Page 114 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
"Only if you want to," Felicity said quickly. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
"But Dr. Chen thinks I need to. For the door close."
"For closure," she said.
"Oh, closure, I mean."
I looked up at them. "She said if I don't see her, I can't undo that decision later."
Dad and Felicity exchanged a look.
"She's right about that," Dad said gently. "But it's still your choice, Macy."
"I want to see if any of my real mom is still there. The one who loved me before all the stuff happened with her brain." I wiped my nose with another tissue. "Dr. Chen helped me remember that she wasn't always different. Just the last year or so."
"That's a very brave thing to want to do," Felicity said.
"What if she's mean to me? What if she says something mean?"
"Then we can leave," Dad said firmly. "The moment you feel scared or uncomfortable, we're out of there."
"And it won't be your real mom saying those things," Dr. Chen added. "It would be the tumor."
I took a deep breath. "Okay. I want to go see her."
"Then we'll make that happen," Dad said. "Together."
Chapter 45: What If She Doesn't Remember?
~Felicity~
The twenty-minute drive to Brigham and Women's felt endless. Macy sat in the backseat, quiet, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. The silence was deafening. She was so nervous getting ready this morning. I'd helped her pick something out and she changed countless times before we settled on her favorite purple sweater and jeans—the outfit we'd actually started with.
Jessica had bought the outfit for her this past Christmas—well, the sweater and jeans. The shoes were too small, so we went with a new pair of boots. Macy's realization that her shoes were too small resulted in a minor meltdown which ended with the both of us on the floor, crying while I rocked her.
"You okay back there, kiddo?" Caden asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah," Macy said, but her voice was small. "Just thinking."
I turned around to look at her. "Anything we can help with?"
"I don't know." She pulled her knees up to her chest on the seat and leaned against the door of the car, head resting on the window. I barely heard it, but I was able to catch her asking, "What if she doesn't remember me?"
Fuck. There is no way out of this without all of our hearts breaking—Macy at the loss of her mother, Caden and I in watching Macy's heart break and the utter unfairness of a kid getting such a raw fucking deal.
"Then we'll remind her," I said gently. "And if she can't understand or remember, that won't be your fault. It won't mean she doesn't love you."
"But what if she says mean things? Like she did before?"
Caden pulled into the entrance, turning the car over to the valet. "Then we remember what Dr. Chen told us—that's not your mom talking. That's the tumor."
At the front desk, we asked for directions amidst the loudness of the hospital setting. Patricia, the concierge, helped us with where to go. Before heading up though, Caden had placed an order at the Panera in their lobby and picked us up some coffees and waters which were already ready in the to-go area by the time we were heading up.
Jessica had been transferred from the Neuro-oncology department at Mass General Hospital to the Palliative and Hospice care unit at Brigham and Women’s. She had to remain in hospital while under guard and, due to her circumstances with the charges, she couldn't be transferred to a private facility or for homecare for end-of-life care.
We were told her condition was deteriorating more rapidly than initially expected.
"She has good moments and difficult moments," the Doctor had said. "She asks for Macy and Brad intermittently, but her words get jumbled easily. The tumor is putting pressure on the areas in her brain that impact her speech and memory."
