I don’t know how I get through the night, sleeping on the chairs in the waiting room for maybe an hour at a time. We all spend our time with her throughout the night, though Nikko is the first to really say goodbye and leave, heading back to his family. We hug and cry and it’s so unbelievably horrible that we all have to go through the same thing.
For the moments I’ve gotten with her, I just talk. I’m saving the best for last, letting her know how I feel at the very end. I don’t want to pretend she’s dead until she’s gone. So I talk with her as I have been these last few weeks. About everything I can.
Finally, when the birds start chirping somewhere in the sky and you can feel dawn about to break, I feel the end is near. For us. For a mother and her daughter.
I take her hand, squeezing it, rubbing my thumb on her skin and thinking that she’s nothing more than a husk. That the real her, with the way she used to do a little dance when she was eating a good piece of chocolate, the way my father used to make her laugh so hard she’d almost fall out of her chair, is somewhere else. I remember the look of concentration in her eyes, while these same hands pruned her roses. She took so much joy in them. She took so much joy in everything. She loved life so much, I just think she loved my dad that much more.
I cry, my head on her arm, holding onto her like a baby. I’m still her baby. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of my life without her. She’s just always been here, always been watching me, loving me. Even when I do something to upset her, she could never hold a grudge. Her heart and arms were always open.
“I hope I’ve learned so much from you,” I cry out, the sobs shaking me. “I hope you’ll be proud of me. I love you so much mom, I don’t think I ever said it enough, but I hope you know now. You’re my best friend. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live the rest of my life without you.”
I’m crying so hard now that the bed is shaking, her arm is soaked. I’m dying for her to wake up, dying for anything other than the beep of the machines. But she doesn’t. She’s gone to me and I’m left all alone without the one person in my life who loved me unconditionally.
It’s losing my father all over again, but so much worse, because I know the absence of both of them together is something that will sever me for the rest of my life.
I don’t know how long I cry onto her for. I know at some point someone opens the door and looks in, one of my brothers, maybe a doctor, but they leave me alone in my violent grief. This is pure agony and it consumes me. The tears just never seem to abate, my face hurts sharply from the pressure behind my nose and eyes, my lungs are burning, raw.
And still she doesn’t wake up.
Now I know, she never will.
Eventually I’m worn down to nothing. I feel flattened out, weak, my heart too heavy now to even extract itself. The tears stop and I’m a numb, painful mess.