Chapter Thirty
Olivia
When Mom started coughing at the dinner table, I thought nothing about it at first. But when those coughs turned into gasps for air, gasps that didn't subside even after she managed to choke down some water, I realized this must be the same thing that had happened last time.
I insisted on driving her to the hospital, even though she tried to tell me that she would be much more comfortable in her bed.
“Don't be ridiculous, Mom,” I told her, frowning as I bundled her into a coat. She was shivering, but although the early summer evening was relatively cool, it wasn't cold enough for her to be shaking that badly.
I frowned, wondering if she was going into shock or something. My fingers itched to pull out my phone and call Eric, but I figured the best course of action was just to get Mom to the hospital as quickly as possible. They'd know what was going on and be able to help her.
There was a selfish part of me that didn't want to know exactly what was going on, either. I wanted to pretend that this was just the same as it had been the last time that she'd gone into the hospital and that after a few days, we'd be headed home again.
I knew it was unlikely that we'd get that lucky again, though.
I'd talked to Dr. Halsey earlier that week, asking if surgery was even still an option. He'd told me that it probably wasn't but that he wouldn't know for sure unless they did another X-ray of Mom's lungs, something that I hadn't been able to convince her to have done.
He'd explained to me that the reason she had felt so much better the last time so that she'd been able to come home from the hospital was likely due to the steroids they gave her to reduce the size of the tumors. Hence, making it easier for her to breathe and lessening her pain as well.
Or at least, that was the way that Dr. Halsey explained it to me.
We were lucky when we got to the hospital: they were able to put her in a private room, and Dr. Halsey happened to be working that night anyway. He took her in immediately for a few tests and then arranged to have her moved into a room, promising to have a long chat with me later.
But I could tell, even without the chat, that things weren't looking good. That much was obvious, based on Mom's wheezing and the concerned looks on the faces of all the nurses and Dr. Halsey. I could tell they were doing their best to make her comfortable, and the whole thing made me want to scream. Finally, they adjusted the bed, in the hopes that if she remained more upright, it would be easier for her to breathe, then I asked them all to leave.
Then, I just sat there at Mom's side, weeping and holding her hand, trying not to think about how this could be the last time I ever saw her. She had to pull through. She just had to.
At the same time, I felt selfish for wanting that. She hadn't let them put her back on painkillers this time, telling them in no uncertain words that she didn't want 'those strange chemicals' pumped back into her body and that she would get through this just fine on her own. She'd even gone so far as to joke that this wasn't as painful as childbirth and that she'd handled that just fine.
But I could see the pain etching faint lines around her eyes, creasing her forehead. I knew that wanting her to stay around for longer could mean that she had to deal with this pain for even longer because her body showed no signs of letting her rest this time. I didn't want her to be in pain, but it seemed like the only way she was going to escape her pain, this time, was in death.
That was something that I didn't want to even consider.
Mom patted my hand. “Don't cry, Livy, darling,” she said, her voice weak but her grip still firm. “I've made my peace.”
“Don't say that,” I sobbed. “Don't just give up.”
Mom managed half a smile and wheezed in another breath. “I didn't want to make myself sicker with treatments,” she said. “You know as well as I do that it would have just been prolonging the inevitable. Once the cancer gets in you, there's no real chance of survival.”
“But you could have lived a little longer,” I sobbed. “You could have met your grandchild.”
“I wouldn't want my granddaughter to remember me like this,” Mom said fiercely. “I want you to tell her all the good stories about me, about how strong I was. About how much life I had.”
I whimpered, and she squeezed my hand even tighter. “Livy, listen to me,” she said. “I've had a good life. Maybe not as long as some, but I did everything that I wanted to do in this lifetime, and I'm ready to go.” Her eyes softened. “I'm going to miss my incredible daughter, but I know that she'll be fine without her mother.”
I just shook my head, having a hard time getting words out. “How am I going to raise a baby with no grandmother and no father?” I finally managed to ask. I still hadn't told her about the fight that Eric and I had had, not wanting to upset her, but now it all came pouring out. “Eric refuses to believe that it's his baby. I don't know if he's just not interested in being a father again or if he really doesn't believe me, but I don't think he's going to be around for her.”
Mom gave a rattling cough. “You didn't grow up with a father,” she reminded me when her coughing had subsided. “And I think you turned out pretty great.”
“But Mom, that was different,” I protested. “You were you.” It didn't make much sense to say that, I knew. Just like I knew things must have been difficult for her, and scary. But somewhere, I still clung to that childish innocence, that naïveté that insisted that my mom and I were different breeds of people. She had raised me by herself because of course she had raised me by herself. I had always viewed her as much stronger than I could ever be.
Our situations weren't all that different, though. She had to know what I was going through, so why was it so easy for her to refuse treatment, and refuse to be around to help me out? Again, that feeling of betrayal came back. But I couldn't be angry with her now. She had made her peace, that was what she had said. I had to make my own peace and accept that this was the decision that she had made.
It was too late for regrets now, anyway. It was no longer possible to operate on her. I had already asked Dr. Halsey about that. There was nothing more that we could do for her.
“I see more of myself in you every day,” Mom said quietly. “I have faith in you; you're stronger than you realize. I have no doubt that you'll survive this and raise a beautiful daughter to carry on our family's legacy.”
Her eyes closed, and she forced them back open again, smiling one last time at me. This time, when her eyes slid closed, they didn't open again, and it wasn't long after that that her breathing slowed and then stopped.
“Nurse!” I screamed, frantically pressing the call button on the side of the bed even though I knew that there was nothing they could do.
When the door opened, though, it wasn't one of the nurses that hurried in, at least not initially. Instead, it was Eric who came into the room, pausing for only a moment to take in the everything. I was still clinging to Mom's hand like if I held it tightly enough, she wouldn't be able to leave me.
He gently pried my hand away, pulling me into his arms, and I clung to him as though he were my lifeline. I couldn't spare a moment to wonder what he was doing there or to think about how inappropriate this was, my clutching onto him like this. All I knew was that Mom was gone and that Eric was the only person who could possibly understand the pain that was ripping my heart to shreds at the moment.
Eric scooped me up into his arms and carried me out of the room, down the hallway. Initially, I fought against him, not wanting to be taken away from Mom. Once that happened, I knew it was done and that I was never going to see her again. But Eric held me tightly and maneuvered me carefully, not setting me down until we were in an empty room, the door closed tightly behind us.
He set me down on the bed, still holding me, stroking my hair and holding my hand.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said softly, as though there was no bitterness or anger between us.
“I should have done more,” I couldn't help sobbing. “You told it to me again and again, and I didn't listen. Maybe if I had, we wouldn't be here.”
“Or maybe we would still be here,” Eric said quietly. “Cancer is fickle, and it never acts the same, from one patient to the next. We don't know that the surgery would have been effective. We don't know that she would have been responsive to the chemo. For all we know, she lived longer like this than she would have otherwise.”
I sniffled and shook my head. “I feel like I failed her,” I admitted. “I know you probably don't understand that, but I really feel like I should have done more for her.”
Eric sighed tiredly. “I felt that with Emily,” he said softly. “By the time I realized that she had cancer, it was too late to do anything about it. That's part of why I was so insistent that you convince your mother to have the treatments that she needed. I've always felt guilty that I didn't realize something was wrong with Emily while it could still have helped her, while we could have saved her. I honestly just thought her back hurt from picking up Emma so much or something like that, even though I knew Emma didn't weigh that much.”
“I didn't know Emily died of cancer,” I said, shocked enough that I quit crying as I peered up at him. That explained so much about his frustration toward me, about the way that he had tried to distance himself from my mom and me over the past weeks. It didn't explain his reaction to the news of the pregnancy, but it highlighted again how little I knew about him.
Unfortunately, I couldn't dwell on it at the moment. “I can't believe that I'm never going to see her again,” I whispered, starting to cry again.
Eric pulled me into a tight hug, his hand returning to stroke my hair. He didn't have any words to say in response to that one, though. Instead, he just let me cry it out against his shirt until I was utterly exhausted.
“Let me take you home,” he said finally, pulling slightly away. “You need to rest, and maybe you'll feel better when you're out of this place.”
I nodded and let him lead me out of the hospital and into the parking lot. Outside, I took a deep breath of the night's fresh air, but I could still feel the sterile air of the hospital lingering in my lungs. Just like the tumors had lingered in Mom's.
I looked uncertainly toward my car, not sure that I was fit to drive myself home. But Eric steered me over toward his car instead. “I'll arrange to have your car brought back to your place tomorrow,” he promised, and I nodded, trusting him. There was nothing else that I could do.