WHEN I COME over the small hill that leads to the house from the creek, I can see Memaw pacing and Papa sitting in the van. Crap. Her hands go up in the air, as if to say finally. "Hey." Speaking in long sentences is difficult because I'm too out of breath. This is in part due to running, but also from the effect that Drew has on me. Though I want to say his name over and over, it's not possible. Now is not the time to be thinking of him. Struggling to concentrate, my bow furrows and I ask, "Where are we going?"
"It's your mother. She's taken a turn for the worse, Alex. We have to go. Get in the van now."
I swallow and shake my head. "No. No way." Disbelief. Denial. Call it what you want. It's like an out of body experience. Like I'm watching of my life. All I want is a pause button, or a rewind button.
She ushers me the rest of the way. My knees are too wobbly to make it on their own. "There's an infection, Alex. It's common, they say, in burn victims."
"We were only gone for a little bit." I plop down into the burgundy captain's chair in the backseat. "She was fine the last time we were there."
Papa glances over his shoulder and gives me a look of what I think is reassurance. It's his look of hope mixed with fear. I know my Papa's looks. As he puts the van in reverse, he says, "Things change quickly, Alex. Where were you anyway?"
Guilt. It's back. Guilt for being gone and delaying our arrival back to the hospital. Guilt for the few minutes that I wasn't concerned about my mother. Guilt for feeling anything other than sorrow at the significant loss I have incurred. Guilt for being a boy-crazed teenage girl and wishing that Drew would have kissed me.
Keeping my emotions under control is so hard. My body is tired and weak from fighting it. It's so hard. Even crying now reminds me of Drew, and that makes me feel a combination of guilt and anger. Anger for him coming into my life when I'm not in a position to do a darned thing about it. He called my tears beautiful I think as I watch the familiar scenery on the thirty-minute drive to the Burn Center at Doctor's Hospital.
***
THANKFULLY, TRAFFIC WASN'T too bad. We didn't get stopped by any trains. The drive was quiet. We enter the hospital and I say a quick prayer thanking God for this place, but I also beg him to please spare me a parent. Because I can't lose them both. I can't. I've always been told that He doesn't give us more than we're capable of handling. He has to know that I can't handle that.
As we exit the elevator on her floor, Papa tells me to sit in the waiting area until they get more information. I've only seen her once. While I want to see her, the last time that happened, I collapsed. It wasn't a good thing at all. The last thing the doctors and nurses need to be doing is taking care of me instead of her.
Getting the smell out of my mind has been impossible. Every time I close my eyes all I see is white and flames. It's quite a visualization. The white sheets that covered her body while they were waiting on the burn surgeon to consult. The fire from the explosion. The only way I can sleep is if I take the medicine the doctor prescribed and just wait until I can no longer keep my eyes open. Even then, I'm usually awoken with sweat and tears from the nightmares. In seconds I went from a perfectly normal, extremely intelligent, and pretty well-behaved teenage girl to a completely screwed up, confused girl.
I need my mom to pull through this. I need a reason to keep living with this agony. Otherwise, why would I continue to torture myself? Torture. Just a few days ago, my idea of torture was stupid ham hock soup and pear salad. What I'd give to have that be my only form of torture. Heck, I'd eat both every day for every meal if I could go get a hold of a rewind button. A lump forms in my throat. There are no rewind buttons.
Papa walks over and the look on his face is one with which I'm becoming familiar. Despair. Agony. Regret. No. I shake my head. No. This is not happening. "Alex, let's go see your mother." He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs his tears and then mine. "They said..." His voice cracks. But he said we could go see her. That means she's still here. I don't understand. "We need to say our goodbyes."
And now I do. No I don't. I don't understand any of this. "No."
"You don't want to see her?" He cocks his head to the side. "It's your decision."
"No. I am not telling my mother goodbye. She's not dying. She's a fighter. I get that from her!" I shout. "I don't care what they say." A lone tear escapes my eye. It's like my body knows and understands, but my mind refuses to allow the reality to sink in. "She will make it through this."
He drops to his knees in front of where I'm sitting and he pulls me into a huge hug. "Oh my Alexandria. My baby girl." He rocks me back and forth and I just sit there, numbly. I almost feel like I need to comfort him. These last few days have been so out of character for him. I slowly put my hand on his back and pat.
"She's going to be okay. She has to be."
He pushes back off of my shoulders. He clears his throat, shaking his head. "No. Alex, the infection is in her blood and in her bones. If she survives, she'll have no limbs left. We're removing her from the respirator. It's no quality of life for her. She's suffered too much already.
"So it's our decision if she lives or dies?"
He nods. "To some extent."
"And she's my mom, but I don't get a say. No one included me in that talk?"
"Alex, your mother had a living will, a healthcare power of attorney, and advanced directives. She didn't want to live like this."
I start to sob. "Why? Why would she do that?"
"Because she didn't want us to watch her suffer. She didn't want to continue in life if she wasn't able to do so on her own."
"No," I hiss.
"No what?"
"No." I shake my head. "I don't want her taken off. I don't care what she had. Miracles happen."
"Alex. Do you want to see her?"
"I'm not telling her goodbye," I whisper as I stand up.
"That's fine. You don't have to tell her anything. Just be with her, Alex. I'm afraid you'll regret it if you don't."
"I can't do this, Pop."
"You can do this. I've got you." He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me down the hall for what seems like an eternity until we've made it to her room. As we enter, he whispers. "Remember this time. I've got you."
I nod.
When we walk in, there are so many more machines than last time. I've never seen so many. My other set of grandparents are on each side. They were the ones who told us to go home to get some rest. We had been taking shifts. I look to my beautiful grandmother, her reddened, tear-stained eyes. Then I look to my grandfather. They give me a half smile and move back. "Alex, baby. Come here."
Closing my eyes, I'm not sure that I can do this. Not sure I can look at her. This can't be the end. Saying goodbye is impossible.
As I bow my head, I beg for a miracle. This is playing out like something surreal we'd see on TV. The scene where everyone is gathered around her bed when it cuts to commercial. This isn't that kind of show, though. This is a horror movie. The part where the heroine runs upstairs, knowing there is no escape. Well, there's an escape. She'll either fall to her own death or be tortured by the villain. Pick your poison. Death is inevitable, but it becomes a matter of controlling her own destiny, keeping things on her own terms. If she chooses to try to jump to her escape, there may still be a chance for divine intervention.
It all starts to make sense. Why my mother made this decision. If we cut this respirator off, she still has a chance at a miracle. But it's on her terms. She picked her potion. Why? Why did we have to find out the potion she picked? Why now? Why like this?
I open my eyes and wish that I could see hers again. They are closed. I'll never be able to look into her eyes ever again. My chest starts to heave. I can feel the hyperventilation starting. Papa comes to my side and puts his hand where he had it in the hall. I hear him in my ear, "Remember, I've got you. Let it out, Alex. Let it all out."
That's the permission I need. Nothing is visible through the blur of the tears. I feel like someone has taken a splitter and cracked my chest open. Like my heart is a soaking wet rag being squeezed dry. This hurts so, so bad.
"Alex, she'll always be with you. She'll always be in your heart. Instead of one guardian angel, you'll have two. We all will," Grandma whispers.
Sniffles are coming from everyone else in the room. I nod my head. It doesn't make this any easier. It doesn't change the fact that we're all stuck in this horror film, and there's nothing any of us can do about the fact that my mother is about to leap to her own death from a proverbial window.
Whispering comes from the door, and I glance over to see a nurse speaking with Memaw. Then she walks over to the machine that I know is the respirator. "Stop."
"Alex, it's time."
"I just need another minute. Please, just another minute."
The nurse looks to my grandparents, all four of them. They nod.
"Can I touch her? Will I hurt her?" I ask.
"You can touch her, Alex," the nurse replies. "You're not going to hurt her. She's under so much sedation that you can't hurt her."
Collapsing onto her chest, I hug her. I just need to hug her. "Mommy. Please fight. Fight. You can't leave me." I sob. "I love you. I love you so much it hurts." My head is starting to pound. "This hurts so bad. I'll do anything for you to be okay. For all this pain to go away. Please," I beg.
Papa helps me up. "Baby girl." He pulls me into his arms and smoothes my hair. "Do you want to be in here when they cut it off, or do you want to go to the waiting room?"
"The waiting room, please."
Everyone moves out so we can leave. I hope I don't regret this decision, but I can't be in there and watch it. I can't do this. Before we're even down the hall, the beeping from the machines end. A few seconds later, my grandmother's wail is all it takes for me to know that my life has yet again been irreversibly changed, and certainly not for the better.
When I think I'm about to collapse, I feel strong arms squeeze around me, carrying me the rest of the way.