******083:

Mom looked awful. What in the world had brought her to this pass? Aubrey stood outside the door, telling other doctors and nurses that I was taking a moment with my mother. A nurse was already in here with her, and there was no chair for me.

She didn't look like my mother.

Her hair was lank and thin, falling out, the roots very prominent.

What had done this?

I thought back over the year----

Oh, God, it had been such a hard year!

Before Troy died we went to Mom and Dad's about once a month when we were home and not touring. All of us--- our house had been the teen house, the one mom who allowed the loud garbage noise we produced back then—and our house had remained a go-to, my parents the go-to parents, the hip parents, the ones where food was always available, and my dad let us use his van to go to our gigs.

And they had hidden their differences as we all grew up and took different paths. The really prominent hostility had started after my band had moved on. After I had moved on. I hated that they had such terrible pain---- but it was understandable.

Mom had lost a son.

And she'd blamed the church--- inadvertently she blamed my dad.

And my dad had a porn addiction. He blamed her.

They should have divorced a long time ago.

But it was clear that he was still there for her---- where were her two ugly meathead boyfriends now?

She stirred and moaned. I'm not sure I understood her. But I sighed in remorse for the way I'd treated her--- not for what I'd said--- we both had hot tempers and had always said things---

But we always made up--- usually very quickly.

Now I had Aubrey--- and kids--- and the church--- I did not makeup quickly. I didn't even think of her.

I thought about my dad, his pain was closer by--- in our home. But what had she gone through? Alone? With Chris--- the unrepentant negative opinionated no comfort bitch?

I texted Ben--- I wanted my acoustic guitar. Could he bring it? Mom used to love hearing me play acoustic. I could play it for her now.

"I'm full of regret
For all things that I've done and said
And I don't know if it'll ever be ok to show
My face 'round here
Sometimes I wonder if I disappear

Would you ever turn your head and look
See if I'm gone
Cause I fear

There is nothing left to say to you
That you wanna hear
That you wanna know
I think I should go
The things I've done are way too shameful"

(Maroon 5)

I played for her---- after a while I just played anything that came to mind. Sometimes I sang, others I didn't. No one bugged me. They came in--- checking her--- my dad, the nurses, the doctors--- and I just sat on the floor and played. My mind traveled over memories--- good ones and bad ones---

But memories of my mother--- the woman who had given me birth, who had washed scraped knees, who mended clothes, and shopped for shoes. I recalled cub scouts, patches sewn on vests and shirts. I thought about her hands at the piano, teaching me to play and her voice singing songs--- laughing as I made up lyrics--- and joking about someday me being a famous rock star.

I smelled dinners she'd cooked. I felt the blankets she pulled up under my chin when she kissed me goodnight and heard my prayers. I felt her anger and shame at Daniel's choices--- I heard her voice pleading with him not to make that choice---

But when push had come to shove there had been no question of her supporting him. She'd rather die than not support her children. Even against her husband, even against her religion.

It had been devastating----

Daniel's death had been worse.

They had never recovered.

None of us had completely.

"Mom." I called her name sometime in the night.

"Oh-----." She'd moaned.

"Mom---- why?"

"Rafe----."

"Mom--- don't go. Don't leave. There is so much left to do. I'm having quintuplets, Mom--- five babies at once. Three girls and two boys. Come on Mom."

"Hm...."

"Mom--- please----." I felt her slipping away--- I felt her giving up. I felt my tears welling. "Don't do it. Please don't do it."

She didn't make another sound.

But the monitor above her did. I felt sick--- I felt terrible pain lancing into me like a sword. She was supposed to die in her sleep of old age--- not like this--- not like this--- not my mom--- God, not my mother!

They came rushing in--- all of them--- the teams and teams of people trying to save her life, to no avail.

I leaned against the wall and stared as they tried--- they did all the stuff you see on TV. It didn't work—she didn't want to stay.

b*****