Fuck me.
“I’ll give you two a moment,” the doctor whispers, clicking the door closed behind him.
I glance over at my father and he’s just standing there, holding my mom’s lifeless hand. She’s clean. There’s no more blood from the fall, no signs of any trauma. I’ve heard people say their loved ones finally look at peace when they die, but peace on my mother doesn’t look like this. It looks like her holding Hannah, rocking her to sleep, dancing with my father in the kitchen. It looks like everything we’ll never have again.
“Dad,” I choke out, wiping the tear from my face. “Dad,” I manage again, going to his side. “Oh God, mom,” I cry, falling to my knees, my dad sliding down with me.
The hurt I feel is nothing compared to his, but I still feel it. I still feel the pain, the tears, and everything. The thought of Hannah not knowing how much her grandma loved her makes the hurt and anger swirl inside me, until I feel like I could take out every doctor that didn’t save my mother, every doctor in this fucking hospital that failed us.
“Benton,” my dad whispers. “She loved you, son. More than anything. I hope you know that,” he manages. It’s the most words he’s spoken since he heard the news.
Then, it clicks. The pain I’m feeling is because of Hannah and how she’s going to react to it. I’m more worried about my child at this point, and her growing up without a grandma. My dad, the man holding on to me for dear life, is hurting for me. He’s hurting because he’s alone now, and he knows how close my mom and I were. He’s hurting every single hurt I could possibly hurt times ten.
When the doctor comes back into the room, we’ve composed ourselves enough and say our final goodbyes to my mom. Well, to her body. She’s not in there anymore.
Walking out of the hospital, shock settling in that my dad has to go home alone tonight. Every night. I know that feeling, and it’s not a fun one. Not at all.
“Hey, you need me to come with you tonight?” I ask, remembering that he has to go home and clean her blood off the floor still. Shit.
“No.” He stops next to the doors of the hospital. “I need to go home and clean up.” He mutters something about the blood, and my heart sinks a little more for him. He shouldn’t have to go back by himself and do this all alone, but he’s so stubborn that I know he’s not going to let me come along.
I grab a cab, not wanting to make my dad drive around any more than he needs to tonight, and call Gabby three times on the drive home. Missing every call, I try to tell myself that they are just sleeping, but with all the bad that happened tonight, I just need to know everyone else is okay.
By the time we pull in front of my building, I’ve already paid and am out of the cab and inside the building in no time. Waiting for the elevator, I check my messages and notice nothing new has come through since the heart from Gabby. Christ, I hope everything is okay.
When the doors open, my heart sinks even more when I notice the couple walking out of the elevator.
“Adam?” I blurt.
When Annaliese’s eyes hit mine, I know something’s not right.
“What’s wrong?”
Gabby
Fade to Black
Walking to the park alone on crowded streets is hard enough for me to do without having an attack. I don’t do crowds well. Walking an unfamiliar route to someone else’s house with their child in tow is a whole new level of anxiety. My hands grip the stroller tight, leaving indents on my fingers, but I’m not letting go for anything. The thought that someone could rip her away from me, and I’d be the cause of ruining Benton’s life, runs through my head the entire time I speed walk back to his place. By the time we make it up the elevator and inside, locking the door behind us, I’m out of breath and on the edge of a breakdown already. Hannah is starving and keeps yelling at me to eat, even signing ‘eat’ by putting her fingertips to her lips. I only know this because I, at one point, thought I’d be teaching my child the same thing.
The maternal feeling and instincts are all still there, hiding in the darkness, but, with Hannah, it all feels natural. She’s low key, and eats what I put in front of her. The fussing stops after she has food in her belly and, shortly after snack time, she’s passed out on my shoulder in the rocking chair. I could lay her down. I should lay her down. But I don’t. I don’t because SIDS is a real thing, and I can’t be the one here if that were to happen. So, instead, I stay curled up on the rocker-recliner with her, scrolling through my phone. I’ve texted Benton a few times, but there’s been no response. If I know hospitals the way I used to, he probably doesn’t have good service in there, but I keep texting. Sending him winks, pictures… anything to help his day go smoother. I’m unsure what’s going on, but it’s already been a few hours with no word.
By the time Hannah wakes up, it’s close to dinnertime. We play for a while, stacking blocks… knocking them down… stacking them again. This goes on for about three minutes, until she’s bored of that game and on to another one. She’s busy, and wants to be independent, but she’s not quite there yet. Cruising along the sofa, she makes her way to the remote and starts chewing on it.
“Gross, Hannah,” I scoff, taking it from her just to hear her start to wail. “Okay, okay… uh… here,” I say, turning it on and finding some sort of happy colored kids show. She stops crying immediately, and is glued to the TV.
Fine with me. I need to make dinner.
After putting Hannah in the waiting Pack-N Play, I head to the kitchen to see what type of dinner I can make us. I should know him better than I do. I should have known someone with a body like his, with abs like his, would be a health freak when it came to eating. It takes me digging to the back of the pantry, but I find a box of spaghetti and a can of sauce that still are good, so I opt for an easy dinner and get to work. Kids love spaghetti, right?
So right.
Hannah squeals when she realizes that she’s going to get to eat soon, and, as soon as she sees the spaghetti, it’s everything I can do to keep her out of her high chair before it’s dinnertime. I never got to this part of motherhood. I was never allowed to get stressed over screaming kids at dinnertime.
And, unfortunately, the alarm going off on my phone right now is reminding me why.
Fuck.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, racing to turn it off. A few hours ago, the noise level in this apartment was bearable, with the soft snores of Hannah sleeping. Add in a hyper girl, cartoons, an oven beeping with garlic bread that’s burning, a phone alarm screaming, and we’ve just probably broken noise records. I can already tell the meds from earlier are starting to wear off, so I’m happy to be getting my evening dose.
Turning the alarm off and grabbing my purse for my backup pills, it’s not until I empty my entire bag out that I realize they aren’t there. The bottle is completely empty. Holy shit, how can that be? Has it been that bad lately that even my back up bottle is empty? When did that even happen?
Oh, God. I can’t be here right now. I took so many meds this morning that, pretty soon, they are all going to crash through my system and I’m not sure what I’ll be like when that happens. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!
“Hannah, it’s coming,” I say in a soothing voice to try and calm the screaming kid. I can’t stop now. She’s hungry, I’m hungry, and we both need to eat. I’ll feed her, then figure out what to do about my pills. I’ve never missed a dose, so I can’t miss this one. I’m not stable enough on a consistent regimen; I’d hate to know what I look like when I miss a dose.
Benton texts in the middle of dinner, so I snap a picture of his girl full of spaghetti, messy as can be, and giggle looking at her. She’s going to need a bath tonight. That’ll be good. Clean her up, spend the night snuggling, and take my mind off the fact that I have no pills. Hopefully, he’ll be home soon enough and I’ll be able to get back to my place and get my dose.