that I don’t even know which way is up anymore.
The call to Blair didn’t help my mood; it just made me wish I were home with her instead of here.
“Do you think he’s going to die?” I say out loud, and watch as Mom continues stirring her cheap, crappy-tasting instant coffee, the type that tastes burnt no matter how you prepare it. It’s the only stuff that they provide in the family room. She seems to be off in a world of her own, staring out into space.
“Hmm…what was that, honey?”
“I said do you think Dad is going to die?”
She sighs and looks down into her mug.
“I think that’s a strong possibility, but I don’t underestimate your father. He’s a fighter.”
Yeah, and don’t I know it. I lean back in the ratty old chair and rest my feet on the coffee table. I’m sick of this room already.
“The doctors don’t sound too hopeful that he’s going to make it through the surgery he needs. What if he does though, what do we do? Will he come home with us, or does he need to be in some sort of facility or care home? Who’ll look after him?”
I know it’s pretty shitty timing to ask, but it’s been bothering me. It’s one thing to have to exist in the same house as the asshole, but an entirely different ball game to have to become his nursemaid too.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead, Ethan. I don’t know what will happen, but we’ll figure something out. I don’t want you to be worrying about this; you’ll be off to college soon anyway, so you needn’t worry. I’ll handle everything.”
“I just don’t see how you would cope. You need to work, and you can’t be a full-time caregiver and hold down your job. You’d need to pay for someone to look after him, and that’s not cheap.”
She rubs her hands down her face and I know she’s worrying about this too.
“I know Ethan, but at the moment, we just need to focus on getting him well enough so he can go through with the surgery. Once we’ve crossed that bridge, we can worry about what happens next.”
I know she’s right, but her answer unsettles me. Sitting back and hoping things fall in to place has never been my strong point; uncertainty unnerves me. It always has—no doubt a consequence of having an abusive father. Ever since I was a kid I’ve always been one for wanting to know where everyone is and what they’re doing. That way I knew when to keep out of the way.
“I let you down, Ethan,” Mom says, breaking through my thoughts. This whole situation—you wanting to get closure—it’s all wrong. We should be sitting here worrying about your dad and we’re not. You’re worrying about him pulling through, I can tell.”
“Can you blame me?” I almost spit.
“Not at all; that’s the saddest part, honey. I don’t blame you at all—how could I? It’s my fault. I’ve sat by and watched for years and done nothing. Just when I thought we may finally be able to escape him, this happens and he’s trapping us all over again,” she chokes out and lowers herself into the chair opposite me. Her whole body is shuddering with sobs yet she’s not making even the slightest sound. The thought that she’s had to adapt to crying silently leaves a pretty stale taste in my mouth and a heavy feeling in my chest.
“You were going to go off to school, I was going to finally leave him and now…God, Ethan, I can’t leave him now. Not like this. He has nobody but us.”
She looks utterly wrecked, and for the first time in so long, too long, I move over to her and place my arms around her shoulders and I let her cry. I’ve been consumed with feelings of animosity towards her, and even though we’ll never have the kind of closeness that other families have, I do believe she’s done her best. She’s been trapped in a situation she didn’t ask for, with an abusive husband and no parental rights to her son. I know that the only reason she’s here with us now is because of her love for me.
She twists and clings to my chest as the noiseless sobs wrack though her body and her tears soak through the shoulder of my t-shirt. My head is thumping and an intense pressure is building behind my eyes. I’m not sure if it’s the headache that I’ve been plagued with since waking up from the accident, or if this one is because I’m trying my damnedest not to cry too.