Page 42 of Years in the Making

Mom is gone.

When Will pulls away, I get the first look at his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks like he’s aged ten years since I saw him on the weekend.

“What happened?”

“She was fine, we were having breakfast at that diner on Seventh. You know the one with…”

“With the extra-thick-cut chips,” I finish for him.

“Yeah. She was laughing and then…” His eyes widen as if he’s watching it for the first time. “She just stopped laughing, said ‘ow,’ and fell forward. But she was alive. She was alive when the ambulance came. She was just unconscious so I didn’t… I didn’t…” Tears fall as he mouths words that I can’t hear.

“Why isn’t anyone with Dad?”

“Brenda’s there. She’s going to drive him home. He’s not exactly in a state to drive.”

I can’t help but laugh at how obvious that statement is. “No shit,” I mumble, pushing past my brother to go kneel in front of Zoe. If anyone saw us, they’d think she was looking at me but she’s not. She’s looking through me like I’m not even there.

“Zoe?” I take her hands in mine and wait until I see her eyes focus on me. It’s then that she seems to realize I’m home.

“Oh my god.” She throws herself at me, buries her face in my neck, and crumbles.

I don’t know what to do other than rub her back and tell her it’s going to be fine. I don’t know that, though. I have no idea what comes next. I don’t think I’m fully understanding any of this. Rationally, I know what Mom’s gone means. I understand why Will hugged me and why Zoe is a sobbing mess. Irrationally, I’m telling myself this is all just a misunderstanding.Mom just passed out from the heat or she had a mild stroke. She’s gone for the time being, but she’ll be back tomorrow.

We stay like that on the floor until my legs have gone numb and Zoe’s sobs die down to whimpers. Will has moved to the front window and watches the driveway with his arms crossed, Morris watching along with him.

I eventually get Zoe back in the chair and go to the kitchen to put the kettle on. I remember when Mom had her first aneurysm. Brenda came over to take care of us while Dad was in the hospital with her.

We’d arrived home from school to find our aunt in the living room watching her “stories,” and she’d told us she was staying for a few days while the doctors tried to figure out what was wrong with Mom. Brenda made us tea and told us it would help soothe our worry. So that’s what I do, I make tea. I don’t even know if I’ve had tea since that day. I don't think anyone has, as is evidenced by how far back in the cupboard I find the tin of tea bags.

When it’s ready, I take mugs out to the living room and set them on coasters in front of Will and Zoe, and then I go back and get one for myself. An hour later, the tea remains untouched and the only sound is that of the clock in the front hall. An ominous ticking, counting down the minutes and hours since Mom left. I still don’t think I’ve grasped what that means.

Three hours after I arrived home the door opens, and Brenda walks in, followed by the shell of my father. Will and I stand to hug our aunt, but Zoe has gone back to staring at dancing dust particles. After I hug Brenda, I look at my dad, and it’s in that moment, as his hazel eyes meet mine, that things click. Mom’s gone. She’s dead. She’s not coming home… ever… again.

Sitting beside my sister, I join in staring at nothing, onlyhearing bits of what my father, aunt, and brother are discussing. Paperwork at the hospital, arrangements at the funeral home, pre-selected plan, something about British Columbia, service type. Things I recall hearing about after all my grandparents had passed away. Normal things that need to be taken care of following the death of a person. But this isn’t just a person, it’s Mom.

My mom wasn’t even sick.

She was fine.

She ate a toasted tomato sandwich this morning.

Two nights ago, she was laughing at Zoe’s ridiculous stories and bugging me about not bringing Nellie over for dinner. I’d invited Nellie just to get her off my back. Then it hits me: she’s never going to bug me about anything again. No more sly little looks that let me know she knows everything. No more evenings of her bossing me around in the kitchen. No more driving her to appointments or seeing her cuddling next to Dad on the couch. Just, no more.

I’m suddenly way too hot, still in my work stuff, bits of sawdust still clinging to me.

“I’m going to change,” I say quietly, not sure if anyone hears me, truthfully not caring if they do. Upstairs I pull off my soiled clothes. The sound of something hard hits the ground, and I look down to see my phone.Nellie, I think.I should call Nellie. I keep thinking I should call her while I change into a tank and shorts. I need to let her know that we can’t do dinner because my mom’s dead.

My. Mom. Is. Dead.

I leave my phone on the floor and grab my running shoes, which I slip on at the top of the stairs. Mom hates—no, wait,hated. Fuck, it’s all past tense now. Mom hated us wearing our shoes in the house, but she’s gone so she won’t know about me doing it now.

The first tear falls then. My rebellious action of wearing shoes in the house is what finally breaks me, and as I run down the stairs and out the front door, the tears begin to come faster. I only ever run when I need to clear my mind as if I can run away from the anxiety or sadness that’s living in my brain. But by the time I’m about three kilometers away from home, I realize there is no outrunning this. I can’t outrun anything so I bend and unleash all my rage, confusion, and emerging sorrow into a scream. I’m sure people come out of their homes because I’ve done it in the middle of a subdivision, but all I can hear is a roaring within my head. Once I’ve pulled myself back together, I’m off again, continuing to run away from home.

Eventually, I make my way into a wooded area that runs next to a golf course. Technically, I’m not allowed to be here, it’s part of the private club, but fuck them, my mom’s dead.

It’s quiet in the dense trees and I feel like I can take a proper breath for the first time since Dale showed up at the work site. I walk until I reach a shallow creek and drop down next to the water, drawing my knees into my chest.

My brother’s words float back to me.“She was laughing.”

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