Curing His Love Allergy

Chapter 1 - Hopeless

"Love is hopeless," I thought. My mom was just diagnosed with HIV (AIDS). Yet nobody knew how she got it. When the doctor asked Dad, he said he was clean unless Mom was cheating. That was next level impossible because Mom didn't have a bad bone in her body. She and Dad had graced us with their love story for the ages every time they had the chance. So that was marked out of the possibilities. Because my mom had found out so late that she had the disease, I wondered if my dad had caught it too, assuming they were getting it on.

"Tiara," a voice called out to me.

My dad was easily recognized with his cracking voice. He couldn't even talk without sounding like he had shattered glass stuck in his throat. "I have some news."

"The doctors, they said she had two to three weeks to live. A month at most, and they were wondering how I hadn't caught it too. But the question I'd love the answer to was how she caught it in the first place."

"Well, Dad...We'll never truly know if she doesn't know herself." I was researching all the different possibilities but it's hopeless, love is that in every sense of the word.

My mom and I spent every waking moment together. My best friend Nora was calling and texting every day, but I stopped talking to her and everyone else.

. . .

It was now July 23, exactly a month and three days since Mom was diagnosed with the dreadful disease. She was three days over the designated date for her untimely death. With that being said, she was on many types of medication. We thought she would survive. And yet why do I not feel content with the doctors being hopeful of her living?

As I was walking back to her room, I saw my dad, "Tiara, could you grab some coffee from the break room, please?" I nodded and left to retrieve the coffee.

"Dad?" I asked when I saw countless nurses and doctors running in and out of my mom's room. I could not fathom what I was seeing. All of this was very unorthodox. Tears blurred my vision, as the coffee fell to the ground and burnt my flesh, but that didn't matter to me because all of my motivation to live had left me. I saw the look on my father's face and knew she had a setback. "What could've gone wrong?" I asked myself.

One of the doctors ushered us out the door and said that we needed to leave so they could try and resuscitate her. The shock treatment worked to no avail.

She was pronounced dead at 3:17 PM, after multiple attempts to save her life.

"I didn't get to say goodbye," I muttered to nobody in particular. After the revelation that she had died dawned on me; I couldn't see anything but black.

The day of the funeral came way too soon. I had been holed up in my room for days while my father planned the funeral. I couldn't do it; it was hard enough having to go and to read the eulogy. It was so hard losing someone who had once told you they'd never leave you. Worse losing a parent, a parent was irreplaceable while a spouse was easily replaced.

I hadn't bought or chosen anything to wear to the funeral but I had a pretty good idea

where I'd find something suitable to wear.

My father was an emotional wreck, but the way he hid it was better than I could have ever done. He told me that we had to talk after the whole ordeal. I didn't want to come out of my room, but I had to say my final goodbyes to my mom. I'd at least owed that to her.

I scrambled out of bed and down to where I knew Mom hid the clothes from when she was young. In the guest room closet where she had some beautiful traditional dresses that she wore in her early twenties when she and Dad had first gotten married.

I slipped into the closet, finding what I needed almost immediately. The dress Mom wore to the Farmer's Gala. It was a black silk dress with lacy sleeves.

I quickly took the dress from its resting place and dusted it off, marveling at its beauty. I knew it was what she would've wanted me to wear. My father called out to me and said that I had an hour to get ready.

Getting ready for my mother's funeral wasn't something I had on my bucket list. As I showered and put on the gown, then minimal mascara, I tied my hair into a tight ponytail at the top of my head. I wore a pair of flat shoes. I was in no mood to dress up. I somberly walked through the door with my father, towards gigantic and loud church bells tolling in the middle of town square.

My father and I officiated the service, holding back tears; I was stronger than I thought I'd be. I was doing pretty well considering the circumstances.

I opened by saying, "Let's celebrate the life of someone near and dear to my heart, my mom. She was a sister, a mother, as well as a friend." I did a sort of dramatic pause, then announced, "Here is my aunt with 'Amazing Grace.'"

After my aunt was my uncle reading the scripture verses, then came my father with a special rendition.

Then it was my turn to read the eulogy. All eyes were on me, anticipating that I would make a mistake and ruin everything. I started off nice and calm, but when I reached a particular line that said, "Tiana Matthews was the best friend, mother, and motivator to her daughter." I didn't know who wrote that, but it struck a nerve. My mom had been circling my thoughts for days now.

The more I thought about her, the more my chest tightened. I realized I was hyperventilating. I was having a full-blown anxiety attack. My family ran to my side to console me, but I'd been getting worse. They had to rush me to the hospital.

At the hospital, I had been prescribed Xanax and some antidepressants. They would discharge me tomorrow after I had seen the hospital's psychologist.

My father walked up to me and I said, "Dad, I'm sorry for ruining your final goodbye." He dismissed my thoughts and said,

"My dear, you didn't ruin anything. If anything, I had my eyes opened more. After seeing your mom then you in a hospital bed, I've decided that I can't bear to walk around the house seeing all of the memories we shared. We needed to get away, and I just called up a friend in New York and he got me a job as an agriculturist."

I was shocked and kind of relieved, honestly, because I didn't want to be constantly reminded of Mom, so I nodded and prodded him to continue.

"I've been looking at houses and schools, just so we can start over and have a breath of fresh air. When you get out of the hospital, I'll let you choose a house. Despite whatever funds we had, your mom left us with a hefty sum from her insurance. You should pick somewhere urban and upstate; I just want us to be happy. I want you to go to a school that could guarantee you a place at Juilliard where you can study your music and do what makes you happy because it's you and me, baby. I know we haven't been close in the past, but that's all going to change now."

I've never heard my dad wear his heart on his sleeve, but I'm glad he did. I'm glad we were getting a fresh start, somewhere I'll make sure nobody knows my dreadful past. I hugged him and was grateful. After all, love is hopeless.

. . . END OF CHAPTER 1.

4o