Sitting in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, I swipe my thumb right, calling Harry’s Garage. I hold the phone to my ear, listening to the ringing as I bounce my foot up and down.

I decided to take Hudson’s advice, but I’m not positive this is the best idea. Do I really want to watch my mom die? Wither away? Do I want to see her personality slip into the unknown?

I don’t.

I stare at the dingy, white hospital floor as the phone continues to ring in my ear.

If I wasn’t at the hospital with her every second I could be, I’d regret it. I’d regret everything…for the rest of my days. Because even though I don’t want to watch her fade away, I want to spend the time with her that I can. I want to have memories to hold on to. I want to be able to say I was there with her until the end.

Finally, someone picks up the phone.

“Harry’s Garage,” Harry says, sounding like he has a mouth full of food.

“Harry, it’s Jade.”

“What do you want?” he growls.

“My mom has gotten worse,” I croak, my throat feeling thick from having to share part of my life with him. “I need to be around for her, and I…” I wrap a hand around my neck, willing the words to slip through my lips. “I…need…time–”

“Stop,” he says, cutting me off, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “You need time off? To work less?”

I shake my head, and then realize he can’t see me. “Yes,” I mumble, feeling weak for asking for help.

He huffs, but when he speaks his voice is understanding. “Three days a week with the same hours.”

My grip on the phone loosens, and it slips from my hand as my mouth falls open. Reaching my hands out, I grab my phone right before it hits the floor.

“Jade,” Harry yells through the phone.

He’s giving me time off, no questions asked. Have I entered an alternate universe? I asked for help, and he said yes. I never knew it could be that easy.

I push the phone up to my ear. “Yes, sorry,” I rush out. “Thank you, Harry.” I let out a deep breath.

He grunts and hangs up the phone.

After shoving my phone in my shorts pocket, I let my hair cascade around me as I rest my elbows on my knees. I press the palms of my hands into my eyes, keeping any tears from falling as my shoulders shake and lips tremble.

I never thought I would be crying because I was happy. And I never knew such a small thing could make me feel like I’ve reached the top of Mount Everest.

Stepping away from work is a decision I fought with for several days, but I decided that if I was going to be here with her–for her–then I needed to make some compromises. I needed to change.

It’s the right decision I know it is, but that doesn’t keep the guilt at bay, knowing that I’m giving up as much as Mom is.

I wipe my eyes and nose after running my hands through my hair, making sure I look as put together as possible.

I stand from the chair and head down the hall to Mom’s room. I’ve gotten used to the sick patient’s coughing in the hallways and families weeping over their loved ones. I’ve almost grown immune to it with all the time I’ve spent in the hospital.

When I reach Mom’s room, I hover in the doorway watching her sleep. It seems to be one of the only things I do these days, watching her dream, her body relaxed.

I walk in her room and sit on the teal chair next to her.

I trail my hand down her forearm before I grasp her hand in mine. She’s cold, and as I run my thumb over the back of her hand, I notice how dry her skin is.

She used to have the softest skin. I asked her once why she was so soft, and she laughed, her arm clutching her stomach. She told me she used magic cream that made her skin as soft as mine overnight.

I hold her hand tighter. I want to make more memories with her, but that’s just me daydreaming. These are the last moments I’ll have with her, and they’ll all take place in this godforsaken hospital.

It’s scary knowing Mom won’t be here forever–that soon, she’ll be gone. I wonder how people do it. How do you live with grief? How do you survive knowing someone you love more than you can possibly explain is gone–forever?

“Jade?” Mom asks, her eyes fluttering open for the first time since I’ve been in her room today.

“I’m here,” I say. I’m exactly where I should be.

A smile splays across her face. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” I answer honestly.

Her smile drops as she appraises me with anguish in her eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

It’s a question I could easily answer with a yes. Because I am mad at her. I’m pissed that she’s ending her life when there’s an easy solution. She could fight. Sure, her chances of surviving a surgery are slimmer now that she’s gotten weaker, but the chance of survival is still there, hanging in the balance, waiting for her to take it.

Maybe I won’t ever understand why she thinks she’s doing this for my benefit, but I won’t tell her that because she’s dying. I won’t put more blame on her. I won’t let her know how much she’s killing me. Because as much as I’m hurting–like a knife is twisting in my gut repeatedly–I know what she’s feeling is a thousand times a worse.

“It’s fine, Mom,” I say, struggling to believe myself.

She wrinkles her eyebrows, regarding me with knowing eyes, like she sees straight through me. “Okay.” She squeezes my hand, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall opposite her bed. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I’m working less to be here with you,” I explain.

“I’m glad, but you should be out living your life, not sitting in this hospital with me.”

“This is where I want to be,” I argue.

“But it’s not where you belong.” She looks at me, her eyes roaming my face as if she’s memorizing every detail. “You deserve more than this. Promise me that when I die, you’ll start to live your life. Promise me you’ll have more than you do now.”

My face drops as I look past her, not wanting to see the pleading look on her face. I won’t have more; I’ll have less because I won’t have her.

How do I tell her that when she dies I’ll move on and be happy? I can’t. Because I don’t think I will be. Everything will hurt when she’s gone, so I can’t promise that I’ll be better–that I’ll achieve more.

But I don’t want her to know the ugly truth, so I lie. “I will.” She studies me, and I can sense she doesn’t believe me. I never could lie to her.

“Do you remember the girls’ days we used to have?” She smiles.

I nod, gripping her hand. “I remember.”

“What was your favorite day?” she asks.

I don’t even have to think about the answer. “We went to a movie.”

“A movie,” she interrupts me. “That’s your favorite?”

I chuckle. “You checked me out of school early, and we played hooky.” I was shocked when she showed up at my classroom door after third period. “We saw a movie, and you bought the biggest tub of popcorn they had and two different kinds of candy.”

She pulls her hand away from mine, snapping her fingers. “Skittles because you love the fruity flavor and M&M’s to throw in the tub of popcorn.”

“But we actually had three kinds of candy. We just didn’t buy the third there.”

She taps a finger on her chin, her eyebrows wrinkling as she tries to recall that day.

“Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups,” I remind her.

She beams. “Because of how much I love peanut butter.” Her second favorite sweet. “We snuck them in because they didn’t sell them at the concession stand.”

I was appalled that Mom was sneaking food in the theater. I was so sure the guy who tore our tickets was going to bust us, but he hardly glanced in our direction.

Mom laughs, her eyes shining. “I forgot all about that.” She pats the bed next to her. “Come lie with me.”

I hesitate, not wanting to hurt her. She narrows her eyes at me, so I stand from the chair and carefully slip in bed next to her.

We face each other in the hard hospital bed as she plays with a strand of my hair. It makes me feel like I’m a little girl all over again.

“We were the only ones in the movie theater,” I continue. “I don’t remember the movie because we got bored and didn’t pay attention to half of it.”

She drops my hair. “We threw popcorn at each other instead.”

I laugh, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. “I think more of it ended up on the floor than in our mouths.”

“But we ate all the candy.”

“And I had a stomachache the rest of the night,” I say.

Mom took care of me that night, sleeping in bed with me until the sun came up the next morning. I sigh, committing this moment to memory, ensuring I never forget the love I see pouring out of her as she watches me.

She rests her hand on the side of my face. “Do you want to know mine?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“The trip to the museum.” She catches a tear that slips free from my eye. “I told you that you could reach your dreams; you just had to make it happen.”

I sniff, holding back the flood of tears threatening to escape.

“Can you do that?” she asks, keeping her hazel eyes fixed on me.

I nod, unable to answer her as I wrap my arms around her frail body. I hold her close and inhale her sweet scent, reminding me of red velvet cake.

How am I going to do this without her? How can I make it through everyday knowing she isn’t breathing?

I hug her tighter, never wanting to let go because I feel like I won’t ever have more than I do now. I’ll be a shell of a person when she’s gone, wandering through life…lost.

But the truth is I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and I won’t be the same tomorrow. I’m evolving, changing, every second that I breathe.