I sat down quickly to appease her before blurting out, “Where’s my mom right now?” I searched her face for answers, growing more impatient by the second.
“Chloe … there’s no easy way to say this, and you’re old enough where I need to just be straight forward with you.”
“Did she have another rebound? Where is she now?” Panic tightened its vicious grip on me as I tried to hang on to the possibility that it wasn’t what I feared the most.
But, like many times before, I was wrong.
“Chloe, your mom passed away this morning.” Her voice was shaky, but the words came out as clear as day.
Even though I heard her, I just stared at her, unable to process what she’d said. I felt numb and didn’t know how to react to her words.
“They found her in her apartment this morning when she hadn’t checked in with her sponsor like she was supposed to.” She paused as she wiped the tears from her face. “They said she overdosed on some over-the-counter—” Aunt Betty’s words broke off mid-sentence.
She threw her arms around me and began to sob uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. I know how much you wanted her to get better.”
I stood there, unable to move, and watched Aunt Betty weep for her younger sister. I knew I should feel intense pain. I knew I should be sobbing for my loss. I knew I should be reacting to this news about the woman I’d loved the most in this life.
But I felt nothing.
“Chloe?” Aunt Betty finally noticed that something was wrong with me, that I hadn’t made a single sound since she’d broken the news. “Are you okay, honey?”
“I’m fine.” That was the only response I knew how to give. That was how I felt. Fine.
I couldn’t seem to feel the pain. I couldn’t seem to shed a tear. I couldn’t seem to react at all. The only thing I seemed to be able to feel was the all-consuming numbness that seemed to shield me from the rest of the world.
***
My mom’s funeral was held a week after she’d passed. It was very much like her life: dark, meager, short-lived, and attended by just a few.
It was a simple ceremony that lasted no more than fifteen minutes from start to finish. In addition to the dense layers of dark, threatening clouds overhead, only Aunt Betty, Uncle Tom, Jackson, Jackson’s father, my mom’s sponsor, and I were in attendance.
After the casket was lowered into the ground and we’d each thrown our handful of dirt onto the casket, people started to say their goodbyes as the small group started to head back to their cars.
I purposely lingered behind everyone, wanting to spend a few more minutes in front of the casket alone with her.
The idea that she was gone, that I would never see her again, that I would never hear her voice again, was something that hadn’t sunk in. It was something my head hadn’t wrapped itself around. It was something my heart hadn’t accepted. It was something my body hadn’t felt.
“You promised, Mom,” I whispered as I stood over the open grave. “Why did you have to leave me? Did you do it on purpose? Was I not worth living for? You promised you’d get better and I’d move in with you soon. You promised…”
“Hey, Chloe,” came a voice from behind me.
I turned and saw that it was Jackson’s dad walking over from where the rest of the group stood talking.
“Hi, John.” After the years of correcting me, I’d finally gotten used to calling Jackson’s dad by his first name.
“I’m really sorry for your loss.”
I just nodded, not quite sure what else to say. I couldn’t tell him that I hadn’t shed a single tear since my mom died, that I hadn’t felt any sadness or anger, that I felt absolutely nothing.
“I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now.”
“Yeah.”
“Jackson mentioned that you didn’t get a chance to see her too often.”
I frowned. I wasn’t interested in talking about my mom, but I didn’t think there was a polite way to say that.
“You’re a good kid, Chloe. Even when you first moved in with your aunt and uncle, you were a good kid. I remember thinking what a good influence you were on Jackson, and how much he matured over the years.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I was surprised by the depth of this conversation. They were more words than we’d ever shared before.
“Do you know what that means, though?” He waited for me to respond.
“What?” I asked tentatively.
“It means that your mom raised you well, and your aunt and uncle continued raising you well. But it’s important to remember that it started with your mom. I can tell that your mom loved you very much and cared about you.”
“Sure.” I wasn’t convinced by his words. He didn’t know anything about my mom. How would he know if she really cared about me or not?
As if sensing my doubt, he continued, “I know it might be hard to see, but as a parent, it’s crystal clear to me. Maybe she didn’t always know how to tell you that she loved you, but she showed it in how well she raised you.”
His words made me think of all the hours my mom had spent teaching me how to think for myself and be responsible. Even when she felt sick from drinking too much the night before, she’d always made time for me and my endless questions.
“Thank you, John. I think you’re right. My mom was a good mother.” It was a revelation I hadn’t expected to have.
He reached over and patted my shoulder. “I have no doubt that your mom must have been so proud of you.”
“Thanks, John.”
He smiled and nodded before leaving me standing alone in front of my mom’s grave.
“Jackson’s dad was right, Mom. You were an amazing mom. I wish I had thanked you for everything you’ve done for me. I know it couldn’t have been easy to raise me alone.” I paused and started to feel emotional. “Mom, I’ll miss you so much.”
Suddenly my legs gave out and I fell to my knees in front of her grave. Then, for the first time in my life, I let go of all the pain, anger, and resentment I’d ever buried inside for my mom. When I let go of all the negative feelings I’d kept inside, tears of pain and loss started streaming down my face as all the fond memories I had of my mom started flooding to the surface. It was as if the floodgates to my emotions opened, and all the tears I hadn’t cried and all the pain that I hadn’t felt came crashing down on me all at once. With every single tear and every ounce of pain, I was finally saying my goodbyes to the woman who loved me more than she’d loved herself.
CHAPTE R NINE
Spring 1998
Thirteen Years Old
“Honey?” There was a soft knock at my bedroom door.
I glanced up from the TV but didn’t respond.
“Honey?” Aunt Betty called out to me again. “I brought you some dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” I finally said to the door that separated us.
“Honey, you haven’t been eating all day. You need to try to eat something. You’re going to get yourself sick if you starve yourself like this.”
I knew she was right. I knew she only meant well. Feeling a little guilty for making her worried, I got up from my bed and walked over to open the door for her.
Her face brightened and I could almost see her body relax and let out a sigh with relief. “So I wasn’t sure what you wanted to eat. You missed breakfast and lunch, but I made you your favorites so you can just eat whatever looks good to you.”
In her hand was a large tray of food. There was a plate of bacon, hash browns, and sunny-side-up eggs, a bowl of macaroni and cheese, and a plate of her famous chicken pot pie.
“Thanks, Aunt Betty.” I took the tray from her and set it down on my desk. “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”