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I sit next to her hospital bed, holding her hand in mine. The tears stopped about an hour ago. I’ve been sitting here for 10 hours. Waiting for her to wake up. Nothing.

I wonder if this is how they felt when the roles were reversed. Guilt pangs in my chest.

“You should go eat, sweetheart.” My father tries to get me to budge, but I can’t leave her like this. I need her to come back.

“I’m waiting for her.” My voice cracks with hope.

“Excuse me, Mr. Blackwell?”

A man emerges into the room holding a clipboard.

“That’s me.” My father sounds tired.

“My name is Dr. Watson. I have some news regarding your wife’s condition. You may want to take a seat.”

My father takes a seat next to me as we listen to the news, and he breaks it.

“We ran a full neurological scan. The MRI shows extensive damage to the brain, particularly the areas that control consciousness and motor function. There is no activity where there should be. I’m so sorry, but she will not regain awareness.”

My father stares at the floor, and I glance over to my mother’s soft face. She looks horrible with all of these machines and tubes hooked up to her. My stomach twists in knots.

“There is still a chance. She needs more time.” My father’s statement is hopeful.

“I understand you’re upset, as this is devastating news, but the toxic smoke she inhaled sent her oxygen levels too low. It is critical brain damage.”

“There has to be another test. A scan can’t possibly tell you that. She’s a fighter. My wife will never give up.”

“We ran a brain stem reflex test to be certain. She failed every single one. I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwell. Take all the time you need.”

The doctor stands and walks out of the room, leaving us helpless in the face of the inevitable fate. My mother is dead. She will never speak again. She will never offer me comfort or advice. She will never meet her grandchildren. She will never grow old with my father. The thoughts travel through my brain like a freight train.

My throat constricts, and I feel my stomach flip. My jaw aches from clenching it, holding in the cries that want to break free. My mother isn’t supposed to die.

I stand and storm out of the room to find Dante in the lobby. He walks up to me and holds me in his arms as I let it out. I let it all flow out. The tears, the pain, the guilt. All of it.

* * *

I make my way back to the hospital room two hours later. My father told me we would say our goodbyes together, as a family. I’ve had very little time to think about it, but I know she already knows I’ll miss her.

I enter the room to find my father sitting on the bed next to my mother, stroking her hand, knowing it will be the last time he will have the chance to do so. He plants a kiss on her forehead and stands to allow me space to say my goodbyes.

I sit where my father did and take her hands in mine. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but they never leave my mouth. My throat constricts and tears threaten my eyes once more.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I lean forward, placing my head on her chest. I can hear her heartbeat— steady and slow. I close my eyes and let the tears roll down my cheek as I whisper to her, “You will always be my first home… Before him… You were all I had. I’ll never forget you.” I listen to her heartbeat, allowing it to bring me back to when I was a child.

“I remember… every time I was scared, you’d tell me— “Close your eyes, honey. If you can hear my heart, you’re not alone.” I sit and let the tears roll down my face as I finish my goodbye, “Now it’s my turn, Mom.” I sit up and place my hand over her heart.

“You’re not alone. I’m right here, always with you. You can rest easy now… I will carry the love you gave me, every step of the way.” I place a soft kiss on my mother’s cheek as I stand to join my father and Dante.

My father nods to the doctor, who switches off her ventilator, and that’s it.

My mother is dead.

* * *

It has been a week since my mother passed away. Her funeral was the most difficult one I have been to. So many people offering me sympathy, when all I really wanted was my mother back.

I know she will always be with me, but I feel like we didn’t have enough time. I wanted her to be at my wedding one day. I wanted her to bethere for me when I have my first child. The ache will never dull. She was taken too soon.