Page 31 of When the Leaves Fall

DREW

T he first two days of Mom being in the hospital blur together.

So much happened during that time, it’s hard to keep it all straight.

There were so many ups and downs, so many times we thought we lost her.

But she’s finally stable and under sedation.

They plan to do an angiogram soon. And while part of me hopes they don’t find anything, the other part hopes they do, so we know what the problem is and can have it fixed.

H ere I stand, at the bottom of the porch steps which lead into my parents’ house, directly into their kitchen, to where I almost lost my Mom.

I haven’t been back since it happened, and it’s taken everything in me to make it this far .

When we realized we needed to get a few things done before Mom was discharged in a couple of days, I quickly volunteered because I didn’t want to risk running into Luca. But as I stand here holding shopping bags full of accessibility tools Mom will need, I can’t bring myself to enter their house.

My chest constricts, and I can’t breathe, each time I take a step forward.

After what seems like forever, I set the bags on the ground and attempt to cross the threshold without the extra weight or pressure.

I can do this.

I need to do this.

I make it up the steps, grab the door handle, and push open the front door.

The house smells stale. Almost abandoned. Dad stopped in at least twice since Mom’s been in the hospital to grab a few things he needed. He said he cleaned up the entryway where Mom collapsed.

But no amount of cleaning can stop the flashbacks from flooding my mind the moment I step inside. Each vision that plays for me is crystal clear, a playback of what happened, but in slow motion. I feel like I’m watching a dream take place around me.

The color of Mom’s face. Her wide eyes open, even though she isn’t awake.

The next thing I know, I’ve dropped to my knees, sobbing. Giant tears stream down my cheeks, landing on the rug where Mom was lying while everyone tried keeping her alive, getting her stable.

My stomach is in knots, and my chest feels like a boulder is sitting on it. I wrap my arms around myself, squeezing and rocking myself back and forth.

Everything that happened during this last month is both clear and a blur. I knew I had never truly processed everything. Who had the time for that? I was constantly on high alert for everyone else. And after Mom started improving, it didn’t feel right to grieve.

Right now, everything seems to be hitting me all at once. Not knowing if my mom was going to leave this house alive. Not knowing if she would be able to talk again. To feed herself again.

And now, knowing I will never see Luca again.

I can’t see him again. I’ll lose all self-control. I’d beg him for one more night together. And I don’t know if I could say goodbye again.

This way is best for both of us. Our last time together was the perfect date, and what a great memory that will be. Ending it now will make it easier for me to leave Wisconsin and head back to Colorado within the next two weeks. It’s time to get back to my life. To catch up on work.

I’ll stay until Mom comes home and make sure she gets settled. That all of her doctor and outpatient appointments are lined up and on a calendar for Dad. Then it’s time for me to go home .

I gasp for air, not knowing when I started holding my breath.

It’s enough now. It’s time to brush this all off and do what needs to be done. I shakily stand, head back outside to retrieve the shopping bags, and get to work installing the bathroom handrails.