Page 55 of Surrender
“Anything, Mummy.” I would do absolutely anything she asked me. I’d climb mountains. I’d fight dragons. I’d blast out a fire if it made her feel even a tiny bit better.
She clears her throat and touches my cheek. “I might be going to Heaven soon, and I need to know if you’re strong enough to stay with me until I go.”
Her words take a minute to climb into my brain. Did she say Heaven? Like, the real Heaven? Or is she talking about a poem of hers?
“What, Mummy?” I ask like a stupid idiot.
“I feel myself dying, Gareth. If you’re not strong enough to stay, I need you to go now.” Her voice breaks and she sucks in a big breath, like she’s trying too hard to be brave. “Because as scared as I am, nothing scares me more than hurting you, my sweet, lovely, wonderful boy.”
I blink and my cheeks are instantly dripping with some sort of liquid. “So you’re going to go to Heaven now?”
She nods.
My head begins to shake. “I don’t want you to go to Heaven!”
Stupid idiot! Don’t cry!Mum’s face looks sadder than I’ve ever seen. I hate when Mum’s face gets sad!Stop it, Gareth. Stop being a baby! She can’t take it!
I squeeze my eyes shut real tight, then open them, trying hard to be a brave man and not a scared little boy. “Do you really have to go?”
“Yes, my boy. I’m tired of not feeling well. In Heaven, I will feel so much better.” Mum sniffles and wipes a dribble of snot from her nose. “Then you won’t have to take care of me anymore.”
“But I like taking care of you!” I cry, losing the fight I have between being a boy and being a man. It’s a line I’ve been tightrope walking since they said she was sick. “I would do anything for you, Mummy. So whatever you need. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
She nods with a tightness to her jaw. “That’s good. Then please just hold my hand.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t get Dad?” I look nervously at the door. Getting Dad sounds scary, but I’m scared. I’m so, so scared. What if I’m not good enough for this? What if I’m bad at helping her?
“Dad can’t be here right now.” Mum’s eyes look sad. So, so sad.
My eyes narrow, anger replacing tears. “Because he’s mean.” It’s the truth. I hate him.
Her dry lips purse together. “He’s mean because he loves me too much and he’s afraid. Fear does strange things to people, Gareth. You see, Daddy has been my bestest friend in the whole world. We created a life together that most people only dream about and he’s losing that dream. That’s hard for him to accept without me there to help him. Please try not to be too cross at him.”
“That’s stupid. If he is your best friend, he should be here for you. You’re the one who’s…sick.” I hate saying the last word, but there’s no other way to say it.
She smiles sadly. “Sometimes when you love someone too much, your heart is louder than your head.”
I think about that for a minute, still angry at Dad for doing this to her. “That’s why I’m your best friend now, Mum.” Her eyes sparkle and it makes me feel like I’m ten feet tall. “I’ll be your best friend forever. And I won’t let my heart be louder than my head. Ever. I’m here for you, Mummy.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Gareth, because I need a best friend right now.” She smiles and, even with the wrinkles around her eyes, she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. “But someday, my boy…Someday your heart will overrule your head, and it will bring me great joy up in Heaven.”
She pulls me by the hand to come closer, her other hand reaching up to the back of my neck and hugging me so my cheek presses against her chest. I can hear her heartbeat, but it sounds far away. And even her chest feels cold. If it wasn’t for the soft, smooth fabric of her pyjama top, I’d forget all about how nice my mum feels. It’s funny that a silly shirt can remind me of the way Mummy used to be before she was sick. When she was warm and cosy.
Her breath is cool as she drops kisses in my hair and murmurs, “And let me feel that warm breath here.”Kiss.“And there.”Kiss.She lets out a soft cry as she slides her fingers through my short strands. “To spread a rapture in my very hair, O, the sweetness of the pain.” She shakes and squeezes me to her really hard.
I sniffle and look up into her wet eyes. “Is that one of your poems, Mum?”
She shakes her head. “That is Keats, my love. Moments like this belong to the professionals.” She adjusts me so we’re holding hands against her chest bone and adds through strangled croaks, “Touch has a memory. O say, love, say, What can I do to kill it and be free.”
“I don’t want to be free!” I gasp and a cry breaks loose from my chest that I didn’t feel coming. I squeeze her hand as hard as I can, no longer caring about how breakable she is. I’m terrified, and I wish a million wishes that my hold could keep her here with me forever. I reach down and touch the fabric of her soft shirt. “I don’t want to kill this memory. I want you to stay, Mummy. I hate Heaven!”
I sob and her hand cups my damp cheek. “Hush now, my bestest friend. My bestest friend in the whole wide world.”
She takes a fast breath and her eyes close tightly, wrinkles forming on the lids…
And then…
They soften.
