Mia
Silence covers us as Ashton drives Tyler and me to our home. Samuel had to stay back at the hospital to discuss after-death procedures, so Jo stayed with him.
The last five hours were the hardest I’d ever had to witness. A lump forms in my throat as I replay every second in my head.
I didn’t have the privilege of knowing Alana for very long, just a handful of years, but, my God, that woman left a piece of herself in my heart that will last a lifetime. She was a wonderful human being and accepted me as a member of her family the very instant she met me. She even cried. She gushed at how beautiful I was and thanked me for falling in love with her son. She had been adamant he’d never settle down, and as much as I hated hearing about all the other women—hell, I despised it, knowing all the other women he’d been with and shared a piece of himself with before we met—I loved knowing, out of all those women, I was the only one he had fallen in love with. It wasn’t until I met Alana that I realized they hadn’t shared any part of him, not the parts of him that mattered anyway. My man might have been a man-slut but only with his body. His heart, on the other hand, is all mine.
I might not have had the mother-daughter relationship like she had with Jo, but she still loved me like her own. Having been graced with her love, humor, and pure joy fills me with the honor of knowing her.
She always had a bright personality, always wore a smile on her face, and even though she was sugary-sweet, she knew exactly how to put someone in their place. She had a fiery soul and was definitely not afraid to express herself—one of the things I loved so much about her.
However, the woman I saw today, it was as if the cancer had taken every trait that made her the person she was. It was difficult to watch. It was like the light switch had gone off. She was no longer the Alana I had known.
She must have hidden her sickness well because there was no way she got that sick so quickly. She must have been fighting it, wanting to hold out until Thanksgiving to make one final meal for her family before she let the cancer drive her off this earth. It’s no wonder she collapsed the next day. Thanksgiving must have really taken its toll on her.
I glance over to Tyler, who is simply staring out the window. I clench my eyes closed, his final moments with his mom still clear in my mind. Heartbreaking isn’t even close to describing how emotional it was.
I watched against the back wall with glistening eyes as Tyler approached his mom, who looked as if she were peacefully sleeping, attached to so many wires and tubes that were no doubt pumping drugs to try to make her feel as comfortable as possible.
Tyler sat beside her on the chair next to her bed, taking her hands into his. “Mama,” he spoke quietly.
Although I knew he was trying to put on a brave face, his voice shook with fear, and I knew he was struggling with his emotions something fierce. It took a few seconds, but her eyes fluttered open and landed straight on him.
She tried to smile, but her mouth didn’t seem to coordinate with what her brain wanted to do.
“Hi, baby.” Her words slowly came out, her voice scratchy and barely audible.
Tyler leaned closer, nostrils flaring, heavily swallowing. “I go away for six days, and this is what happens.” Tyler tries for a lighthearted approach, but his voice is anything but as it broke a little.
Alana squeezed his hand, wheezing with every breath, her chest rattling.
“I should have been here,” he stated sadly, but there was no anger laced in his voice, not like earlier.
She shook her head, her mouth opening and closing, as if she wanted to speak, but there wasn’t enough saliva to allow the words to slip out.
My heart cracked at seeing her like this. She had once been a firecracker, but she was quickly becoming a dwindling flame, unable to stop the fire from dying.
It took several seconds before her throat allowed the words to croak out. “You’re my little boy—” Her voice seemed to seize up, and coughs howled from her chest, her lungs sounding like they were about to collapse on her at any given moment.
Tyler watched with wide eyes as she struggled to catch her breath.
A few seconds passed, and she finally breathed out the rest, “I wanted…to…protect you…from the…pain.”
I had to glance away for a second, holding my fist to my mouth to stop the sobs from erupting from my chest. My eyes found Ashton and Samuel, and they were staring down at the floor, both tense and white as a sheet. I slid my gaze to Jo in the corner of the room, and just like everyone else, it was taking everything within her not to break down as she intently watched Alana and Tyler. Junior was nowhere to be seen, but this wasn’t something a seven-year-old should witness. He’d already suffered through enough heartache. There was no sign of Ava, but since she shared joint custody of Lily-Mai with her ex, I was guessing she’d had to go home to Seattle earlier in the week, or she was back at the house with the girls.
My eyes returned to Tyler, who was looking down at his mother like she was his entire world.
Alana tried to speak, but when a new set of coughs erupted from her lungs, he shook his head with a sad smile.
“Shh, don’t try to speak.” He trembled before forcing out a bigger smile. “So, our trip was amazing. The Dominican Republic was beautiful. I wish you could have seen it.”
Alana’s eyes drifted closed, but her mouth pulled up a little. Her lungs wheezed as she opened her eyes again. “Mia…sent…pictures. So…beautiful,” she rasped, her throat beginning to close up.
Tyler glanced up to me with a sad smile, tears visible in his eyes. “It really was,” he confirmed, still looking in my direction.
I let out a shaky breath as he returned his attention to his mother. Her eyes fell shut, and when I thought she’d fallen back to sleep, she forced them back open, and I saw she was fighting against the hold the cancer had on her. It tried to drag her under, but she wasn’t letting it take her until the very last second.
She pierced her gaze on Tyler, and I saw how her chin trembled.
“I’m…so…proud…of…you.” Her voice gave way, her words ending on a barely audible whisper.
She heavily swallowed, and even though her vocal cords were barely hanging on by a thread, she spoke in only a whisper, and I had to strain my ears to make out her words, “I…love you…baby…but…I’m…” She gulped before continuing, her voice shaky, “It’s…time…for me…to…go…be with…Christopher…and…look after…Erika.”
A loud sob erupted around the room, and my eyes flew to Jo as she hurried out of the room. That was all it took for the tears to fall but for a whole different reason—Jo’s at the mention of Christopher, mine at the mention of my unborn daughter.
I stepped forward with the intent to check on Jo, but my name being whispered halted me to the spot.
My eyes flashed to Tyler’s, and he gave a single nod of his head, one that said, Yes, she wants you.
I hesitantly approached and crouched down to her level.
“Look…after…my boy.” Her lids drifted shut again, but a second later, they fluttered back open, determination set in her eyes, determination to speak before her voice gave out. “He’s a…sensitive…soul…even if…he…likes to…hide it.”
I nodded, giving out a shuddering cry. “I will. I promise.”
I went to move away when her cold and frail hand reached out and clasped with mine.
Her final words breathed from her mouth, “Don’t…give…up. You…are…destined…to be…a mother. I…can…feel it.”
Her eyes drifted closed for a final time, and she allowed the cancer to take her under, falling into a coma.
Five hours later, she died peacefully in her sleep, and the only sounds that could be heard in the hospital room were five sets of hearts cracking the instant hers stopped beating.
We arrive home, and as we walk up the path of the house I haven’t lived in for months, it feels as if yesterday and today are light-years apart.
If I had known how quickly Alana would deteriorate, there’s no way we would have gotten on that plane to the Dominican Republic the day after Thanksgiving. I’m struggling with a bit of guilt for taking Tyler away from his mom even though I had no way of knowing the downhill spiral that was awaiting to happen. I’m just thankful she didn’t have weeks of suffering, but it’s hard to grasp that she’s gone.
It might take a while for it all to sink in.
Tyler hasn’t spoken a single word since we left the hospital, and as he opens the front door, with our suitcases in tow, his face expressionless, I don’t know what to say to make this better for him. I almost feel like getting our asses on the next flight back to Punta Cana, so we can bury ourselves in the bubble we surrounded ourselves with, where pain and death didn’t exist. However, I know that won’t change anything now. If anything, we’d just be bringing our darkness along with us, and our happy place would forever be tainted. I have too many incredible memories from the trip to corrupt it in any way.
The bubble we spent six whole days in was bound to pop eventually. We just didn’t anticipate how quickly that bubble would burst.
We walk through the front door, and Tyler immediately frowns as we stand frozen in the foyer.
“Shoot, Harley’s still at the kennel,” Tyler complains. He sounds almost devastated.
I’m guessing he was hoping cuddles from Harley would help ease his pain a little because, no matter how much of a shitty day you’re having, coming home to a wagging tail and happy licks sets the world to rights in an instant.
I shut the door behind me. “I can go pick him up,” I offer.
He just shakes his head. “No, you’re exhausted. It’s been a long day. We’ll collect him tomorrow. I’ll call the kennel.”
He retrieves his phone from his pocket, and a second later, I flinch when he all but launches his phone across the room.
“Fucking battery died,” he growls, angrier than I’ve ever seen him.
“It’s okay,” I say calmly, taking my phone out of my purse, turning it back on since I forgot to after our flight. “I’ll call them. Is he at the same kennel we usually take him?”
Tyler nods before walking absentmindedly toward the kitchen as I make a quick phone call. Taking off my jacket a minute later, I enter the kitchen and find him at the kitchen island, throwing back a glass of whiskey before pouring himself another.
“Everything okay at the kennel?” Tyler gruffly asks as he takes his second shot of whiskey.
“Yeah, it’s okay. They told me we could pick him up anytime after seven a.m. tomorrow.”
He nods, raising the bottle of whiskey, and he pours himself another shot. I sadly gaze at him, hating his need to bury himself with a bottle of whiskey. After we lost Erika, I spent a good chunk of my time drowning in vodka, and the one thing I learned was that alcohol wasn’t the answer. Yes, he drank a lot on our vacation, but his head was in a different frame of mind. He wasn’t trying to drown his sorrows, like he’s trying to now.
“Baby, I know throwing yourself into whiskey seems like a good idea, but maybe you shouldn’t drink right now.”
His eyes flash to mine, anger evident. “My mom just fucking died, Mia. I’m allowed a few goddamn shots of whiskey. A good wife would join me in my mourning, not nag me,” he shoots at me.
I ignore his gibe even though my heart throbs a little bit as he aims his anger at me. I head to the refrigerator, grab a bottle of water, and take a few soothing sips.
“I’m sorry,” Tyler croaks out a few seconds later, his head hanging low in shame.
I sidle up to him and gently place my hand on his arm. “It’s okay. You’re hurting; I get it.”
“When I thought about tonight, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he numbly speaks, his eyes solely focused on the empty glass in his hand.
“I know, but I’m here with you now, and I’m not going anywhere,” I state, caressing his arm with the barest of touches of my fingertips. “I should probably go home and grab some stuff though. The only things I have with me are covered in sand in my suitcase,” I try to joke.
But he rips his arm from my touch, staring at me, his nostrils flaring. “Home? This is your fucking home, Mia.”
I cringe at my mistake and inch forward with an apology on my lips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—”
The sound of shattering glass slamming against the countertop jolts me mid sentence, and I fist my hand to my chest as the loud noise through the quiet kitchen makes me jump out of my skin.
“You know what? If home is where you want to be, then go. I’m not going to stop you.” His words don’t sound angry, just defeated in a lost kind of way.
He storms out of the kitchen. I lean against the countertop, letting out a shuddering breath, as I stifle back a cry while I watch his retreating back.
God, it hurts my heart to see him like this.
I clean up the broken glass, and after giving him a few minutes to cool down, I head upstairs. I frown when I don’t see him in the bedroom, but when I hear the shower running from the en suite, I follow the sound with my footsteps.
What I find the instant I walk into the bathroom has my heart breaking all over again. He’s sitting, slumped in the large walk-in shower, his face buried between his naked legs, his shoulders rapidly shaking up and down as sobs tear from his throat.
I kick my shoes off, and with every stitch of my clothes still on, I step into the shower and kneel to his level, brushing my fingers through his wet hair. The shower rains down on me, causing the material of my clothes to cling to my skin.
“Mia,” he garbles between sobs.
I pull him into me as he lets go of every emotion that his sensitive soul has latched on to from the moment he learned of his mom’s illness to the painful good-bye to her final breath passing her lips. And I cry with him because my heart is breaking along with his.
“It’s okay. Let it out. Just let it out,” I softly mutter into his hair as I rock him to and fro while the hot shower continues to pelt down on us, the water and our tears melting together as one.
The next week is a blur of funeral arrangements and people stopping by to send us their condolences and drop off casserole after casserole to Samuel.
We all helped with the arrangements. Since Tyler hasn’t been in the right state of mind, I took care of flowers, Jo dealt with the caterers, and Ashton helped Samuel with the casket, funeral cars, and the burial itself along with the legalities of dealing with the death of a loved one. The arrangements did take a little longer than usual since Samuel wanted Alana buried beside Christopher in the Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetery. It’s quite a lengthy process with the US Department of Veterans Affairs to schedule a burial for spouses, dependents, and parents of fallen veterans, so it pushed the funeral back by a couple of days.
While Tyler and I had been on vacation, Ava had reluctantly headed back to Seattle with Lily-Mai and Francesca, but she returned yesterday in time for the wake and funeral with Lily-Mai staying at her dad’s and Francesca being left in the care of her best friend for a few days. Although Ashton seemed to be taking the funeral arrangements in stride, I knew his calm and cool demeanor was all a front. The instant he locked eyes on his wife for the first time in almost two weeks, it took everything he had not to break down in her arms.
The wake took place at the funeral home yesterday. I’m not going to lie; seeing Alana in an open casket was hard to comprehend. Tyler took one glance at her before deciding he couldn’t handle it, and he got the hell out of Dodge. And, like a vulnerable little boy, he sat on the edge of the curb outside the funeral home, waiting until the wake was finished. Honestly, I didn’t last much longer when Samuel couldn’t hold in his tears, and seeing the heart-wrenching emotion break through his hardened exterior was too much to bear.
The funeral and burial were beautiful, and although it was sad to say good-bye to Alana a third time, it was worth the torturous extra days for us to bury her beside her second-born son. It was what Alana would have wanted, especially after everything she said on her deathbed about wanting to be with Christopher.
Through the throng of black-dressed bodies, the one person I couldn’t take my eyes off was Junior. He was dressed impeccably, looking all handsome and cute, and he pretty much led the entire funeral with his speech, telling everyone how incredible his grandmother was. He went on to tell funny stories of things that had happened with his grandmother during his first seven years on this earth—or of the memories he could remember anyway. The church was filled with so much laughter, and it was a breath of fresh air that we all needed. He was the strongest of us all, and I couldn’t be prouder of my nephew.
Tyler was the only person who didn’t crack a smile at his speech, and as much as I understood his upset, I was a little disappointed in him when he all but dismissed Junior. All the kid wanted was validation from his uncle for his first speech in front of more than a hundred people. However, when Jo got up to say a few words, I made sure Junior knew how incredible he was as I held him to my side.
After I found Tyler sobbing his heart out in the shower a week ago, he hasn’t shed a single tear since. It seems, the instant he cried his last tear, he is doing what he’s always been so good at. Hiding his emotions. He’s grown despondent with everyone, especially me. I’ve been trying not to compare it to when we lost Erika, but it’s hard not to when he’s barely uttered three words to me all day.
As I drive along the road heading back to the house for the reception with Ava and Ashton in the back, I wish that Tyler would open up to me, but instead, he sullenly stares out the passenger window. I’ve no idea what’s going through his head right now, but with how he’s been so closed off with me and everyone else, I know his thoughts can’t be good.
I understand he’s heartbroken over the loss of his mom—we all are—and as much as I want to be there for him, it’s hard to feel wanted when I feel invisible to him all over again. He hasn’t kissed or made love to me in over a week. I’m not a sex-crazed lunatic, but some level of intimacy would be nice, especially with the tough week we’ve all had.
I’m so afraid he’s going to let another loss tear us apart. I just pray he’ll snap out of this trance he seems to be in sooner rather than later because, if I’m forced to walk away from him a second time, even though I promised his mother that I’d look after him, there will be no going back from that. No third chances. No new beginnings.
I won’t give up on him, but I also won’t let him take me for granted either. If I walk away, it’ll be because I’ve tried everything else. Right now though, I’m going to keep fighting for him, and after the reception tonight, the boxing gloves are going to make an appearance.