Page 84 of Beyond Friendship

Her hand goes limp and I shake my head. “Mom. No, please. Mom!”

The door swings open with a heavy bang and the doctor, flanked by two nurses, rushes into the room and pushes me aside as they begin CPR. Another nurse tries to persuade me to leave the room, but I’m unmovable. No way am I leaving her now. The doctor shouts orders to the others as they take turns compressing her torso.

A part of me wants to look away, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. Tears stream down my face as I silently beg for her to keep fighting for something, anything to work. After multiple attempts at reviving her, the doctor glances at the machine, and in a drawn-out breath, he announces, “Time of death, six forty-three a.m.”

My heart sinks as the realization that this is it dawns on me.

I stand there frozen, unable to process what just happened. Every beat of my heart is a sharp reminder that my mother is gone. The nurses disconnect the machine and remove the needles and IVs.

The doctor turns, his gaze heavy with sorrow before he speaks. “I’m sorry...” He then steps aside and motions for the nurses to leave. A hand placed on my shoulder as he exits serves as a reminder that I am not alone, but it is small comfort as I take a step toward my mother’s lifeless body resting on the bed.

My knees buckle under me, and everything blurs until all I can see is her. The pain is unbearable, lurching through me like an unstoppable wave, leaving destruction in its wake. I hug her tight, wishing against hope that this is nothing more than a nightmare.

“Why did you have to leave me?” I sob into her neck and let my soul cry from its foundation, letting the grief hurricane swallow me whole until there’s nothing but a sense of emptiness.

Time passes when a nurse comes in. “My condolences,” she says, stopping beside me.

I nod. “What’s going to happen now?”

The woman gives me a caring smile as she sees me caressing my mom’s hand. “We’ll take care of her until you make plans with your chosen funeral director.”

“I don’t think I can leave her yet,” I choke out, barely able to form words.

“No problem. You can stay longer if you’d like, but maybe it’s better to go home and get some rest. Let someone inform other family members of her passing.”

When the door closes, and I’m alone, I take her hand in mine, feeling the coldness of death already settling in her skin. Even with her usual warmth gone, the contact of her skin is still soothing; like a comfort blanket that reminds me of what I’m about to lose. I inhale deeply, savoring her unique scent for one last time.

The tightness in my chest intensifies at the thought of living without my mom’s advice or scoldings when I don’t act as she taught me; without our Wednesday dinner together. “I’m going to miss you so goddamn much.” My voice breaks and turns into an agonizing sob that fills the room.

I lean forward and kiss her forehead, feeling a warmth that can never be replaced. “Give Dad a hug from me,” I choke out before gathering the strength to turn around with an ache in my heart that will never subside. As I walk out of the room, I acknowledge; grief is the loudest silence I’ve ever heard, and I fucking hate it.

26

AMANDA

My body is still, my dark eyes standing out against my pale complexion as I glare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. A single tear runs down my face, reflecting the relentless replay of yesterday’s events inside my head.

Brian’s disheartened expression and his suggestion for taking time apart is reverberating, mocking me, like a tragic omen. I told him “I love you” for the first time in my life, only he turned away, as if nothing had been said at all. Fear surges through my veins as I contemplate the possibility of losing him.

No. No space. No separation. All I want is him. I need us. But…

The sound of buzzing startles me, forcing me to turn away from the mirror. I take a deep breath before picking it up when I recognize the caller ID on the screen. “Good morning, Cole,” I answer.

“Amanda.” His tone is dark and foreboding, and it makes my stomach drop.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, though I’m almost certain of what he’ll say.

“It’s Brian,” he says, his words low and heavy.

I clench my eyes shut and an image of Brian lying in the hospital shimmers before me.

He must sense my dread and adds, “No, Amanda, he’s okay. But…”

My heart races as he hesitates, so I jump in.

“Cole, what—”

As if my voice jolted him into speaking, he interjects. “It’s his mom... she.... she died.” His voice cracks and I gasp in horror.

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