480 Hours

1 | Forgotten, But Not Gone

Staff Sergeant Hogan

I had lost men before. Hell, I had watched on helplessly as they took their last breaths after being shot numerous times on the battlefield. I knew death was a permanent fixture that no man could outrun. Yet, as I watched the small peaks of my mother's heartbeats appear and then quickly disappear on the monitor next to her hospital bed, I wanted to throw every logical thing I knew about death out the window.

Twelve weeks. I had an insufficient four hundred and eighty hours of leave to watch her wither away and die as I sat in the scratchy, vomit colored chair next to her hospital bed, powerless. Mothers were supposed to live long enough to watch their sons get married. Mothers were supposed to live long enough to earn the title of grandmother. Mothers were supposed to be there, no matter what.

Mothers were not supposed to get sick and die while her sons were in the military.

The military had been my life since the moment I had enlisted on my eighteenth birthday. Things were supposed to be okay, my brother was there at the time to take care of our mother when I couldn't be. He was already sixteen when I left for boot camp, and although I knew he would be out of the house in two years, those two years seemed like a lifetime to a naive and selfish eighteen year old. Yet, I didn't feel guilty, at least not until he too enlisted on his eighteenth birthday.

Even then, my mother insisted she was proud of us. She told us not to feel guilty; she "didn't need a babysitter." I had been ignorant enough to believe her when she promised she would call if anything went wrong.

She lied.

My mother had known she was dying for over a year and hadn't said a thing. She had allowed my brother to use his military leave to get married and take a stupid honeymoon. Now, he couldn't be here to watch her die because he had used his time away from the military for something as trivial as a wedding. Once she finally told us she was dying, he put in for sick leave; learning he could have it, but only once his previous leave year was up. That was still a few weeks away, and after seeing just how far along the cancer truly was after arriving on a red eye flight that morning, I didn't know if she would live that long.

Soon I heard her fragile voice, "Landon, honey, is that you?" Looking at her frail body, I didn't understand how she had withered away so quickly. She had looked so healthy at Holden's wedding less than a year ago. Yet, the doctors informed me only hours prior that she had known she was sick for almost three years. They were hopeful at first that she could beat it, that she could pull through, but after two years, it was evident that the cancer was winning. After that news, she all but gave up on the treatments, choosing the pain over the medication that could not save her life.

I didn't know how to answer her without crying. "Yeah mom, it's me." Even though I tried to keep the tears concealed like a good Marine, liquid quickly fell from my eyes when a smile lit up her small face.

The moment she caught me crying, she too started to tear up. "I'm so proud of you baby, look at that uniform. Staff Sergeant already?" I had been promoted early for a Marine my age. I didn't have a life outside of the corps; the military was my life. Having zero distractions made it easy to get promoted.

We quickly fell into a comfortable banter, both pretending we were not in a hospital room for an incurable illness. She asked me about my life in the Corps, about Holden and his wife, and if I planned on settling down anytime soon. We talked about me because it was safe; my life was simple. I hadn't lied about having cancer. I hadn't hidden a secret for three years. 

I wasn't dying.

How do you even go about discussing the fact that your mother wasn't going to live long enough to see fifty? How do you bring up the topic of betrayal with someone who looks so fragile? How do you inform someone on their deathbed just how much they hurt you?

You don't.

Instead you put on a brave face and try to enjoy what little time you have left with them. My mother was going to die, that was a fact, and I was not going to waste what little time I had left with her being angry.

"Where are you going to stay while you're here? As comfortable as this room is, I think it is a little small for two people." She had been air lifted to a specialist hospital in a separate state from the one I grew up in. I would not be able to stay in my childhood home, but I would have to figure out what to do with it once she was gone.

"Do you remember Lance Corporal Bailey? He lives one town over and has agreed to let me stay with him." Her eyes seemed to light up when she was given the reassurance that I would not be alone. "His place is only a twenty minute drive from here, so I can be here during the day and then rest there at night."

"How is Liam?" Liam Bailey; we had gone through basic together, been promoted together, fought together, and almost died together. Bailey hadn't gotten off as easily as I had during our near death experience however. He lost his arm in combat and was forced to leave the Marines due to the injury.

How was Liam Bailey? I honestly didn't know.

"His sister lives with him now to help out. But if I am being completely honest, mom, we sort of lost contact after he was discharged." Which was a shame, because I had considered Bailey to be one of my closest companions. After his injury, he pretty much cut off all contact with anyone associated with the Marines, me included.

The door to her room opened quietly before a petite nurse joined us. "Excuse me, sir, unfortunately visiting hours are over. But the two of you can pick up again around eleven tomorrow morning." The woman smiled meekly, obviously not wanting to interrupt what little time I had left with my mother. Yet, visiting her from eleven in the morning until eight in the evening each day would never be enough time; not to make up for all of the moments I had given up with her to make a career for myself out of the military.

Eighty three days; four hundred and seventy two more hours of leave was all I had left with the woman who raised me.