“They told me that you were notified. Did you contact the rest of her family?”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t have any. She was an orphan, so it’s just me.”
She grabs the other chair in the room and pulls it up next to mine. “I’m Joelle. This is the second twelve-hour shift I’ve spent taking care of your mother. She’s a fighter, but I’m afraid things don’t look so good. From the report I received, she was able to phone nine-one-one but wasn’t able to talk to the operator who answered. They’re figuring from that time until the paramedics arrived it was close to twelve minutes. We think she lost consciousness right after she made that call, which is a long time for the brain to be without oxygen, so the odds are really stacked against her.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly through pursed lips. “What happened to her, exactly?”
“Her dialysis port ruptured open and she bled out. She attempted to stop the bleeding, but it was so much so fast there was no way she could stop it on her own. We gave her a transfusion after she was revived in the emergency room.”
Tears burn my eyes before they leak out and spill down my cheeks. Joelle rubs my back in that caring way a mother sometimes does to comfort a child.
I wish I could’ve been there. I’ll never be able to tell her how much I loved her and how much she meant to me, and that I would’ve never amounted to anything if she hadn’t encouraged my love of music.
“It’s hard, I know,” Joelle says. “Tell her how you feel. Tell her that you love her. They say that the hearing is the last thing to go. I think she’s been holding on to see you before she goes. Say your good-byes and let her know that it’s okay if she wants to go because you know how much pain she’s in.”
Joelle pats my shoulder and stands, leaving me alone with Sarah again in the room. The constant beeps and rhythmic sounds of the ventilator are the only sounds in the room. I stare at Mom, lying there so frail, and begin crying even harder.
How am I supposed to say good-bye to someone who means so much to me? I took it for granted that I could come back here and see her whenever I wanted, and now it’s too late. This is it, and it’s not fair.
I adjust in my seat and grip her hand in both of mine. “Mom . . .” My voice cracks as I attempt to speak. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I should’ve been here to tell you . . . to make sure you knew how much I love you. You’re the only person in my life who’s ever cared for me, and that means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
I take a deep breath as tears continue to stream down my face. “I wish you would wake up. I need you to wake up, and that’s terribly selfish because the nurse told me how damaged your body is and that you’re probably in a lot of pain, but I love you, Mom. I just need you to know that, and as much as it kills me, it’s okay for you to go.”
A sob tears through my chest. “It’s okay to let go.”
Almost as if on cue, there’s a small twitch in her hand, like she’s trying to tell me that she’s heard me before the machines attached to her start going crazy with all kinds of alarms.
I jump up, fear coursing through every part of me. “Mom? Mom?! Someone help me!”
Nurse Joelle rushes into the room, shouting orders at the team of people behind her. “Someone get a doctor in here stat! She’s coding!”
“Code blue: ICU room two oh three four,” the overhead announces to the entire hospital.
A short woman wearing scrubs pushes herself between the bed and me. “Sir, we’re going to need you to step out of the room. Sir. Sir!”
I hear the woman, but it’s like I’m in a foggy haze, watching the people swarm around Mom. One tall man begins doing chest compressions as another injects a needle into the IV tubing.
When the small woman shoves me out into the hallway, she closes the door in my face. My hands instantly grip handfuls of my hair as I begin to pace and freak