Page 27 of Peaches

6 months later

The shrill, piercing, endless scream of the flat line on the monitor from nearly an hour ago is still etched in my mind. It’s gut-wrenching cry still echoing through my ears, unsettling my mind, my heart, and uncontrollably forcing the vomit to rise in my throat once again.

Gone.

How the fuck is she gone?

Staring at the empty bed in my parent’s master bedroom, I’m numb, paralyzed, frozen in place, unable to move on. The events of these last few months playing on an endless reel in my mind, choking and suffocating me the longer I allow myself the torment.

“The funeral should be held this weekend,” I hear my father say from the doorway, his curt soulless comment grabbing my attention and pulling me out of my haze.

It’s Wednesday, for heaven’s sake! At least allow a little time to pass before the earth swallows this whole fucked up mess up from six feet under.

“The sooner the better,” I hear him continue as an unrelenting rage begins to boil under my skin and quickly rise to the surface. “I’ve got business next week out of the country. I need this matter settled before then…”

She took care of him, took care of me, took care of this whole damn house, and nevereverput herself first. Up until the very end, she thought of others before she’d ever even take a moment to consider the life she was losing.

Fucking bastard!

I rise out of my chair and force myself to leave the bedside where I held my mother’s hand not even an hour ago and watched as she took her last breath. Something I can’t say for the man I call my father as he spent what he knew might be her last moments in his study, wrapped up in some call that could’ve fucking waited!

Pushing past Wadsworth, I make no attempt to hide my distaste for what is being discussed as I look up and catch my father’s eye briefly. I shove past him in a hurry, and make my way to the stairs, not even caring about the way he’s shouting my name behind me.

I need air.

Quick!

Before my lungs collapse, or worse, I threaten to kill the only parent I have left. The one that I can’t help and wish traded places with my mother, but we all can’t be that damn lucky, can we? Her death is proof enough of that!

Taking the steps two at a time, I hit the landing for the foyer and quickly stride to the large French doors leading onto the back patio. I pass Pops coming in from outside and hear him call out to me as I hurry past, but I can’t stop.

Not right now.

I haven’t cried the whole damn time since my mother’s diagnosis at her doctor’s appointment six months back, and I find it hard to let myself cry now. Having remained strong for so damn long, I’m not even sure I know how to break.

Coming to Gram’s garden, I brace myself against a stone pillar and feel the life I just witnessed leave my mother’s body also being sucked out of my own. My head feels dazed as every part of my being is suddenly feels detached, severed from this life and forced into a hell that I didn’t know was possible.

A sob escapes my lips. Tears prick, burn, impair my sight as I try and fight them from falling down my face. It stings, the loss. The way I know I will never see her again.

If only I could get a little more time. If only I could go back to being young, when she’d take me walking down River Street to her favorite coffee shop for breakfast. She’d buy me a brownie and make me promise not to tell Dad. I’d drink hot chocolate and think days like that could go on forever, when now they can’t! If only I could get back to then, to live our life together over again and hold on, just a little tighter, to thesweetspot, a time before I had to grow up and life stole her from me too soon.

“Promise me, you’ll be happy, my dear Brettly.”

My mother’s last words come back to haunt me, forcing me to drop to my knees, and making me loose the battle I was just desperately trying to control.

“Promise me, you won’t settle for anything less. Life’s too short to not make it sweet.”

Happy? How can I ever be happy after I’ve witnessed just how cruel, how undeserving, how fucking harsh the world can really be!

Happy?

Sweet?

Everything that’s ever given me happiness, the sweet to my father’s sour, was just stolen from me faster than I could have imagined. No time to think. No time to process. I heard Pops whisper this morning maybe it’s better that way. Better to be over with fast if the end result is inevitable.

But fuck, I beg to differ because fast doesn’t give you time!

Fast doesn’t make it possible to catch your breath.

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