A Garden of Rose and Bone

Chapter 1: Mother

I always wondered what it would be like to watch my mother die. My gaze wandered as I ignored the stats tracking her pulse, oxygen saturation, and blood pressure. They revealed the same bitter truth every time. She was slipping away from me. I sat in the darkness on a faded grey chair that desperately needed reupholstering. Occupying the corner furthest from her had been the only way I could take sitting in the hospital room every day and every night. 

 As she quieted, I retreated further back into the edges of the space, oppressed by the vacuum of her stillness. Now I sat with my back against the wall. Despite blaring heavy music in my headphones, I could not fill the void within or around me. My heart was both a burning sea and an empty grave.

To my surprise, Mom spoke my name again for the second time that day.

"Aurora..."

I could barely hear her whispering raspy voice. She breathed and the air came in with stuttering gasps. Mom's eyes darted underneath her translucent lids fitfully. She used to sing in the church choir, but the cancer took her lungs from her. Mom would always hum and trill hymns or psalms around the house as she did chores and baked. At least she did when she was feeling well. My passion for music came from her, although our motivations for singing were probably quite different. I attended an art school for a time but dropped out after one of many breakdowns. I guess it was good I never got into Julliard like I wanted to. It would have been twice as embarrassing to freak out at a school that famous.

With cautious steps, I quietly approached my mother's bedside. Placing myself in the chair next to her, I folded her frail bird-like hand into mine. She was ice cold and her delicate bones rattled in my grasp. My gaze landed on the red rosary wrapped around her opposite hand that rested on her heaving chest. With each agonizingly slow breath, the light reflected and danced off of the silver crucifix.

"Aurora..." she whispered, this time with a little more power.

"I'm here, Mom."

Her eyes moved frantically but remained closed. A few moments passed and then the whites of her eyes appeared. It seemed like she was trying to fight the medicines keeping her sedated. Then she was staring into me, clearly fighting against the pull asking her to go back into a comatose state. I missed those warm brown eyes so much. But there was devastating distress in them.

"I thought I had-" Mom paused, pulling in a strangled breath. "More time."

I couldn't help but tighten my grip on her hand, even though I was terrified of accidentally breaking the bones. She gasped a few more times, clutching her rosary.

My mother's eyes widened as she attempted to say, "Stay with-"

"Mom, don't hurt yourself, please."

My face ached from trying to hold back tears.

"Stay...with...Father-" Her eyes bulged from the effort. I gasped, fearing she would die right then and there. My mother dragged her rosary over to my hand,  the cold beads knocking against my wrist and fingers. "...Xavier."

Father Xavier came and prayed with her every single night. As he recited the scripture, her closed eyes subtly meandered, suggesting an awareness despite her unconscious state. If Mom was awake, she would look at Father Xavier as if he were the sun itself. He was a compassionate, reserved man, and when he held mass on Sunday, he didn't have to boom the word of God. People listened intently.