"I'm sorry sweetie, but she's gone."
February 15, 2013.
Most of the day is a blur, a blur full of anxiety, migraines, and vomitting. All out of the middle of nowhere, for no apparent reason. School, a Friday night sleepover on the horizon, and swimming in thoughts of a perfect Valentine's celebration the night before. Everything seemed to be going okay, except for the unexplained sickness.
The day passed quickly anyway, medication blocking out most of what was happening. Pain meds, anti-nausea meds, anxiety pills, finally blending into a concoction that would knock me out for a couple hours on my best friends bed.
I don't know how the phone calls started. I don't know who called first, or what they said. But we were dancing, we were singing (well, screaming) to our favorite songs, cleaning and jumping around like maniacs. Texting our boyfriends and talking about how in love we were. And then the circles started.
One phone call after another, one family member after another, reporting the same news in a circle, never anything new, until finally, the call came in from my great uncle.
"Hey girl, I know I'm the last person you want to hear this from, but I'm sorry sweetie, but she's gone." And that was it. The screaming, and the sobbing, I couldn't breathe anymore. Everyone in the house was crying, and they didn't even know her. They weren't even family. But it didn't stop my friend's mom from curling me up on her lap and crying into my hair.
But that was all over in less than two minutes. Then the phone circle started again. This time, it was for a ride to the hospital. I had to see her one last time.
There was a lot of pacing. A lot of silence. And a lot of people shuffling around as more and more family poured in the room. More people like me feeling guilty for how we treated her. Not believing that she was gone. There was small talk, but nothing really substantial. Then there was my brother, the one who was supposed to be responsible for all the paperwork, all the questions, even the body release, and he was drunk. Or high. Or something. Whatever he was, he couldn't walk a straight line and he smelled like he hadn't showered in weeks. But I guess that shouldn't have really mattered. Dead people don't care.
Finally the time came for us to see her. My brother wouldn't come in if I was in the room. But everyone else was in line behind me. Me, the baby, the Kayla-Bug, the only one who was willing to walk in first. Before I saw her, I heard my aunt telling my little cousins they weren't allowed in. They weren't allowed to see her that way. But I just walked forward, my dad a few steps behind me.
First, I touched her arm, and it was cool, not cold like I expected, but not warm. The blood was still on her hand from where they pulled the IV needle out. Then I looked up. The first thing I registered was the plastic tube sticking out of her mouth, hanging wide open. Then her hair, usually so beautiful, splayed around her head, already looking faded.
The last thing I saw was her eyes. My eyes staring up at me. They were glazed, lifeless. All the light had faded out, and all I wanted was for her to notice me, and to see me there next to her for the first time in 8 months. To see that I still loved her no matter how much I had told her I didn't, and to forget how I had told her to leave me alone, and how I wanted to forget her. I wanted her to tell me she loved me again, and this time I would say it back. But it never happened.
I just stared into her eyes, and screamed. Then it just goes black.
I couldn't look in the mirror for days. Because all I saw was her. I still have those days. I still look at her urn and think that maybe if I wish hard enough, she will come back. I mean, I wished that for my 17th birthday, she would leave me alone, and she died just twelve days before it. My wishes could kill her, why can't they bring her back? I've never wanted anything more than to get the images of her eyes out of my head. The nightmares come almost every night.
I will never see my mom smile again. I will never see her eyes light up. I will never tell her again how much I love her, and how sorry I am for treating her so horribly in the last few months. All I have left is the dust of her body, and her cold eyes burned into my head. And now, four months later, I miss her with every piece of my heart. But there are ne tears left to cry.
RIP- Momma
