Raising Teens

Chapter 8

Caden

I've never seen my parents cry before.

Mom will shed a few tears here and there, but I've never seen her full on cry.

Dad? Dad doesn't cry. He hardly ever gets emotional. He's strong. Dad's really strong.

So to see him standing in the doorway of Mom's hospital room, unable to move, his eyes red, actual tears sliding down his cheeks...

I think it's strength.

Mom didn't come home last night.

We were all worried.

We called the jail and they said she left without Rose.

And then the hospital called Dad, told him Mom got into a bad accident. She pulled out in front of a semi truck on the highway, got hit by somebody going sixty, and flew fifty feet through the windshield.

They said it's a miracle she survived.

She's in a coma. She's breathing on her own, but she has hardly any brain function.

The doctor was honest with Dad's questions.

There's about a ten percent Mom is going to wake up.

My sisters are all crying. Rose is still in jail.

I force myself to be strong.

I didn't let Dad call the family. I called.

Dad had answered the phone on speaker.

The look on his face when he found out...I'll never forget it.

He looked like that nurse that called had ripped his fucking heart out and handed it to him in a bag full of nails.

Now he's standing there, staring at Mom.

He looks like he's about to start sobbing.

The doctor walks into the room, checking her machines.

Dad clears his throat.

"I don't care," he starts, whispering. "If you have to build fucking organs. You bring her back. I don't care how much it costs. I'll rob every. Single. Bank. In this fucking country. Bring. Her. Back."

He takes a deep breath.

"We are doing everything we can." He says.

Dad doesn't move, or respond.

The Doctor kind of looks at him.

"You can talk to me." I say quietly.

He sighs, turning to me.

"No, I'm fine. Talk to me." Dad steps fully into the room now.

The doctor nods.

"She sustained bad crush injuries to her abdomen. She didn't have a seatbelt on. If she did, she couldn't gotten just a concussion and a broken arm."

Mom always wears her seatbelt.

She'll yell at us if we don't have one on.

Once, on a drive to Vermont, Mom stopped the car in the middle of the interstate until I put my seatbelt on.

I told her she was a bitch.

She's not a bitch. She's my Mom.

She was trying to protect me.