Page 40 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

I could feel it with each continued breath.

Each accelerating breath I took, she took one less. Like I was sucking the life right out of her with my emotions starting to overtake me.

I didn’t know when the tears started.

But I did know that the only thing that stopped me was the tears freezing to my face and my eyes, making it impossible to see.

I didn’t want to stop.

But I had to.

I pulled over at the longest stretch of lonely highway I could find.

When I stopped the engine, a line of bikes stopped theirs right behind me.

My throat caught in a sob, and I covered my hands with my eyes, unable to stop the gut wrenching sounds from leaving my throat.

I couldn’t stop.

And the one voice that could have accomplished it was not of this world any longer.

I finally got the courage to look down, and there she was.

The life was drained out of her eyes.

But they were wide open, and she was still smiling, even in death.

“Fuck,” I cried out, unable to stop the yearning well of grief from swallowing me whole.

None of my club brothers made a move to touch me. They didn’t give me kind words.

They knew just as well as I did that nothing was going to fix this moment. Not their words. Not their grief right along with me.

Nothing.

So they stayed silent and waited with me while I got it all out.

The next steps yawned in front of me.

I’d have to tell the kids.

Call the hospice nurse back out.

Plan her funeral.

I didn’t want to do any of that.

Couldn’t see my kids cry one more fucking time.

Couldn’t witness my grandkids’ confusion when there was no more Grandma to welcome them into our home with warm hugs and cookies.

I just…couldn’t.

I did, however, start my bike.

I’d deal.

I’d deal, even if I wasn’t actually dealing.

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