False Start: A Football Romance (50 page)

Gone was the stale, stagnant shell of a being, the lost, confused child hiding behind the image of a well put-together adult. I think I have both Lucas and my mother to thank for the change in myself. Lucas has shown me how to love and forgive, regardless of one's own past, and how to let everything I never had any control over go. My mother showed me that people can, in fact, change. It's never too late, and she gave me the chance to practice my newly found forgiveness. I’m far from normal, but at least I know I’m on the right track.

I think about making an excuse and taking my purse and the hidden letter to the bathroom for some privacy, but quickly squash the idea. My brother is the one who tucked it in there, so I know he would see straight through me, and Lucas . . . well, I need his strong presence there to catch me when I start to fall—the way he has been since the beginning. I take my Venti coffee from my brother and pull the letter back out, carefully tearing into the envelope.

It’s now or never.

Charlee,

There is no pleasant way to say this, so I'll just spit it out and move on. I am dying. Stage 5 kidney failure. It's been a long, hard battle since I was first diagnosed eleven years ago, two weeks after being sentenced to prison. I have fought hard. I have given it all I have, but now I'm out of options. I quit dialysis this week. I had no choice. It was causing an infection in my body, an infection my poor immune system just can't fight. I’ll be released in less than a week. Apparently, a death sentence from God carries a lot of weight in parole hearings.

I know it's been years since we talked last, and by now, you probably don't think much of me or don't want a thing to do with me at all, and I truly, truly understand that. Your short time with me was one horrible experience right after another. I know that now. It took a while for me to realize that I wasn't good for you. I'm still not. I'm selfish and only care about myself. Even right now, as I write this letter asking you to let me come see you, I am being selfish.

There have been so many times that I've wanted to say this to you, even in person, but I haven't had the guts to know how yet, so I'm going to start here, in case I never get the chance to see you or speak with you again.

I'm really sorry I couldn't be there for you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to talk to you when I should have been. I'm sorry I left you alone for so long, and I'm sorry I wasn't able enough to tell you straight forward how much I loved you when I had the chance. But most of all, I'm sorry I couldn't make more of an effort to let you know I cared more than I've shown you.

You meant a lot more to me than I was able to openly express, and although it may be too late to prove it to you now, I will always love you, Charlee. I wish I had enough time left on this earth to show how much, but God works in his own time, not ours, and because of that, I will be leaving you again soon—this time for good. In my mind, I know I should just let you be and leave you alone to live your life without ever having to hear from me again, but my heart won't allow that.

I'm not sure if you'll ever read this letter or if you have read any of the fifty that came before it. It doesn't matter now, but on the off chance that your curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to rip this thing open, I want you to know if I ever made you feel ignored or unimportant, that was never my intention at all, and that I'm sorry for coming off so passive-aggressive. The truth is that I doubted myself. I doubted my ability to be a good mother, to love you and Matt the way you deserved to be loved. Fully. Completely. Selflessly.

You have no idea how badly I really want to be there with you, but at the same time, I don't know if you're ready yet. When I first got word of my release, I was ecstatic. All I could think was THANK GOD, even if I’m only being let out to die in peace. That didn't matter to me. I was finally going to get to see my babies, but it's been eleven years, and you're grown now. You have your own life, and I doubt you want your selfish mother back in your life.

In my state of mind, I was so uncertain of myself. I felt like I couldn't hold together a relationship, and I wasn't sure If you actually wanted a relationship with me either. Then you figure in the sickness, and I really started to doubt things. How cruel is it for me to show up requesting a relationship with you after eleven years and then DIE? You don't have to answer that. I know, but again, I'm selfish, so this is me asking you, just like I asked your brothers and your father.

Can I come home?

If you reply to this and tell me HELL NO! Then I promise, Charlee, I will respect your wishes. I won't push myself on you, but on the small, tiny off chance that you don't care, that you actually want to see me as much as much as I want to see you, then I'll see you soon, baby.

I can't wait. My fingers are crossed, anxiously awaiting your reply.

Love always and forever,

Mom

I don't cry while reading it. I don't shed a tear after I'm done. I refuse. I hold every bit of it inside of me, locked away tight until I'm able to talk to her again, then I'll let it all out. I'll yell and cry and laugh when I can do it with her. I pass my letter to Lucas and let him read through it while I sip on my coffee and wait and wait some more.

It's while I'm waiting that a thought strikes me. I turn to Aaron, and for the first time, I see him in a new light. I see his actions over the last few months and how I thought he had chosen to forgive her for his own reasons, but now I realize it had more to do with what she needed. He knew she was dying, and the one thing she needed from him was his forgiveness—and maybe even his love.

“You knew? This whole time, you knew and you didn't say a word to me. Why?” I accuse him.

“Simple. She asked me not to. It was obvious you didn't read the letter. Matt and I replied. I had actually been talking to her for several years now. Every time she wrote you a letter, she wrote me too. I replied. When you came in that first night and reacted the way you did, she knew you were still angry . . . still hurt. She wanted to leave right then, but I refused to let her. She agreed as long as I didn't tell you about the disease. She didn't want you to pretend to love her just because you knew she was dying. I agreed, and I know it was hard on you, but I'm glad we did it that way.”

“How can you say that? If you had told me, then I could have been there more for her. I could have been nicer! Spent more time with her! Now what does she have? What did keeping that secret give her?”

“It gave her your genuine forgiveness and love. She can honestly leave this earth now knowing that you loved her, not because she was dying and it was the right thing to do, but because you were given the time to search inside of yourself and find that tiny part of you that wasn't destroyed thirteen years ago. You were able to truly love her, Charlee, because she is your mother and you are her daughter, and that is what little girls do. They love their mommies, even when those moms have hurt them and broken their hearts. They forgive and they love, because that's all they know how to do.”

“You should have told me.” I sob into my hands, choking on the pain in my throat.

“Believe that if you want, but if asked to do it again, I'd do it the same way.”

I know he's right, and if I search past the betrayal and heart wrenching pain, I can be thankful for him not telling me, but right now, all I feel is hurt. I feel like I’ve been lied to every day for the last three months. Day in and day out, they both made a conscious decision to not tell me the truth. What if I hadn't forgiven her? What if I had held onto my pain and hurt and I hadn't given her a chance? She would still be in that room right now. She would still be dying, and I would feel even worse, because I had never known she was dying.

I'm not sure how much time has passed since we first walked in those sliding glass doors at the emergency room entrance, but if my ass is any judge of passing time, the ache it feels means it's been at least twelve hours. Glancing at the clock, I'm surprised to see it's just after four, meaning it's been fewer than two. I'm about to stand and hound the nurses’ station for more information when I see the doctor walking out.

“Leming family?” he calls to the waiting area. I raise my hand and stand, followed by Lucas and Aaron.

“What's the relationship?” He asks, and I almost find it comical that he is concerned over something as meaningless as our relationship until I remember the HIPAA pamphlet I read six times front to back while I waited.

“I’m her daughter. This is my brother and my boyfriend. What can you tell us about my mother?”

“Well, Miss . . .?”

“Cooper,” I supply.

“Miss Cooper. Your mother's blood sugar count was 1426 when she came in. Normal range for your blood sugar is usually between 120 and 180. As you can see, hers was dangerously high. We have administered her some short-acting insulin to bring it down, but so far, it's not helping. She’s still in the high 900s. In addition to this, her blood pressure is 286/220. This is stroke level, so we are giving her medicine to bring it down as well as monitoring her for signs of a stroke.”

“Can we see her?” I ask.

“You can see her, but I feel obligated to warn you that the sight you will see is extreme. She is in a coma, and we have had to ventilate her because she was no longer breathing on her own. I have ordered a full workup on her, and at the moment, we are waiting on blood tests to come back before we know more.”

“Ok. I understand.”

And I do.

My mother is dying.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lucas

The ache in her eyes is almost too much. Nothing I can do can change what's happened. A piece of her heart is now gone, and there is really no coming back from that. Sure, I can make her smile or laugh, but it’s fleeting.

"Charlee. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to make this better, and it’s killing me."

"There's really nothing more you can do. Being here with me in this moment is enough." I hug her tightly to me, afraid if I let go, she'll disappear.

"Anything. I'll do anything. Just say the words, and it’s done."

"Just hold me. That's all I need." I nod and kiss the top of her head as I feel her tears dampen my shirt.

“I need to call Coach Matherson. I'm not slated to pitch, so being here with you for the funeral and all shouldn't be a problem. I'll be back in two shakes." She nods and sits on the couch, wrapping a blanket around her.

I step out onto the porch, and the hot air is almost suffocating. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I breathe deeply and dial Coach's number.

“Hello?”

“Hey Coach.”

“Well hey, son. Is everything all right?”

“No, sir. It’s not. Aaron’s mother passed away, and since I’m not in rotation, I was hoping I could get a pass.”

“Well damn. Hate to hear that. Absolutely, you need to be there for family. They need you more than we do right now.”

“Thanks, sir. I owe ya.”

“Nah. Just get it all handled and get back to me as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir.”

I slide my phone back into my pocket and lean against one of the cold brick columns out front for a moment, attempting to gather my thoughts before I rejoin Charlee. It’s tearing me to pieces to see her hurting. I know it’s all part of the normal grieving process, but I can feel her withering away, like her soul barely has a hold on this side of humanity and the next gust of wind will give her the push she needs to fly away.

I don’t want to see her go. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to live without her. I was doing fine, existing in this shallow world, before she came along, and now I know I’ll never be able to go back to simply existing. I need her and I need Everly. They are the closest thing to a family I have had in many, many years, and I’ll be damned if I let death cheat me out of my happily ever after.

After Cole died, I lost a part of myself, and I’m no fool. I know that I’ll gain that part of myself again, but the time I have spent loving Everly has shown me that not every part of me died that day. I am still alive, and I have a lot of love to give. I have to hold on to the belief that everything in life happens for a reason, and if that is true, then I lost my son, my sweet, amazing son, so that I could be here for when those two girls needed me the most.

Now.

Opening the front door, I take one more deep breath, and then I walk down the hall to the woman of my dreams and my belle fille.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Charlee

Sometimes in life, we are faced with decisions that no person should ever have to be faced with—that inevitable fork in the road, where you decide to go left or right. One way will undoubtedly be easier in the short run, but chances are, you will pay for it later on down the road, usually when the next fork appears and you realize that you didn't avoid anything earlier. You just postponed it.

I’m at that fork right now.

Everything I'm feeling right now makes me want to shut down, lock the pain up tight and never let it out. I can feel my monster getting restless wherever I buried her, hidden but not gone. She will never be gone completely. I accept that. She is a part of me, but that doesn't mean I want her to poking her nosy head into my business every waking minute of the day. It's been kind of nice not having her around for the last few weeks, and I'm not sure I want to let her back out, but the sight before me makes me consider it.

My mother is strapped to the bed with white Velcro straps tied loosely around her wrists and ankles. Her eyes are already sunken in the way only a dead person's eyes do. I watch as the machine next to her pushes air into the tube going down her throat, breathing for her. Her chest rises seconds after it pushes and then falls unnaturally. It's not a normal breath. That's the first thing I notice, and for a second, I entertain the thought of how cool it would be to have one of those during one of my anxiety attacks, but my mind quickly rebels against that thought.

The next thing I notice is the drain tube coming out of her left nostril. I follow it with my eyes to where it connects to a bag at the side of her bed. I don't understand this tube, and when the doctor enters behind me, I ask him about it.

“That's a drain for the bile in her stomach. Her organs have begun shutting down. This happens in most patients with sepsis. Unfortunately, not many come back from it once it reaches this level of severity.”

“Sepsis? What do you mean?”

“She has an infection. It looks like she may have had it for a while, but now it's in her bloodstream. We call this infection sepsis. Her organs have already started shutting down. The machine will keep her alive, but you will have to make to make a decision soon on how long you want to make her wait. It's my opinion that she won't come back from this.”

“Thank you,” I say, because what else do you say in that moment? I turn and walk out of the room, unable to see her like this for one more second.

Ashlin is in the waiting room when I walk back out, arguing with a nurse. I run up to her and wrap my arms around her, thankful for her just being there.

“Oh my God, Charlee. I came as soon as I got your message. Is she okay? What happened?”

I spend the next ten minutes filling her in on everything I know. I don't like the fact that the final decision for her death is left up to me. I feel like her life is riding on my shoulders, and it all depends on my decision. How did this become just my problem? I didn't ask for this. I pull my phone out and text Matt. I haven't seen him in months. He stopped by one day the week mom first arrived and stayed for about twenty minutes, and then—poof—he disappeared again.

Me
: Mom is in the hospital. Doesn't look good.

Matt
: Really?

Me
: Yea. They said she probably won't make it.

Matt
: Oh.

Me
: I need to know what you want me to do. I have to decide whether to leave her on life support.

Matt
: Idc. It's your mom.

Me
: Thanks.

I can't even begin to describe how much I want to wrap my hands around his throat right now and squeeze until his brain is deprived of oxygen. Then maybe he would wake up—just for one tiny little moment—and care about something other than getting high! I'm so fed up with him I can't see straight. As soon as this is over and life is back to a somewhat normal state, something is going to have to be done about him. He's still underage, so technically, we can have him admitted for drug rehabilitation. I hate to see it come to that, but on the other hand, I don't want to lose my brother, and if he continues down this destructive path he is on, one of two things is going to happen. He is either going to end up in jail or he will end up dead. If not from a drug overdose, then some drug deal gone bad.

People in this world are crazy. You throw in altered frames of mind, and there is no limit to the amount of fuck up they are willing to do. All for their next buzz. I bet if I text him back right now and say Mom has a bag full of pain meds, he would care. Hell, he'd probably be here in fewer than ten minutes. It's not worth it, though.

“What are you gonna do, Charlee?” Ashlin asks.

“I don't know, Ash. I do not have a clue.” And I really don’t. I wish I had a magic eight ball I could shake right this moment and ask it, DO I PULL THE PLUG? Or even better, DOES SHE WAKE UP? And it would reply with its magical answer, IT IS CERTAIN, or even better, WITHOUT A DOUBT, but this is real life, and eight balls don’t hand out magical real life answers, so I’m left trying to make the best decision I can. Normally, I wouldn’t think it would be this hard, but every time I think I have an answer, I end up talking myself out of it because a million other questions pop up.

Like when I say yes, pull the plug. Then I ask myself, are we saying yes because it's the right thing to do or because it's the easy way out? Are you saying yes because in reality you don't want her here and you're happy she is dying? The list goes on and on, and in the end, the only decision I can make is the decision to not make a decision . . . not yet.

I fall asleep in the hard plastic-backed chair in the waiting room. I know that only because Lucas wakes me up, telling me that my brother and Ashlin are heading home. There isn't really anything any of us can do here right now, and until the doctors finish with whatever tests they are running, I’m not going to worry about making a decision. I did sign the DNR, allowing the staff to let her go peacefully if for some reason her heart stopped.

In a way, I hoped that it would and that I wouldn’t have make to any more decisions. I didn't want the pressure of it on my shoulders anymore. I wish I could pass it off to Aaron and let him deal with it, but apparently, I am the only one allowed to handle it since I'm her next of kin. Ugh, why couldn't Aaron have been born first? It sucked giant monkey balls.

At least this time, I hadn't lost myself to the pain and grief like I had when Dad had been sick. I wanted to believe that I was stronger now, having already been down this road once before, but I know that's not true. Last time I was faced with these decisions, I wasn't alone. My dad was there by my side, making them with me. Actually, most of my issues then went in direct opposition to what he wanted. He signed the DNR. I begged him and pleaded for him not to do it. I understood his decision better now. I couldn't imagine ever seeing my dad hooked to a million machines like she was. I would fall apart like humpty when he fell off the wall, and nothing or no one would be able to put me together again.

Thankfully, he made it through surgery fine, and not even cancer could take him away from me, so we ended up not needing that cursed piece of paper after all. I remember the agonizing hours spent pacing the waiting room for the doctor to come in and tell me his news. Either he made it through fine or he was dead. There was no middle ground. In a lot of ways, I feel like I did then—stressed to the max, wanting nothing more than to pull my hair out strand by strand. I’ve already bitten my nails down to the quick, my nerves getting the best of me. I hate this feeling of hopelessness. I need an activity—something to occupy my mind.

I wish I could go back to mine and Lucas's house. I can think of a few things that we could do that would take my mind off things for a while, but the sad truth is that even if I could, I wouldn't. It wouldn't really help anything to lose myself right now. I need to stay strong for her. And focused. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. It’s after midnight when we pull in the drive of our house. Aaron is standing at the front door, waiting for me to walk in, or so I think, until I hear him call out to Lucas.

I stop at the entrance to the living room and peer inside. I'm happy to notice that someone cleaned up the mess. The couch cushions are missing and the floor has been steamed. All the white paper sheets and the gauze the paramedics threw around the room are gone too. I look back at Aaron, silently questioning him.

“I called in the cleaners. Charged me out the ass, but I didn't think any of us wanted to come home to that.”

I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly the way I would when I was little. He pats my back. Once. Twice. Three times, and I pull back and continue my journey to the kitchen. Once I'm there, I decide that I should get a bite to eat too. Actually, I don't decide anything. My stomach does, in the form of a loud rumble. Lucas's copies, and I burst out laughing. I never knew stomach growling was contagious. I thought that was strictly reserved for yawning, but I guess I was wrong. It makes sense that he would be hungry too though. The last time either of us ate anything was this morning—or rather, yesterday morning—for breakfast. No wonder we are both starving.

I offer to make him a sandwich, and he accepts. Minutes later, I'm sliding a plate in front of him loaded down with two turkey and cheese sandwiches, a handful of chips, and a pickle spear. I don't know why, but I can't ever eat a sandwich without chips. It's like those two things were just meant to go together, kinda like a Coke and a glass. Have you ever tried to just drink coke from a can? It's not the same. Something about the cold glass just makes the Coke. I grab the ranch dip from the fridge and set it between us. Lucas is laughing at the obscene amount of food on our plates when I return with a Pepsi for him and my glass of OJ.

“Anyone ever tell you that you eat a lot to be so tiny?”

“As opposed to what? How much I each to be so fat? Why do people say that? Wow, you sure are strong for a girl. What the hell does that even mean? Why can't I just be strong? Or why can't I just eat a lot? Why does it always have to be redirected to the fact that I'm skinny or a girl?”

“Hmph. I’ve never really thought of it like that. In that case, you sure do eat a lot.”

“Thank you. I know.”

When we finish eating, I put the dip back in the fridge and rinse our plates off in the sink. I waste a few more minutes in the kitchen before I head up behind them, anxious to finally peel out of these clothes and climb in the bed. Lucas wanted me to sleep in there with him tonight, but I just feel like I need some space to process everything that has happened today. Plus, I don’t have this room set up for Everly yet, and until I get a baby monitor, I don’t want her sleeping in here all alone. We can handle a few more days apart.

Me
: Goodnight.

Lucas
: Goodnight, baby. I love you.

Me
: I love you too.

I plug my phone into the charger and pull the covers up over my shoulders. I think it might be hard to fall asleep, and I debate taking one of my sleeping pills, but no sooner does my head hit the pillow than I'm drifting into the dark abyss of my dream.

My phone rings, waking me from my sleep. I reach over and swipe to the right, not even bothering to read the name on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Miss Cooper? It’s Dr. Fondu at Citizens. I'm sorry to wake you, but I thought you would like to know your mother is awake.”

“What?” My heart is beating wildly in my chest.

“Your mother. She is awake, and she is asking for you. We will be discharging her soon.”

My phone beeps in my ear, and I hit answer, swapping the calls.

“Hello?”

“Charlee? It’s me. Hey, do you think you could bring me my toothbrush? And don't forget my wallet. I need to stop by Wal-Mart on the way home.”

“Mom?” I ask, trying to piece everything together.

“I thought you were dead. They said you were going to die.” I'm sobbing now, unable to hold it back any longer, and all the doubt from the last twenty-four hours comes rushing back.

“I was going to tell them to pull the plug. You were gone.”

“It's okay, baby. I know what they said, and I wouldn't have been mad at you if you had, but I'm okay now and you can come get me. Will you come get me, Charlee?” she says, and I almost believe her. I want to believe her so badly that my heart latches onto that statement for dear life.

“I'm on my way.” As soon as I say the words I'm standing in the hospital just outside her room. I hear her talking on her other side of the white curtain, but I still can’t believe it’s true. The doctor walks up next to me and hands me a clipboard. I see a stack of papers attached to it and a black pen. He grabs the curtain while I'm holding the papers and pushes it aside.

My mother is sitting in the bed, her legs dangling over the side. She hears me enter the room, glances over at me, and looks straight through me with her flat gray, dead eyes. Her mouth is moving, opening and closing, and with each pass, more vile brown bile leaks past her lips.

“I'm ready to go, Charlee. Can you let me go, Charlee?”

I scream, dropping the clipboard to the floor. The papers fly everywhere on the way down, covering the ground at my feet. I look down at them to keep from having to look at her and see the bold print across each one.