Page 12 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I can’t stop the tears anymore, and I don’t care if my dad tells me to stop or ‘suck it up.’ I justwantto cry right now.

I see a tear hit my mom’s arm, and I wipe it off her. She squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back a little harder. I look back over my shoulder and see my dad facing away from the bed with his arms crossed. I can’t see his face, so I don’t know if he’s hiding his emotions or if he just doesn’t have any.

Why couldn’t it have been him?

You might think that’s wrong to think…but I don’t. He’s always been heartless to me, and now I’m going to be stuck withhiminstead of her.

I can’t hold it in anymore as I start begging. “Please don’t go.”

Her eyes find mine—they’re heavy, like her holding on is exhausting. Her hand trembles in mine, and I put both of my hands on top to steady hers, trying to give her any comfort I can.

What if she’s scared and she just can’t say it? I don’t want her to be scared.

Her eyes flutter, and I know she’s fighting to stay here…for me.

The nurse said the end will happen pretty fast. Her body just…won’t be able to keep going anymore.

I wish she didn’t have to know this was it. I wish she could go more peacefully. I don’t want to think about whether it hurts for her or not.

I smooth the blanket on top of her and start talking about things at school, trying to do anything to hopefully keep her calm. I know she can still hear me, so I want to try.

I hear the floor squeak and turn to see my dad moving closer.

“We should give her some space,” he tells me.

“She’s fine,” I snap.

“She’s notfine, Mason.”

I hear the words crack, and it’s the most emotion I’ve ever heard from him.

I don’t care what he does. I’m not leaving her. I’m not letting her die without knowing I was right here with her.

The sky outside turns an even brighter shade of pink, like God is rolling out the carpet for her, and I just stare at it.

The nurse starts checking her vitals and monitors, giving my dad a small nod. I feel it in my stomach—like that falling feeling. It’s awful and makes me feel sick, not ready for what’s about to happen.

I quickly climb back into bed with her, careful not to mess with any of the tubes or wires. I tuck myself into her like I’m still a little kid, and I couldn’t care less about being embarrassed or anything my dad might say. I need her.

She looks at me slightly, and there’s this shine in her eyes before it fades, and her eyes start to slowly close.

For a second, I think she’s still breathing, so I count—one, two, three…but her chest doesn’t move again.

My voice cracks. “Mom?” I move her a little, and her body just gives. “Mom, please…”

My dad steps closer, but he doesn’t say anything. His hand hovers over her foot before dropping back to his side. He clenches his jaw, and then he just turns away.

I bury my head into her chest and let the tears run down my cheeks onto her. I want her to take me with her wherever she’s going.

It all hits me at once that it’s over. She’s gone, actually gone. It hurts so badly that I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I can’t think outside of this moment. I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t have my mom.

My whole body physically hurts, and I want to scream.

I think up until this very moment, a part of me still hoped for a miracle. If anyone deserved one, it was her. But that didn’t happen. I just watched the only person who truly ever loved me take her last breath.

Nothing feels right in this moment, and I don’t think it ever will again.

The nurse places a hand on my shoulder, and I just shake my head.