Page 71 of Shattered

“But she’s—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “She’s going to wake up, right? She’ll wake up and?—”

“They don’t know that.” Daniel’s voice cracked. “The doctors said she is unconscious and unlikely to regain consciousness. The best we can do is make her comfortable.”

Make her comfortable.

Medical speak for there’s nothing left to do but wait for her to die.

“I need to see her.”

Daniel nodded and pushed open the door.

Mom looked small in the hospital bed—so small, like death was already taking pieces of her.

Machines beeped around her, tracking things I didn’t understand. An oxygen mask covered her face. IV lines snaked into her arms. There was a bandage on her head where she’d hit it. White gauze turning pink at the edges.

I sat in the chair beside her bed and took her hand.

It was warm. Soft. The same hand that had held mine when I learned to walk. That had wiped my tears when I fell off my bike.

That hand felt alive. How could she be dying when her hand still felt alive?

“I’m here, Mom,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t come yesterday. I’m sorry I said tomorrow. I’m here now.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t squeeze my hand. Didn’t open her eyes.

The machines just kept beeping their steady rhythm.

I stared at her face. At the lines around her eyes that came from years of smiling. At the gray in her hair that she’d stoppeddyeing when the Alzheimer’s made her forget she cared. At the slight part in her lips around the oxygen mask.

She looked peaceful. Like she was sleeping.

But she wasn’t sleeping. She was dying. There was a difference and I couldn’t stop seeing it.

Axel stood in the doorway. I could feel him there even though I wasn’t looking.

I sat there holding my mother’s hand and thought about all the tomorrows I’d promised. All the visits I’d delayed. All the times I’d said I was busy when she’d called.

All the times I’d chosen anything else over her.

Hours passed. Daniel came and went, checking monitors. Maria arrived crying, stayed for a while, left when it became too much. Axel brought me coffee I didn’t drink. Water I didn’t touch. Food I couldn’t look at.

I just sat there.

Holding her hand.

Watching the machines.

Friday morning, she slipped away so quietly I almost missed it.

I’d fallen asleep in the chair. Daniel had gone home to shower. Axel had gone to get breakfast.

It was just me and Mom and the machines when the rhythm changed.

The beeping slowed. Then stuttered. Then stopped.

I jerked awake, my hand still in hers, and watched her chest rise one more time.

Then stop.